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Very bad.

Unraveling

13

From a distance

October slid into November, and just like that, summer was gone — replaced by Halloween chaos and the slow, inevitable march toward Thanksgiving. She hated it. The entire stretch to New Year’s felt suffocating. Too much noise, too much expectation, too much fake cheer.

She hadn’t grown up with any of it.

No holidays. No celebrations.

Just a closed compound, private tutors, and a life away from the rest of the world. She and her sisters, Bratva royalty, their futures sealed in arranged marriages and a lifetime of gilded imprisonment.

Until the day everything changed.

Felicity pushed the thought aside and killed the engine of the Durango. Gravel crunched under her boots as she stepped out, the cold biting sharper than it had been minutes ago.

Another visit to the Whittaker house. Neighbors called it in. Shouting. Something breaking.

She mounted the porch and knocked, firm and deliberate.

There was a sound of a male voice, muted but harsh, and a scurrying of footsteps before the door opened.

Elaine Whittaker stood there, one hand braced against the frame. Her smile came too quickly, too tight. Her red-rimmed, glassy eyes told a story of their own.

“Officer,” she said. “It’s fine. Really. False alarm.” Another weak smile.

Felicity didn’t move. Didn’t smile back. “We had a call about shouting. Things breaking.”

“Oh—” Elaine let out a soft, breathy laugh. “That. Just a set of plates. Don tripped coming through the kitchen.”

A shadow shifted behind her.

Lance Whittaker stepped into view, all easy charm and broad shoulders, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he’d just come from cleaning up dinner instead of whatever Felicity had been called out for.

“Evening, Deputy,” he said, genial as anything. “Sorry about that. Bit of a mess, but nothing serious.”

“Mind if I come in?” she asked.

Elaine’s fingers tightened on the doorframe.

Lance’s smile didn’t falter. “Really, there’s no need. We’ve got it handled.”

Felicity held his gaze a second longer than was comfortable, then gave a small nod like she was letting it go. “All right,” she said. “I’d still like to speak with your son.”

A shadow passed over Elaine’s features. “Donny?” she called over her shoulder. “Honey, can you come here a minute?”

The scrawny boy was around nine, dark hair falling over his forehead, shoulders drawn in like he was trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flicked to his father first. Then to his mother. Only then to Felicity.

“You all right, Donny?” Felicity asked.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I just dropped the plates. It was loud.”

“No one got hurt?”

Donny shook his head. “No.”