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Boyd’s at her side, and his jaw tics as her shoulders square, prepping for a fight. “Fiona…”
“What?” she snaps, not even sparing him a glance. “You want me to sit and be quiet when an old hag insults my friend? I think the fuck not.” She steps forward, and he reaches out, snatching her palm in his hand.
I watch them curiously; he levels her with a stern look, one that’d heat my blood if it were turned on me. It’s the kind of look Kieran gives me when I’m being a brat, the kind that threatens a very good punishment.
She jerks away. “Let mego.”
“Stop trying to make a fucking scene.”
“You’re not allowed to tell me what to do, dick. You’re not my father, my brother,ormy boyfriend.Remember?” As her voice climbs in pitch, the crowd around us starts to pay attention, but that doesn’t deter Fiona. Boyd notices, though, and drops her hand like she’s burned him, adjusting the collar of his suit with one tattooed hand.
He takes a step back, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Have it your way,princess.” Shooting her one last patronizing glance, he turns on his heels and stalks off, leaving my head spinning with everything that’s just happened.
Fiona stares at his retreating form for a long, long time, before offering me an apologetic smile and taking off after him, her heels sinking into the soft earth with each step. I don’t see them meet back up, don’t get to witness the clusterfuck of a fight that’s sure to be, and can’t mask the disappointment and intrigue.What the hell was that?
My mother seems momentarily stunned, as well, studying Fiona’s porcelain face as several beats of silence settle in around us. She comes to after a while, blinking and offering us a wide, fake smile, glancing out over the crowd. “In any case, Juliet, I need to speak with you.”
“I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re selling.”
She frowns, hard. “I think you might change your tune if you knew it’s a matter of life or death.”
My eyes narrow and I pull away from Carter, shuffling her figure behind me. I know the couple ahead of us is listening in, but right now I don’t care. “What are you talking about?”
“Not here.” Because she knows about the eavesdroppers too. Can feel the dozens of eyes locked on us, interested in figuring out whytheLynn Harrison returned to town out of nowhere.
I feel Caroline’s gaze on me, and sure enough, when I glance up, she’s watching us with alarm. Her hand reaches out for Elia’s, tugging hard as he talks to Benito behind him.
Not wanting to cause a scene on my nephew's big day, I try to communicate silently as I follow my mother away from the crowd that everything’s okay. That she wouldn’t hurt me, at least not physically.
Because that was never her MO. She liked psychological abuse, neglect that makes you wonder if anyone can ever love you. Surely, two years in hiding hasn’t changed my mother that much.
Fear etches into Caroline’s features, worry making her bottom lip tremble. We round the gray stone corner of the cathedral, disappearing from her line of sight, but not before Elia’s focus snaps on us, his body immediately flickering to high alert.
“You’d better talk fast,” I say, leaning against the wall. “Elia will be here in seconds.”
She scoffs. “I’m not afraid of that brute.”
“Your funeral,” I mutter.
“No, darling.” She brandishes a handgun from the main pocket of her black leather purse, aiming the barrel directly at my face. A somewhat sad, sinister smile spreads across her lips as my lungs deflate, the air leaving my body at once. As far as I know, my mother’s never held a gun in her life, and the sight stuns me into a place of complete disbelief. One where I don’t react at all, even as she fingers the trigger. “Actually, it’s yours.”
* * *
Kieran
“Where the absolute fuck could she have gone?”
My father scrubs a hand over his face, fingers tapping idly against his keyboard. The surveillance in front of us shows only the curb outside of the St. Francis cathedral, where we’ve tracked our mystery financier to. It appears she’s attempting to use the large crowd as a cover, although we haven’t quite figured out what she’s doing there.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I glance around Boyd’s office, a slight twinge of nostalgia hitting at how I left it so prematurely. But I refuse to dwell on it, to live in the shadow of my regrets. My mother taught me to keep looking forward, and it’d be a disservice to her ever-worsening memory if I started focusing too heavily on my past.
It’s not like I can change how everything turned out, anyway. Not like I’d give any of it up.
I wouldn’t bring my brother back, even if I had the option. And if I kill him every time, in every possible alternate version of my past, whatreallychanges?
Nothing.
No use in stewing in that filth.
