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Pace snorts. “Modest, too.”

Odette steps up to him, her eyes locking on Wicker’s nervous gaze. Ultimately, she smiles. “You’re much more than that. A ferocious heart, I bet. The mask you wear is all Kayes.”

His face goes slack. “You can see that in my eyes?”

“Just as clearly as I can see the shadow of your father, Benji.”

Wicker jolts in surprise. “You knew my father?”

“A little.” Odette takes his hand, urging him, “And you can let that shadow go. Whoever killed him did you a favor, and this,” she stresses, “is coming from someone who knew Rufus Ashby.”

Wicker absorbs this with a stunned expression. She’s barely known him for a full minute, and just like that, she’s gotten right to the heart of him. How many years did he spend wondering if life as Benji’s son would have saved him from all that hurt?

In one sentence, Odette Delisle completely obliterated a million what-ifs.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

Pace gives his brother’s arm a squeeze before turning to meet my gaze. “And this?—”

“I know who this is.” Odette approaches me with an eager grin. “This is your Princess. She saved you. And even though she doesn’t know it, she saved me, too.” My throat tightens as she pulls me into a loose hug, careful of Justice, still in my arms. Through a thick voice, she whispers in my ear, “Thank you for loving my son.”

It takes me a couple swallows to make my own voice work. “Thank you for creating him.” When she pulls back, her eyes dip down to the bundle in my arms. “This is Justice,” I say, turning to show her. “Justice James Sinclaire. Your grandson.”

“Oh, my word.” Her hand flutters over her awestruck smile. “Pace, he’s beautiful.”

“Do you want to hold him?” I ask, lifting my arms.

Handing him over doesn’t feel like I’m giving away a piece of my heart, just adding another layer of people who love and protect him. I step back, letting Pace and his mother fuss over Justice.

Eventually, she looks up, addressing Pauly. “Have you met him yet?”

Pauly reaches up to rub his neck. “It’s a long story that’s about fifty percent firearms and profanities, but I basically watched him be born.”

I toss Pauly a dry smile. “Fifty percent is generous.”

He lifts a hand, waving it back and forth. “Seventy-eighty.”

Odette’s eyes flare to life. “Long or not, that’s a story I want to hear.” She looks down at Justice, her gaze growing wistful. “I have a quiet life now. Bare, because it’s had to be. But I’d like to visit Forsyth again, I think.” She glances at Mama and Pauly. “See how much our children are changing it for the better.”

Later, when all of us are sitting around the table, the elders trade stories as my Princes and I laugh along, struggling to think of our parents once having been as young as us. Driving fast cars down the Avenue, causing trouble at Friday Night Fury, traversing territories like bandits. We drink it in, never having heard these stories before.

The good stories.

“I didn’t steal the birthday cake,” Mama insists, pointing at Pauly. “I stole the booze, and those fuckers had it coming.”

“Mama!” I chide, covering Justice’s ears.

“He’s asleep.” She gestures to him, conked out, draped over Lex’s shoulder. “Anyway, we stole these freshmen’s booze?—”

Pauly pointedly adds, “And their birthday cake.”

She flaps a hand, bangles jangling. “And the Psi Nus declared all-out war.”

Adeline gasps, setting down her tea. “Oh, gosh, I remember that weekend! You’ve never seen so many pouting boys in your life.”

Odette releases a melodic laugh. “Even Miranda was on the warpath. No one,” she stresses, “steals cake from a Princess’ frat boys. Didn’t she put sugar in your gas tank?”

Pauly groans, head dropping back in misery. “My Pontiac. It took me years before I could get that thing up and running down the Avenue again.”