24. Maeve
MAEVE
“… a
nd I should’ve been the first person you called!”
Rubbing my temples, I stare down at the many folders full of names and secrets, and the ballpoint pen.
The brass sides are engraved with my father’s name.
His special pen. The one he signed all his deals with, the one he kept in his pocket for important meetings.
I should’ve thrown it out when I gutted this godforsaken office months ago.
But there is a perverse satisfaction in using it when he wouldn’t let me lead.
Now it signs my name, my deals, in my clan.
And yet, I can’t focus on any of it.
“Are you even fucking listening?”
Rolling my eyes, I look up at my brother-in-law’s harsh face. The bags are darker, deeper, and his hair is uncharacteristically unpolished. He’s in a rumpled dark T-shirt and a pair of sweats—so unlike him. His burns flicker in the pathetic firelight behind me.
Apparently, he’s comfortable here. I’ve never seen him show any skin before.
“I would be, if you’d stop yelling.” The clock on my desk reads almost four in the morning. We stayed at the hospital until the doctors finally told us what was happening.
It took convincing. A knife to the sternum usually helps, and only then did they decide to be more forthcoming. A gunshot to his shoulder, another on his thigh, they were worried about his recovery. With a body riddled with cancer and his advanced age, they weren’t optimistic.
After threatening them, I called Lex to send his men to sit on his uncle. Briar checked them out, but that doesn’t say much. He didn’t find anything in Reese’s background either, and somehow he’s connected to this.
“Remind me,” I drawl, leaning back, crossing my arms. I’m still covered in the blood of his deceased aunt, and I itch to change. “Weren’t there guards on his door?”
“Yes.” His amber eyes flicker with anger.
“Then where were they?” I ask coldly. “I walked into a bloodbath. The alarm was off. And your guards were nowhere to be seen.”
Growling, Lex slams his fist into my chair. It knocks over, crashing to the floor with a loud thump. I just stare. “I don’t know.”
“Then maybe instead of yelling at me,” I say, temperature dropping, “you should be thanking me for saving your uncle.” Picking at my nails, I add, “And hopefully the men you chose this time are up to the task.”
I have Briar watching the cameras outside his room. Just in case. No is touching Nico—not now.
Lex paces away, tugging at his scalp with aggravation. His shoulders bunch and he exhales loudly, looking at the ceiling.
It’s not easy for the man to thank someone else—especially me.
We’ve spent years trying to outdo each other.
If he killed one man, I killed three. If he made the paper with a new donation, I made a bigger one—and had a wing dedicated to my family’s name.
Did we have to be in an unspoken competition?
No. But it absolutely drove me mad when my father would praise his skill, while I sat there, fucking bleeding for a clan that didn’t see me.
Glancing back, he asks, “How did you know where he lived?”
Sighing, I clasp my hands over my stomach. “Really? I know everything, Lex.”
Not wrong. My spies are better than his.
“How is he?” The anger saps from his shoulders, and he fixes the chair, sitting in it. Defeat hangs over him like a heavy shroud. “I can’t get through to the doctors. What did they say?”
“Touch and go.” I shrug. “But Nico is a damn fighter. A few bullets won’t take him out.”
He tries to smile. “He is. But when he wakes up and realizes Maria…” He swallows thickly, and a sliver of sympathy strikes me.
My grief threatens to drown me, but I can’t imagine the pain he feels.
Maria was his deceased mother’s only sister—he might not have had her, but he had Maria.
“They’ve been together for a long time. I don’t know how he’ll survive without her. ”
“He’ll survive for you.” My jaw moves, and I struggle to say the rest. “And for your sons. You’re the child he always wanted. He’ll keep going because he has you to live for.”
It stings to say it out loud. I’d like to be included in the reasons why Nico lives, but that’s some childhood fantasy of mattering. Of being more than a body in a house—used for what I can give, never good enough for what I am. It’s stupid, really.
Lex nods. “I’ll figure out where the guards went. You saw no evidence of them?”
“None. Which means…” I trail off, staring at the capo.
“They were either taken or part of the plan.” I knew there was a brain in that pretty face. He pinches his brow. “Why are they targeting us?”
Shrugging, I keep my voice neutral. “They want me. So, they’re going after my allies.”
“Going after me makes sense,” he offers. “But going after Nico? He doesn’t have ties anymore. Killing him wouldn’t end the alliance. It’d piss the De Luca family off, but wouldn’t dissolve our arrangement.”
The capo glares at me, and I hold my breath. “What don’t I know, Ace?”
“Plenty,” I admit.
“Is there a reason Nico was attacked?”
