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“And will there be a color scheme? Some people like to have muted tones, and others prefer to make it more of a celebration,” he tells us, and I watch as Rayne’s eyes turn murderous.
“What exactly would we be celebrating?” he growls.
“I know this is a difficult time, but a funeral is a celebration of life, and it should be treated as such. People grieve in different ways, as I’m sure you are aware, and some choose to do that with bright colors.”
Emerson takes Rayne’s hand in her much smaller one, stroking the back of it gently to soothe him. She may never know the man he was before she came along. The cold, harsh man that had grown up too quickly, who only showed kindness to his family, was gone. Now the enforcer of our business had a soft side, he helps people, cares about perfect strangers, all because she does.
I take a deep breath, ready to make excuses for my family’s hostility toward him, but then I stop myself. Why should I make excuses for my family’s grief? They have every right to be feeling the things they are, just the way he would if he lost someone close to him. Grief isn’t linear, and that’s something I’m sure he understands. “I’m sure you can understand we are still in shock. Our parents died last night under suspicious circumstances. We are not in a place to think of this as a chance to celebrate their lives because we are still accepting that we have to live the rest of our lives without them.” I look to Storm, who gives me a small nod. “I think perhaps this is enough for today. I will send you everything else we want by email over the coming days, and if you have any questions, please reach out to me.” I stand from my seat, making it clear that we’re done here.
“Oh.” He looks around at my siblings as they stand one by one.
I never should have organized this for today, but when I called the funeral home Mom and Dad had listed in their instructions and they said someone could come around this afternoon, I wasn’t really in a place to argue the point.
“Okay, that will be fine,” he stammers as he gathers his paperwork from the table, taking several attempts to organize them into a neat stack and shove them back into his folder.
“Thank you for taking the time to come see us today.” I force a smile to my lips, but they barely twitch in response.
We say a swift goodbye at the door before I move back to the living room, where everyone has returned to their seats. I sigh and take my own beside Snow, taking her hand in mine. She’s taking it the hardest, and she’s never dealt with adversity well. Hell, when she was in high school and wasn’t crowned prom queen, she had a three-week meltdown and missed her graduation. I can’t see the loss of our parents being any better than that.
“What the fuck did that guy think we have to fucking celebrate?” Rayne slams his hands down on the table, but none of us startle. We’ve all been around for enough of his outbursts that they don’t surprise us, even Emerson. She just takes one of his hands in hers again, squeezing it for support.
“I want to know what is being done about Russo?” I turn to Storm. “We can plan a funeral until our hearts are content, but they won’t be at rest until he’s six feet under.” I can feel Everett’s eyes on the side of my face, burning a hole with the intensity of his stare, but I ignore him, too fired up with a new purpose. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to be able to rest until he’s paid for what he’s done.”
Storm’s head drops into his hands and he tugs at the ends of his dark hair. “I’ve got Tommy on it. He’s on Angelo, and he’s got all our best guys on Paul and Tony. We’re limited on manpower because this place takes so much, but I think we all need to stay together.”
“We are not just sitting on our hands, Storm,” Rayne growls. “First that fucker kidnaps my woman, and now he’s murdered our parents. We have to take the fight to him. We never should have let him live. They would be alive if I’d killed them,” he whispers the last few words, the despair in his voice almost enough to break me.
“We’re not doing the could-have, would-have game. We need a plan. We need to end this so we can grieve,” I tell them, my hands placed flat on the table as I lean toward them. “I want Angelo Russo’s head for what he’s done to this family.”
They all stare at me with varying levels of shock and pride written all over their faces. I’m not a bloodthirsty person. Despite my extensive training with my brothers, I’ve never pulled the trigger and ended someone’s life, but I could if the need ever came up. If I needed to kill someone to protect myself or my family, I wouldn’t even blink before squeezing the trigger and walking away guilt free. You don’t grow up as the princess of a crime family without knowing how to protect yourself and without the thought that someday that training may be the difference between life and death.
Everett stands from his seat and crosses to where his laptop is charging across the room, immediately coming back with it. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I started tracking Russo’s financial activity. There’s no way he used one of his own men to take out the founding members of the family. Not even Angelo Russo is dumb enough to think his team is capable of a hit of that scale. There’s been a lot of money going in and out of their accounts, both on and offshore, and if I had to hazard a guess, I think they’ve used the shipment they took to fund the hit.”
I nod slowly. It feels good to be using my mind so I can’t focus on the grief threatening to overwhelm me every time I think of my mother’s smile or my father’s wit. It’s always hovering at the edge of my consciousness, and somehow I think vengeance might be the only way I can sleep at night. “Okay, can you track where the money or the shipment are going? Who they might have hired?”
Storm clears his throat. “I have a couple of guesses, but at the moment, that’s all we’ve got. We can’t prove that they’re using the shipment. We have no idea who drove the car off the road. And I don’t think it’s a good idea that you girls get involved.”
I stand from my seat and glare at my brother, anger simmering deep in my veins. “Do not tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing, Storm. You and I both know I am not someone who can sit on my hands and wait for things to play out. I want Russo to suffer for what he’s done to this family. For what he did to Emerson, and for murdering our parents. And I’m going to be just as involved as you on this, whether you like it or not.”
6
Everett
I’ve loved Wynter for as long as I can remember. From the moment our eyes met for the first time, those icy blue irises so full of innocence, I knew she would be the girl I would marry. But as I stare at her now, the fierce fire burning in those eyes I’ve lost myself in too many times to count, I’ve never loved her more.
She stares at Storm with a mixture of anger and fear, knowing she could very well be doing this on her own if he doesn’t agree. She’s going toe to toe with the man most of the city, if not country, fear, and she’s doing it without so much as blinking.
She calls herself a princess, but I’ve always seen her for what she is. Wynter Saint James is a fucking queen.
“Wynter, you’re not built for this. You’re great with everything Frost Industries, but I don’t want to stain your soul with the other shit our family deals with. I’ve never wanted that.”
“And what happens if something happens to you?” she snaps, and we all collectively flinch at the harshness of her words. “You trained me to take over both sides of the business, Storm. You don’t just get to pick and choose when I do and don’t see the bad side of this business. I know how we started. I know Frost was founded with blood money. I know what you and Rayne do when you’re out late at night. If there was ever a time to include me, it’s right the fuck now.”
“She’s right,” I say. “She can’t be your succession plan if you never let her see the dark side of what we all do.”
Her head snaps around to me, the glare softening slightly as she considers my words. I have an inkling that she always knew I was still involved in the business, despite Storm and Rayne keeping it on the down low.
“You’re just saying that because you want back in her good books,” Rayne growls.
