Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-Five

ZANE

As I predicted, Marion isn't there when we walk in. The remnants of our conversation are gone too. The shards from the glass she threw at me have been swept away. The knickknacks returned to their places. The divorce papers probably hidden somewhere in the house.

There's a feast spread on the table, untouched. Dad's bodyguards lead us past the dining room to the sitting area.

That doesn't surprise me. I've actually never seen dad eat Marion's food.

"Wait here," Dutch tells Cadence when we stop in front of the doors to the sitting room.

She nods.

He gives her a quick kiss and then trails me and Finn into the room.

Dad is sitting in the dark with only a lamp throwing light in front of him. One leg is balanced over the other and a few files are scattered at his feet. A small pair of glasses are slipping down the edge of his nose as he turns a page.

He's clearly had a wardrobe overhaul, trading in his rocker jackets, spiky bracelets and torn jeans for a ‘president of a tech company' vibe. With the black turtleneck covering his ink and those sharp grey pants, he looks like a harmless academic except for the tattoos creeping out of his sleeves and onto his knuckles.

Wolves in sheep's clothing are great at disguising themselves, but there's always a hint of fur, a glint of a canine—something that can't fit into the costume.

I send a cursory glance Finn's way, just in case. But my brother seems unfazed as he walks into the room.

"You're late," dad says, snapping a binder closed. His eyes sweep past me and Dutch to land on Finn. There's no spark of surprise at the sight of him.

"Sit. There's a lot to discuss." Dad gestures to the chairs.

No one moves.

I fold my arms over my chest.

Dutch stubbornly remains in place.

Finn leans against the wall, putting himself far away from dad.

"Fine. Stand if you want." Dad gestures to a whiskey bottle. "Care for a drink?"

"Cut the crap, dad," I speak up. "The only reason I showed up tonight is because I need to clarify something."

Dad arches a brow.

My voice is a quiet threat. "You can play your mind games. You can use us like pawns. You can even parade us around for your stupid campaign." I stab a finger at Finn. "But don't you ever come after Finn again."

Dad blinks slowly.

"And since we're all here, let me make one thing freaking clear. Finn is more of a brother to me than you are a father to us. Don't bank on us making a choice between you or him. Because it won't be you."

Dad's lips curl up in amusement. "Still so reckless. When will you learn to observe what's going on before you open that mouth? Did I teach you nothing?" He tilts his head, leveling me a look. "Although, I will commend you for proving me wrong. Not once did I think you could convince Grace to marry you." He rises slowly and looks me over, his gaze stopping pointedly at my pants. "Perhaps I underestimated your particular skill set."

My wedding ring is on the hand beneath my sling, and I stroke the finger it adorns.

For a long second, I stay quiet.

Dad surveys me curiously. He expected me to lash out. Why wouldn't he? I wasn't good for much else outside of screwing around, drinking and playing drums. My life was aimless before Grey. It didn't matter to me if I died. Hell, I chased death because I had nothing to live for.

Now, I die a million times in my head.

But in each of those visions, I die so Grey can live.

"You're right," I say calmly.

Dad twitches in surprise.

"My wife is waiting for me, so let's hurry this along."

Dad fixes his expression into the look of disdain I know so well. "Idiot."

The word bounces off my shoulder.

"You never should have gotten involved with Grace Jamieson. She's a ticking time bomb. She'll destroy all of you."

"And yet we're still here," I answer.

"You think you're smart. You think you won? " Dad chuckles darkly and turns to the whiskey on the table. He pours himself a glass. "I warned you. I warned you all . You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"We've heard this before." I stick my finger in my ear, dusting it out.

Dutch growls. "If that's all you want to say, we're leaving."

"Before you go," dad's voice is oily, creeping along to our ears like a demon from hell, "come say ‘hi' to Slavno's grandmother."

We all whirl around at the same time.

Dad spins his laptop and reveals a video. It looks like a live recording of the woman from the nursing home. She's sitting in a rocking chair on a front porch in the country side.

The tension in the air is a raw live-wire.

Dad takes a sip of his drink. "Slavno, that sneaky little bastard. When it came to his grandmother, he was a soft touch."

"What do you plan to do with her?" Dutch asks out-right.

"Me? Why would you ask that? I'm not God. I don't decide who lives or dies." He shakes his head. "Now, if you're curious about her health, well, I can say it's been quite rocky. A woman her age… you know… these things happen."

My heart is slamming against my ribs.

If dad knows about Slavno's grandmother, that means he knows about the evidence Slavno promised us in exchange for her safety.

He knows we have that evidence.

