My face scrunches. I’m not unfamiliar with my aunt’s strange demands. Hurry up. Then take your time. Bring me a random thing. Even still, it’s a little odd.
I shrug it off and send her a simple “okay” before I head toward the bathroom next to the stairway that leads to the wing where my aunt’s bedroom looks across the sea. I’m nearly there when I hear tense voices floating out into the corridor. It’s the familiar tone and cadence of my stepfather speaking, followed by another man’s voice I recognize to be Stan Tremblay’s. His deep baritone summons goose bumps on my skin.
Normally, I would leave my mom and stepdad to their secrets and plans and the never-ending machinations that keep their respective businesses running and their family happy. I’ve overheard meetings like this for as long as I can remember. They’re part of the murk rippling beneath the pristine surface that gives the appearance of a flawless life.
“ … the name of the one who worked for Leviathan?”
My steps falter. My mother’s voice evokes memories of the night I crashed Merrick’s vehicle into the reservoir. I mean to grab my aunt’s lotion and keep walking like I can simply ignore this is part of my life. This is none of my concern, this constant scheming, these endless battles. But it’s the next two words that root me to the floor.
“Lachlan Kane.”
I look toward the sitting room at the end of the corridor. One of the double doors is ajar. With just a moment’s hesitation, I follow the flow of voices, slinking into the empty office across the hall.
“The fact is, there could be a hundred different people who want a pound of flesh from either one of us. We can’t go around killing everyone who does.” My stepfather lets out a sardonic laugh. “There would be no one left in Rhode Island.”
My mother’s irritated huff escapes the room. I imagine her silvery-blue eyes are likely sharp enough to flay the skin right off my stepfather’s face. She might love him with every beat of her steely heart, but when it comes to work, there are lines they don’t cross, even if their businesses bleed into each other more and more as time goes on. “Damian, we’re not just talking about someone wanting to fuck up a factory and make your life miserable for a few months. We’re talking about someone deliberately targeting both of us. Kelly Ellis was on my board. Cristian was your fucking cousin. Every month there’s another murder. It’s clockwork. Forty days. It’s not some coincidence.”
“And every forty days we’re right back at square one. We have no witnesses and no evidence. Certainly nothing that points concretely to someone from Leviathan.”
“Kane has the skill,” Tremblay says as I hear the sound of thick paper slapping a wooden surface. “He worked for Leviathan for sixteen years. Perhaps he’s taking revenge for being cut loose.”
Pages rustle. A thoughtful hum resonates in my stepfather’s warm tone. “Are we sure he was even fired? For all we know, they kept him on. I scrapped their whole contract—it’s not like I told them to get rid of Kane.”
“All the more reason for him to be going after us if the wrong people are taking advantage of the situation. How do we know Leviathan hasn’t been hired by a competitor?”
“We don’t. Because this is all just conjecture. We have no proof that points to anyone or anything specific.” A heavy sigh escapes from my stepfather and I hear him shift in his chair. “Look, I agree it’s possible that Kane or perhaps Leviathan have something to do with this … pattern. They certainly have the means. But it could just as likely be a competitor like Bob Foster—”
My mom snorts.
“—or someone paid by one of our competitors or a hundred other options. I don’t believe it’s prudent to go after an organization like Leviathan or one of their maybe-employees without being completely sure.”
“And if we don’t remove the most likely threats, we invite harm to our doorstep,” Tremblay says, another paper slapped down on a table. “Kane has two brothers. One appears to be … normal. A doctor, living in Nebraska. But the other …” Papers shuffle. “Rowan Kane. He’s volatile. He will back up his brother and has done it before.”
No. No, no, no.
My hand covers my mouth to trap the desperate sound that begs to escape. It feels as though the world has flipped over, like I’m falling off the edge.
My mother sounds just as shocked as I feel when she says, “Rowan Kane …? The same Rowan that Sloane is marrying?”
“Yes. I’ve been digging into him, asking around. He had a history of violence, some juvenile citations shortly after immigrating to Boston but the details appear to be missing from police records and nothing ever resulted in charges. And there was something in his early twenties as well, a fight at a bar that put Lachlan in the hospital. Word from my connection is that Rowan beat the man who injured his brother and left him in the alley. There’s record of Lachlan’s medical treatment, record of the other man who ended up dead in the hospital, but nothing on Rowan.”
My blood rushes in deafening waves in my head, dulling the hushed conversation between my parents as pages rustle. But I catch their brief questions. Is Sloane safe? What about Lark? We need proof. But can we take the risk to wait …? Every word feels like a sharp blow.
“What you’re suggesting, Stan …” my stepfather says, letting his thoughts trail away. I can picture the stress on his face, the way he’s probably shaking his head. “We could eliminate the Kanes and still not solve the problem and then what? Then we’ve got Leviathan breathing down our necks for real, that’s what. We need proof.”
“We cannot sit back and wait for proof to drop into our laps. If we do, more of our people will die. You’re telling me you’ve not done worse for Covaci Enterprises?”
“Stan—” my mother barks.
“And this is why not everything should be outsourced,” Tremblay says. Pages shuffle and then slap against the wood. “Nina, we should discuss this with Ethel, look at handling this kind of thing the way the Montagues always have—”
“No,” my mother interrupts, her tone firm. “Leave her out of it. She’s got enough to worry about right now. Damian and I will sort this out. Give us a week and we’ll let you know what we want to do. Thank you, Stan.”
Standing in the shadows, I watch through the crack between the hinges as Stan Tremblay leaves the sitting room. He doesn’t glance in my direction as he strides away with sure and powerful steps, his head bent, papers tucked beneath his arm. He might be nearing his seventies, but he’s still one of the most formidable people I know. A specter of my childhood.
My parents leave a few moments later, talking about mundane things. Lunch and liquor. Where they might go for dinner. Things that seem so far removed from the conversation they just finished, and yet this is the way it’s always been. Deals in dark corners. Life in the light.
I let them pass by and wait until my heart calms enough that I can hear clearly before I leave my hiding place and grab the bottle of lotion from the bathroom, then take the stairs by twos.
Hands trembling, I make it only a few feet down the hall before I set the lotion down and press my palms to one of the decorative tables lining the corridor and stare at my reflection in the gilded mirror. My cheeks are flushed as waves of adrenaline wash through my veins.
I can’t let them take Rowan from Sloane. I need to find a way to stop them. I must.
But I don’t know how.
I don’t have some family enforcer on my side. No one who can rally for my position. I’ve always been the one to protect, not the one to scrap with the other apex predators for a slice of prey or territory.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper to my reflection as tears well in my eyes.
My watch vibrates against my wrist and I look down to see Rose’s name flash up on the screen.
