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A few years ago, my mother departed this city and all its death. After Dad died, leaving my Uncle Thomas to raise us all. She’d been content to let him destroy us.
My father had been more like Nathan. Aloof. A number’s guy. She’d married him for the money. There had been no love, but she was a decent mother, if not a little distant.
So, this obsession with my marriage to Grace was out of character. Her inserting herself into my life wasn’t unwelcome, as long as she knew she had no control over my decisions. If she wanted to rebuild a relationship, I was willing.
“The gossip will blow over like it always does.”
The Kent name was constantly in the papers. Unlike the Vancinis or Gallos, who were the two other biggest crime families in the city, we kept our outward reputation clean. So our names were mentioned next to an article about our philanthropic work or the large donations we gave to hospitals and women’s shelters.
Our penance, trying to make up for what my uncle had been. And now Mitchell.
Each one of us had our moment as the city’s most eligible bachelor, with pictures of us splashed across the pages. Not that we’d ever enjoyed it. So yes, my marriage to Grace would cause a stir. But I could not care less.
I’d burn this goddamn empire to the ground if that’s what it took to keep her.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to him after he took the reins because you didn’t want it.” The knife stilled in my hand. Guilt tried to worm its way under my skin, but was met with white hot rage, burning it to ash.
I wanted to scream. Tell her she was lucky I hadn’t found out what he’d done to Grace before he’d died because I would’ve killed him myself. And it wouldn’t have been quick. I would have tortured him for fucking days. Giving him every single scar she had. But worse. Harsher. Brutally, with no mercy.
But I wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t shatter her memory of my brother. Wouldn’t add that guilt to my growing pile.
I slapped the blade onto the desk. The dull edge dug into my palm as I stood, pressing my hands into the glass. She didn’t cower at the rage in my expression, but I saw the shock in her eyes.
“I will not discuss this again. I run this family. Not you. Not Uncle Thomas. Not Mitchell. I make the decisions, including who I marry. I’m more than happy to make good on my promise to cut you off if you can’t accept that. And Mitchell isn’t here to save you anymore.”
“I’m just trying to protect you.” She huffed as she turned on her heel and left, slamming my office door, making the pictures rock on the wall.
I collapsed back in my seat, staring up at the ceiling. I was already exhausted, and I still had work to do. The escorts should be checked on. I needed to visit a few men Angelo was torturing. Talk with Cole and Nathan about the club and our numbers.
So when I heard heels clicking on the floor again, I didn’t have the patience for another round. The door opened without a knock and I lost my shit.
“Don’t you fucking knock? You better try again and show me the respect I deserve.” I wasn’t a kid. I didn’t need my mother’s approval. Didn’t need her coating my choices in more shame. “Or just leave because I am not in the fucking mood.”
But it wasn’t my mother’s smoothed, polished tone that spoke. It was soft and delicate. The voice that dominated my dreams. “Right. Sorry.”
Fuck! I shot up in my chair in time to see Grace running from my office. Her red hair whipped around the corner as I chased after her. “Wait.”
Her feet stilled, and I caught up to her in the living room. She didn’t turn to look at me. I could see her shaking. With fear? Anger? I didn’t know, but I wanted to go to her. Comfort her. I kept my distance, staying on the other side of the couch. Knowing she wouldn’t accept my touch.
“I thought you were…” I didn’t want to tell her about my mother and her objections to our marriage. I told myself it was because my mother’s rejection would make her feel bad. Truthfully, I didn’t want her to use it as an excuse to escape me.
As guilty as I felt, I still couldn’t let her go.
“It doesn’t matter.” I prayed she heard the sincerity in my voice. The remorse. She didn’t deserve my short temper. “I didn’t mean to speak to you like that, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The confusion in her eyes ripped another little piece of my heart off. Was she confused because she didn’t think I could admit my faults? Or had no one ever apologized to her?
“Do you forgive me?” Her brows scrunched together, and I moved an inch closer to her. “I might just die if you don’t forgive me.” Another small step. “Of course you could want that. I don’t know.”
Her expression softened. My lips pulled into a smirk in response. “I don’t want you to die.”
Fuck, yes. I’d take that as a win.
“So you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
The pressure in my chest eased. And just looking at her soft skin and smooth curves erased my headache. My fingers twitched to feel them. I shoved my hands in my pocket. “What did you need, Sunflower?”
