61. Kingsley
61
KINGSLEY
“D id you know your father’s will was going to be read this afternoon?” Dante asks, coming into the living room, holding his phone aloft.
“Yes, I spoke with my father’s legal team a short while ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He seems angry. I give him a blank look. I do so because my brain can’t catch up with the reason why he’s so unsettled and I can’t formulate a response. Why is he angry at me ?
“I’m sorry,” I say, rising to face his bristling body, my own anger coming out of nowhere as I bellow at him. “Did you not get the memo that I sent out to the world announcing the reading of my father’s will? My dead father?”
His face softens at my words. Dante can be a real asshole about things at times. Stella had mentioned that about him. Go easy on him when his asshole rears his ugly head.
“That was harsh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes.
“I wasn’t trying to railroad you, Dante. Dealing with my father’s will is not something I want to do. But my advisors – the team you hired, I might add – insisted I had to before moving on. They had nothing to advise me on, otherwise.”
He hangs his head in apology then looks down at his phone again. “I’m just trying to stay one step ahead of Tate, that’s all. Unscheduled trips across the city pose a risk. You know I like to plan things well in advance.”
I nod, and shuffle my feet closer to him. “I do. But this has to be done.”
He doesn’t disagree.
Dante has a need to control things. He doesn’t deal well with unknown variables or matters that are out of his control. I understand this better than even he does, because control is what I stake my bets on when I’m playing cards. But his security measures are causing my anxiety to flare up in ways it hasn’t in a long time. Part of why my father had sent me to be schooled in Switzerland was so I wouldn’t have to deal with the panic attacks that I was having at the security that was a constant in our lives. That cloying fear revisits me now as I recall those memories, long buried but still lurking in the background.
“Any news on Tate?” I ask him. He doesn’t respond, as if he doesn’t hear me as he types out a text and pockets his phone. My eyes follow his hands as he tucks them away in his pockets. I give him a questioning look and he seems puzzled. I was happier when we were on the same page.
“I asked if you had any information regarding Tate’s whereabouts?” When Dante shakes his head, I continue. “It’s more important than ever that we find him, Dante. I can’t keep looking over my shoulder waiting for him to put a bullet in my back. Especially now that I know my father’s will left him nothing.”
* * *
A crushing fear seeps through my bones and coats every single fiber of my being as I slide into the car in the underground garage. Dante sits beside me, clutching my hand in his, giving me a supportive smile. He knows how hard this is for me. He is also worried what today will bring. The car moves through the garage, falling in line behind another, which falls behind two others – all dark SUVs – and then merges into traffic. I know there are also cars behind us. We drive around the city for a few minutes, seemingly in no direction, with some of the cars branching off then merging together again when we hit the freeway. It is an elaborately orchestrated dance that Claymore has constructed to ensure our safety as we are whisked to an undisclosed destination. Undisclosed because no one will know until Saul decides on a location and sends that location to Dante via text. No one, it would seem, is above suspicion today. Not even the security team, who I know Claymore trusts with his life.
Yet even with all the extra security measures, which have my anxiety antenna up on the highest frequency, I was never more glad to see Stella than when she whizzed into my living room shortly before we were scheduled to leave the suite, followed by Claymore.
“Darling,” she breathed, a barrel of energy, as she leaned into me and gave me air kisses. “This was important enough that Clay had to come and oversee the logistics of your safe transfer. I’m here for moral support.”
I loved this woman. Loved that she was so real and direct and cut through all the bullshit. I loved that she would take the time to come and support me, knowing I had no one else to lean on.
“Is my boy treating you well?” she had asked, tugging on Dante’s tie playfully. I had to giggle at the look on Dante’s face as he smoothed his tie down. It was a maroon tie he had tucked into the vest of a gorgeous three piece suit. I was disarmed by how my body reacted to him whenever he wore a suit and the way he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
“Overbearingly so,” I told her, smirking at Dante. Oh, the betrayal.
“I’m glad Stella came,” Dante says, cutting into my thoughts. I know he’s trying to keep my mind occupied. I also know that Clay and Stella are in the car right behind us.
“Me too. She’s quickly becoming my favorite person.”
He shoots me a fake horrified look and asks if she’ll soon replace him. No one could ever replace Dante. The first true friend that I have ever had.
I reach a hand up to his cheek, settle it there, looking at him warmly. I hope my eyes are doing all the talking, because I have no idea what the actual fuck I’m doing. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
* * *
At some point in his life, my father realized that Tate had developed ambitions that he could no longer fulfil unless they were handed to him. He had ill intentions, and my father had lost faith in him being my right hand man when he passed. This was all the more apparent after we learnt the contents of his last will and testament. There are also a few surprises in there; surprises that I did not see coming. No sir.
Tate was effectively cut out of the will. He would receive nothing. It was unheard of in our world for a second in command who had served so long to be gifted… nothing. Tate had been with my father since before I was born. His omitting him from the will could only mean that he had seen, heard or felt something which dictated that Tate should be exiled.
My father had left donations to several charities, and none surprised me more than the huge pledge he made to a charity that supported victims of domestic abuse. I had never been more proud of him, and made it a point to look into each and every charity to continue his legacy long after he was gone.
He pledged a large sum to establish schools in African countries. Another donation to a youth center and lifetime support if they dedicated their resources to rehabilitating the children, not merely incarcerating them. My eyes are moist with tears as Saul continues to read.
“And finally, we come to the bulk of the estate left by William Reginald Murdock Murray, otherwise known as Maddog Murray.” Saul looks up, catches my eye, then looks back down at the document in front of him. There is apprehension in his eyes, and I’m not sure why.
“I request that the remainder of my estate, including all real estate, vehicles, businesses and accounts, be transferred to my one and only child, Kingsley Murray, with the exception of one item –that being the Harborside docks and all storage facilities connected with it. The docks I leave to Durian and Dante Accardi.”
Saul looks up.
My mouth drops open, then slams shut.
My body starts to vibrate, and I realize I’m shaking. I had thought that when Dante rescued me from Tate, he didn’t care about the docks. He had said he didn’t want them. I don’t understand what’s happening as my body literally goes into shock. It’s not that I want the docks. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with them. I don’t care what they’re worth, and I have no need for them. It is the specter of betrayal that is coiling deep within my soul, begging to be let out, that devastates me. It is fire with ice and a heavy weight sitting on my chest.
Oh my God.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
I look up. Dante is watching me with concerned eyes. His father is saying something about contesting. Saul starts talking again. There is a rush of voices as everyone starts speaking simultaneously. I feel an overwhelming surge of nausea enveloping me and I stand, sway, then feel myself folding unceremoniously to the ground.