Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“He’s gone now. It’s over.”
“You’re in charge now?”
“I guess so.”
He was my father’s son because he’d been ready for this since the beginning. When he was introduced to the business at the same age I was, he rose to the challenge, was prepared to tackle it head on. “Good luck.”
“I’ve been ready for this for a long time. And I want you to join me.”
“Me?” I scoffed. “I’ll pass.”
“It’s what Dad wanted.”
“And it’s never been what I wanted. Still don’t.”
“Maybe we can turn over a new leaf.”
“I wanted nothing to do with it then, and I want nothing to do with it now.”
He gave a slow nod in understanding. “So you can sit around and shoot up all day?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re better than this, brother. Way fucking better. Now, get your shit together.”
My brother and I had been at odds with each other for a long time, but the message coming from him hit differently than if it had come from somebody else. It was a stab in the lungs, but losing that air forced me to take a new breath. Forced me to confront my image in his eyes. I never thought about my own image, but now I saw it with total clarity. I saw how far I’d fallen, how miserable I’d become, and it hurt like hell.
He slammed his palm on the table as he leaned toward me. “Because you are better than this.”
We entered my family home, the place I hadn’t set foot inside for many years. It was exactly as I remembered, smelled exactly the same, felt like my father still paced in front of the fireplace in his study.
Men were everywhere, instructed to guard my mother from a secondary attack.
We walked into the main sitting room, a round table near the nook off the side of the kitchen. The grand dining table was in a whole different room, could accommodate twenty people for the holidays.
She sat there, her eyes dry from the spent tears and dead inside. A cigarette sat between her fingers, the burning tip dangerously close to her nails. A small pile of ash was underneath her hand, like she’d sat still for minutes and hadn’t noticed the cigarette slowly burning away.
I never saw my mother when she didn’t look her best. She didn’t leave her bedroom unless she was presentable for the day, in her designer clothes and pumps, with her hair and makeup done like she had somewhere to be, even though she usually stayed home all day. It was the first time she’d broken that tradition, her makeup washed away in the flood of tears, her hair knotted like she’d fisted it and tried to yank it out of her scalp. Even at her calmest, she looked deranged.
Godric approached the table first, and even though my mother must have known he was there, she acted like she didn’t. The burn of the cigarette continued to inch closer to her exposed skin. “Mother.”
She didn’t even blink.
He gently took the cigarette from between her fingers and put it out in the ashtray.
She didn’t seem to notice.
Godric pulled out the chair to her right and took a seat.
No reaction.
I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
Her eyes shifted to me, like she hadn’t expected another person, and once the flash of recognition came over her face, her eyes softened into the deepest look of emotion. New tears appeared on the surface of her eyes, my mother’s love for me breaking through the mask of sorrow.
I’d turned my back on her the way I had with the rest of my family, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. I just wanted a clean slate, to have no association with the Dupont family at all. But in that moment, I felt like shit about it because it was obvious she truly loved me. My father had viewed Godric and me as pack mules—but not her.
She reached her hand across the table and grabbed mine. “My baby…” She squeezed my hand with both of hers as her bottom lip trembled. She did her best to defeat her emotions and remain strong in a room full of armed guards, but the sight of my face made her succumb to tears.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Sorry that my father was dead. Sorry that I hadn’t called.
“I never thought I would be happy again, and then you walked in.” She continued to squeeze my hand as she looked at me, her blue eyes identical to mine. Godric was my father’s son, but I was my mother’s son.
After moments of silence, she finally let me go. She took a breath, let it out slowly, and then cleared her throat. “We’ll find out who did this—and we’ll make them pay.”
I didn’t know the details of his death. I assumed their identity was already known.