A man steps out of the shadows behind Vincent. He stands tall, like a century-old oak—very much reminiscent of Vincent in his prime. A jagged white scar by his left eye mars his otherwise flawless, tanned face. Other than that, he’s a carbon copy of Vincent.
The man smiles. “Hello, nephew.”
“Hello, Roland.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You know me?”
“You’re pretty famous.”
He smiles, then perches on the armrest on Vincent’s seat and places his hand on the back of the chair like a knight guarding his king from danger. The old man pats Roland’s hand, the favoritism obvious. “You’re such a good child. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me, Father.”
Vincent pats Roland’s hand again, then rises to his feet. “I’ll leave you two alone so you can speak freely.”
Vincent tries to place his hand on my forearm, but I shift away. A flash of hurt cuts through his otherwise self-satisfied mask, but almost immediately, his expression smooths back to impassivity. “Enjoy, children.” Mick trails behind him.
Roland takes the seat Vincent occupied just moments ago, and the symbolism isn’t lost on me. “You sure you don’t want anything?” He knocks back the whiskey Vincent left as well.
“No.”
“I don’t drug people, Joshua.”
“Of course not.” I flash him a blank smile.
“I’m nothing like your mother or Harvey.”
“Maybe not. But I don’t know enough about you to make that judgment.”
“Yet here we are.” He pours more whiskey. “If you were going to side with your mother, you wouldn’t be here.”
“She inserted herself into a situation where she shouldn’t have. You wouldn’t forgive her if she messed with Kenna, would you?”
Roland’s gaze sharpens. “No, I wouldn’t. But you should know I have no plans to hurt your girl. I’ve been keeping an eye on her to keep her safe from Zoe.” He reaches up and scratches the back of his head, elaborately casual. His suit sleeve bulges. “You received the photos and text when her apartment burned down, didn’t you? Zoe’s handiwork, by the way.”
That was him? “Should I thank you? You didn’t stop Mom.”
“My men’s instructions were to keep your girl safe, not ‘stop Mom.’” He gives me a nice-guy smile.
If he thinks this puts me in his debt, he’s sorely mistaken. “I don’t care about this war between the three of you, but I don’t want the Huxleys, or my fiancée and me, to be dragged into it.I want my family to be left alone, no matter who takes over the organization.”
“That’s going to be me—count on it.”
“Out of the three, you’re the least objectionable. At least you didn’t try to drug us, kidnap us or leave us to die. And you haven’t tried to get to our women. Things like that matter.”
He laughs. Hope he doesn’t think I was being complimentary. That’s setting the bar pretty low. “You take your family motto too seriously.”
“Because only people who are worthy of loyalty and unity get to be part of the family. But then, you wouldn’t understand. The Dunkels never made the cut.”
“Like we want to be bound by something as ridiculous as your motto,” Roland sneers. “Zoe was an idiot to marry Prescott, and even a bigger idiot to fall for him and you boys.” His eyes flick in my direction. “No offense, but you and I both know she can’t play by the rules, especially something as rigid aspietas et unitas.”
“None taken.” I share his opinion about Mom’s feelings. I steeple my fingers. “Anyway, you aren’t stupid. Harvey’s no match.” I believe that. Even without Vincent putting his weight behind him, Roland is capable enough. Near-death experiences can change a man, and he didn’t return to play nice.
“So. What would you give me in return?” he asks.
I’m not foolish enough to make the first offer. “What are you thinking?”
His eyes brighten. “I have a proposal.” He leans forward. “Zoe loves her children very much.” He sees my look. “Oh, but it’s true.”