I look at dad with dark premonition. There's a bad feeling swirling in my gut, sloshing around the way dad is playing with the whiskey in his hands.

"You boys have no idea how close you've come to death. So many times, I watched you make a fool of yourselves. Like little ants scrambling around to find a new home after your hill's been crushed." He sinks back into his chair. "I kept my distance. I thought it was for the best. If you weren't picking a fight with me, maybe you'd lie low. Allow me to enter this new stage of my life in peace. But no." Dad tosses his head. "Even still, you kept pushing. So I let you have your way."

"What do you mean?" I demand.

Dad's eyes bore into mine. "Who do you think told the warden to allow you into the prison?"

I inhale a sharp breath.

"And Sylvia, of course. You met Sylvia, right, Finn?"

My brother stiffens.

"Who the hell is Sylvia?" Dutch asks the room.

I wrack my brain and then it hits me. "The cleaning lady at the prison."

"That's right. Very hard working woman." Still holding the cup, dad points a finger at me, "Do you know she works two jobs? When her granddaughter's sleeping, she cleans the prison. In the morning, she drives an Uber. At that age. Can you imagine?"

My eyes sharpen. All this time, I thought I'd been working independently. I thought I made things happen on my own.

But once again, dad was pulling the strings. Without raising his voice, without spilling his evil plan, dad is calmly, methodically, proving who has the most power in this room.

"Mm." Dad stops mid-drink and his gaze sticks on Dutch. "I heard Cadence isn't pregnant yet. Is something wrong, Dutch? Maybe you should get that checked out. Or is there something wrong with her? Infertility is nothing to be ashamed of. Many women suffer from?—"

Dutch roars and lunges forward.

I slam my hand into his chest, stopping him the way he's stopped me so many times before.

"We can't beat him this way. You taught me that," I whisper.

My twin's nostrils flare, amber eyes turning to a twisted black. He shoves me off and points a finger at dad.

"Keep my wife's name out of your mouth," Dutch snarls out.

Dad chuckles gleefully.

Damn, he's enjoying this.

Watching us unravel.

Watching us writhe and moan in pain.

His eyes shift to Finn next. From the corner of my eyes, I see Finn's shoulders snap up, his back making one, rigid line.

"You came," dad hisses. "I'll take it you're ready for the truth now?"

Finn curls his fingers into fists, staring dad down like he wants to tackle him.

I step in front of my brother. "How about we start with this truth? What exactly was your role in The Grateful Project?"

The look dad gives me is so piercing it's like he threw a knife straight at my face.

"Who is behind The Grateful Project?" I press.

His eyes snap to Finn's again before he stares into the distance. "Someone who wouldn't lose sleep killing me and my entire family. He's that kind of man, do you understand? You'd be dead before you knew the knife was coming."

"The mafia then?" I ask, clarifying. Because what else would dad be wary of when he has so much power? "We're dealing with the mafia?"

"Finn," dad taunts. "Are we?"

I see red.

"Don't talk to him. Talk to me." I stalk forward angrily. "Enough with the games, dad. We have the evidence. We can just hand it over to the police and find out that way."

"It'll cost you your lives," dad says gravely. "The lives of everyone you care about."

"You're bluffing," Dutch grunts.

Dad steps back and, for the first time, I see the mask of confidence falter. "My entire life, I've sought only one thing, and now I'm about to reach the pinnacle of my success." His nostrils flare as he exhales. "Everything I've been working towards, everything I desire is on the other side of that door." He points in Finn's direction. Slowly, he drops his fingers and turns away. "But it's not worth it."

My breath skitters in my lungs.

My brothers and I stand together, our bodies tense as if we're waiting for a fight but we don't know which direction it'll come from.

"Do you hear me?" Dad lifts his voice. "I would rather not be governor than let that evidence get out!"

Unease pushes beneath my skin. It pokes and pries, wresting open the niggling suspicions I've long buried in my mind.

Dad stands with his back to us, trembling fingers reaching for the whiskey.

I look at him, feeling like I'm crossing into a new world.

My father is the man I revered as a child. Resented as a teenager. Loathed as I became an adult.

He has been many things to me and my brothers. A terror. A nightmare. A god.

But he's never been afraid.

"Destroy that evidence if you want to live," dad adds. "If you don't, well… the next time I see you, it'll be in hell."

He drains his glass, sets the whiskey down firmly and walks out of the room.

In the silence, I look at Finn and then at Dutch.

We just saw the impossible happen. Jarod Cross gave up the one thing he loves most in the world—power.

And the thing that brought him to his knees is, at this very moment, in the hands of my precious wife.