“Probably.” I shrug.
Lex growls under his breath. “I swear to God, I lost my aunt to this bullshit. My best friend. If you don’t tell me?—”
“They’re going after anyone who matters, Lex.” My throat tightens, and I push through it. “We have a leak, and I have a strong suspicion the Board knows about me working with your uncle.”
Silently, he waits. “And?”
“And.” I sigh loudly. “They may know that he helped me get my seat as captain of the clan.”
“Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his head. “I didn’t know that.”
How could he? No one knew.
“When Linwood said you were in trouble, I didn’t think it’d be this. Or come back on us.”
Tilting my head, I ignore the crushing guilt. It’s always been my job as the oldest to protect everyone else. I kept Sloane from overdosing. I fought Collins’ bullies. I kept Briar hidden.
I let Michael rape me so he would never touch them.
And yet? It’s all coming back on them. All my plans, all my failures, are piling up, and my family is being taken down for it. Who will die next if I don’t get a handle on my problems?
You could never lead. Not like a man.
“What did Linwood tell you?”
He glares at me dryly. “Whatever you two have?—”
“Which is nothing?—”
“Is none of my business. I won’t be dragged into it.”
Sighing, I lean forward. “I still have my knives, and after the shit night I’ve had, I will use them.”
The capo rubs his cheek, stubble darkening his face. “Christ, fine. He came to see me. Wanted me to keep an ear open for suspicious talk. Said you were in trouble.” He scans the office, frowning. “Would’ve been nice to know what kind of trouble. Remind me to punch the Reaper for this.”
“Use a gun. It’ll make a bigger impact.” That bastard.
Did he not think I could do this on my own? Did he not trust me to be the captain and to lead my fucking family?
But there’s a part—a stupid, flickering flame of warmth that breaks the coldness around my heart—that’s relieved. For the help. For another set of hands—another person who is in the middle of this.
I’ve been alone, leading this clan, protecting my siblings, for years. I almost forgot what it was like to have someone there, helping in the dark, holding my problems so I could rest.
You’re too weak to lead.
My mind spins, and I clutch at my temples, mood souring. Who can I trust—my mind? No. Reese? Hell no. He’s a puppet for the Board, and I’m trying like fuck to figure out the connection.
I can’t trust Lex’s family—they let Nico be attacked, and Maria died on their watch.
Can I rely on Killian? The Reaper working behind the scenes, moving pieces without my knowledge? Maybe. That’s where I’m stuck, torn.
If I trust him again, will he leave in the night? Or will he finally stay?
Lex shifts in front of me, glancing at my gun on the desk. “Your eyes are doing that thing that makes me want to say a few ‘Hail Marys’.”
Shoving from the desk, I snag my Eagle on the way out and ignore his questioning look. I don’t know if I’ll kill the Reaper or if he’ll kill me, but I don’t need to explain myself to Lex.
I know where he is—where he always is if he’s not stalking me. He might be my ever-present shadow, but I know being at the hospital wore down his patience, and he needed to find a way to let out the nervous energy.
He’s in his room. Sketching, painting, something.
At the end of the third-floor hallway, overlooking the dark forest, is a simple wooden door. I don’t knock—no, I kick the fucking thing in, mind a mess, rage the only thing I can understand.
Rage at myself. At the ghosts. At the Reaper for leaving. At making me love him again.
The asshole has the nerve to shoot me a bored look, hunched over his canvas, a pair of low-slung sweats on his hips, and nothing else. Charcoal darkens his fingers, smudging them like his devious deeds, blending whites and blacks together. Whatever it is, he hides it, scrubbing at the edges.
“Did you want to paint?” he asks, scrutinizing the paper. “You used to love it when you couldn’t sleep.”
Fury courses through my veins, and my hands shake.
I used to love painting with him—when the nightmares were too much, he’d hold my hands and glide them over the paper.
He taught me—showed me—beauty in color, in the way a brushstroke would cross a paper, a floating wish lost to time.
Then he’d cover me in paint and fuck me until I couldn’t remember my bad dreams.
And he fucking taunts me with it.
Coming up behind him, I kick out his knee, and he falls forward, hands catching the wooden ends.
He turns, swinging out—not to hit, but to grab me—but I’m not done. I’m pissed—at his meddling, at his insistence to get into my life, at his leaving me all those years ago.
At the way I fucking love him. After promising myself I never would again.
Avoiding his hand, my right hook connects with his jaw. The audible snap of his teeth rings out around us, and fuck, I grin.
Chuckling, his tongue darts out, tasting the spot of blood at the corner of his mouth.