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“Mother’s a wreck,” Sophia says, shaking her head. “Worse than I am. We know why Evander did it. I even understand, although my mother still claims her husband and her son were both completely innocent. She’s delusional. I know what these men are. But how am I supposed to live here with Evander, in this house, knowing he killed my father? And my brother? How does it change anything, knowing it was a good reason?”
“He’s your half-brother too,” I say, feeling weak and unable to do anything deep in my chest. If Sophia and her mother can’t ever change, if they can’t get past their trauma, what chance do I have? “You could find new family.”
“It doesn’t matter. What does that change?” She shakes her head bitterly. “I think on some level, I would’ve done the same thing if I were in Evander’s position. After his father, after finding out the truth, it’s hard for a man like him to turn his back and ignore what happened. But how does that help?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, wishing I had something I could tell her. “I really don’t know what’s going to fix things. If anything can be fixed. All I know is, this family is going to rip itself apart. Revenge keeps on piling up.”
“I guess that matters to you now, Mrs. Kazan.”
“I guess it does.” I stare at Sophia, trying to keep my composure. “I’m not going to ask you to forgive Evander. I know you never will. But I will ask you to stop scheming against him. If you care at all about this family, you’ll walk away.”
“Walk away?” Her expression sours like I’ve gone insane. “Do you know what you’re even asking me?”
“Leave the mansion. You and your mother.”
Like that, her softness dissipates, and all that’s left is the burning rage. “How dare you,” she says through her teeth. “You usurping bitch. You’re nothing to this family. How dare you come to me and ask me to leave my home?”
“Staying is just going to turn you bitter and deranged. Trust me, if anyone knows, it’s me. If I hadn’t left Christopher, I’d be dead now. I’d be a husk of a person. I spent all my time either terrified of him or dreaming of how I’d hurt him back, and in the end, the only smart thing I ever did was run.”
“Look at you now. You moved up, didn’t you? From a capo to a lord.” She sneers and shakes her head. “For a second there, I thought you might be different. But you’re as conniving as I am, aren’t you?”
“Sophia,” I say, feeling this conversation getting away from me and wishing I could pull it back in, but she’s already turning and walking off, her gardening tools forgotten in the dirt. I wish she could see how sincere I really am, how much better her life would be if she could put distance between her and the tragedies that define her. She’s still young, she still has a chance.
But this place is draining her, and I don’t think she’ll ever get away from its clutches. Just like me.
Chapter50
Evander
The meeting happens on neutral ground. It took days of back and forth to get everyone on the same page, and I made sure only the most important people in my family heard anything about it. Lycus, trusted soldiers, and nobody else. Not even Camille.
I keep thinking about my wife. Myrealwife.
Gareth worked a miracle. Really, he took a lot of my money and gave it to the perfect person to make sure her divorce paperwork made it through the system without anyone noticing, which allowed for our marriage to follow in its wake.
Now that she’s finally mine for real, I keep thinking about her, keep thinking about what my life could be like if this wasn’t some short-term deal.
I’m tempted to skip this meeting. If all goes well—and there’s no guarantee it will—I might walk away with a solution to our problems.
Which means Camille won’t have a reason to stay with me anymore.
I won’t force her to remain my wife. I’ll sign the paperwork, as promised. I won’t keep her, even if I want to.
But there’s a part of me that wishes I could skip all these games and simply say what I feel.
I step into the sushi restaurant with Lycus on my heels. The girl up front knows we’re coming—this place is controlled by the local Japanese Yakuza organization, another minor crime family in the region—and leads me into a back room. It’s hazy with cigar smoke, and Don Pavone is already there, the big man leaning back in his chair with an ugly little smile on his lips. Standing behind him is his underboss, Renzo Nasato. The guards and soldiers were all left outside.
“Gentlemen,” I say.
Don Pavone stands. He grins at me, spreading his arms. “Hello, Evander Kazan. Or do I call you Lord Kazan?”
“Call me Evander.” I shake his and firmly. “And I’ll call you Bosco.”
Bosco Pavone has a slippery smirk, dark eyes, gray hair, and a rap sheet longer than a CVS receipt. His underboss Renzo is whip-thin with a scar on his lips that leaves him constantly sneering. Lycus and him exchange glares, but nothing more.
“Sit, please. Cigar?” He cuts the end of a dark Cuban and I light it from his torch. It’s decent, earthy and pungent. He doesn’t offer Lycus anything. “I’d say we should order food, but I fucking hate sushi.”
“They have other things,” I say with a shrug. I actually like sushi but I’m not about to get into an argument about the merits of raw fish with a guy like Bosco Pavone.
