“Maybe it’s better that way,” he says as we stalk across the foyer. “She’s had enough of all the Dark Sovereign shit. She needs to spend her last years in peace.”
I nod in agreement as I pull the gold key from my pocket, slipping it into the lock and opening the large pocket door. The overhead track runs smoothly as the mahogany disappears into the wall cavity.
The familiar honeyed scent of beeswax greets us, and Nicoli and I walk over to the oval table.
“I have to be honest,” Nicoli starts. “It still feels weird in here without Dad.”
“It does,” I agree, sauntering over to the magnolia-colored curtains, glancing out over the courtyard. The sky is gray, and snow falls gently, its glittery surface draping everything it touches in a blanket of white. It looks peaceful outside. Tranquil. Meanwhile, there will be a war raging inside this room once my uncle decides to grace us with his presence.
“Fucker is late as always,” Nicoli complains, taking his seat next to my chair.
“So are our brothers.”
“I’m here.” Caelian saunters in and slips on his suit jacket. “Is Isaia joining us today?”
“Who the fuck knows?” I say, reaching for the tape recorder in my pocket and placing it on the table.
Nicoli raises a brow in question.
I smirk. “I thought it a good idea to remind our uncle just how fucked he really is.”
“Nice touch.”
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Uncle Roberto stands by the door, the buttons of his suit straining across his fat belly. The sight of him grates down my spine, and I’m pretty sure that if I didn’t know today would be his last day here, I’d leap across the table and choke his last breath out of him.
“Roberto.” I straighten and square my shoulders, my eyes not leaving him. “You’re late.”
“I’m not in a hurry to meet with the man who killed my son.”
“I’m assuming you’re referring to Rome, your only son? The coward who abandoned his own family?”
Roberto’s eyes narrow. “You know I’m not talking about Rome.”
“Oh. You mean Jimmy?” I shoot him a taunting smirk. “He’s not your son. But I can see why you’d think that since you’re both arrogant pricks.”
“What did you do with his body?”
I scoff. Asshole would do anything to find Jimmy’s body. Not because he wants to lay his supposed son’s body to rest, bury him and get closure. No. He wants proof that I killed Jimmy so he can paint me the villain, gather an army, and come at my throat. But that is not going to happen, and he knows it. There’s not a chance in hell he’ll ever find Jimmy, or at least what’s left of him. All he has is a shitty piece of paper scribbled with words that means nothing if there isn’t a body. Micah’s letter saying I killed Jimmy isn’t worth a fuck.
I settle my stance, keeping my glare locked on my uncle. There’s no need to say a goddamn word because he can read everything I want to say to him on my goddamn face. Go to hell.
He notices the tape recorder, and his top lip curls upward at the corners. “Tell me, Alexius, what is it that you expect to happen here today?”
“Not much. Just you getting what you deserve.”
“And what’s that?”
Caelian snorts. “A whole lot of nothing.”
Roberto simply glowers in his direction for no longer than a second before settling his attention on me. The smoke billows from the tip of his cigar, the smell of burning tobacco becoming more potent with his every exhale. “Seventeen years, is it?”
“Is what?” I ask.
“How long you’ve waited to get rid of me and take away everything that’s mine.”
“What’s yours?” I grit out. “You’re fucking joking, right? None of this is yours.” I swipe my hand through the air. “All of this is what my father built.”
“With my father’s money.”