Page 47 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

E ven though it’s only been two months since Shae and I became official, when I leave the bubble we live in when it’s just us, the world simply fucking sucks.

Like juggling the balls of a homeless man on my tongue type of sucks.

But nothing sucks more than sitting in a meeting with my father and my uncle in the middle of the most frigid February on record—and not just because of the lake effect.

“What’s this about?” I grumble as we settle in at the table in the middle of the country club. It took them a while to find one that would not just tolerate them but treat them with a level of respect that’s due to them—especially considering how they’ve become titans in the industry.

Or, more accurately, my father has become a titan in the industry. Lakeland’s always just been along for the ride.

I guess it’s not a meeting in the truest sense, more like brunch on a Sunday with my mom and dad, my uncle, and for some reason, Bambi and her mother.

At least Lucielle seems sober at the moment, and there’s a lack of alcohol for anyone at the table.

I take a drink from my water goblet.

“Well, now that everyone has joined us,” my father says with a pointed look in my direction. “Let’s get the major action items out of the way so we can enjoy our meal.”

“Indeed,” Lakeland says, lifting his glass to cosign the statement.

My father seems stronger, almost as if the last time we were face-to-face—at that fucked-up Sunday dinner—never happened. Sitting before me is a Chuck Sandoval who is in control—one who is relaxed and happy and isn’t fearful of the man sitting next to him.

“I’ve gathered us here to move past these disagreements and come together.” Dad looks at me. “As family.” He says the last part while looking at Lucielle and Bambi.

What?

“So first, Storm,” he says, leaning forward and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

He sighs when he looks at me for a few moments, but I refuse to balk at all.

“I know the news of my retirement has given you stress. Still, as my days draw to a close, I want to make sure you are accepting of the next phase in Stratos with Lakeland at the helm.”

Pain radiates up the side of my face, and I force myself to relax my jaw.

Dealing with emergency dental work because I cracked my molars isn’t anything I have time for.

The fact I know Lakeland has plans for Stratos—and for me—has a tension headache forming. I know he’s going to burn the company to the ground.

Now, I won’t let him take me or my father—or Shae—with him.

“I just want you to know, son, this has nothing to do with your abilities or my faith in you. It’s just about…” He seems to be trying to find the right words, and his confident veneer slips a fraction.

Weird. Fucking weird.

“This transition is about timing and opportunity. It’s about protecting the legacy and allowing you the chance to grow.”

There’s an edge of something that sounds like desperation in his voice, and it startles me enough to really assess him.

When did he get those fine wrinkles between his eyebrows and around his mouth?

My dad, who usually is the epitome of Black Excellence from the top of his head to the tips of his feet, looks haggard.

“Storm, my love,” Mom breaks in, sitting directly to my right at the round table. Her attention ping-pongs between me and Dad and back again, her nose going slightly rosy as it does when she’s distressed.

“Life is too short to hold grudges, baby. Can you let this go?” she says, murmuring close to me so the words are for my ears only.

Lakeland hears anyway.

“Yeah, Nephew. There will always be a place for you in Stratos,” he says.

I jerk at that statement and Dad breaks in, “Or you could do whatever it is you want to do. You could go anywhere. New York, LA, London, Tokyo?—”

“Chuck, are you trying to get my baby to leave me?” my mom says, breaking into his spiel with a small squeak. “Isn’t the whole point to keep him here?”

“No,” Dad snaps. “The point is to get his head out of the clouds and back into reality.”

Lakeland clears his throat, and a sense of foreboding has me tensing against his next words.

“Speaking of ‘back to reality,’ this brings us to our next point of business. Now that school is winding down for you, it’s time for you to settle down.”

The statement and abrupt shift lands like a bomb next to the breadbasket.

I blink. Twice. Just to make sure I heard him correctly.

Settle down? What in the ever-loving fuck is he talking about?

I glance at my mother. She’s suddenly very busy buttering her cornbread.

Lucielle De Luca takes one gulp and then another of her ice water.

Bambi’s cheeks are already pink.

God.

“What the hell are you all getting at?” I mutter, experiencing a level of upset so unsettling it almost seems like calm.

“Storm,” Mom says gently. Too gently. “Your father and Lakeland have been talking, and they’ve asked me to speak with you…and Bambi.” She nods toward Lucielle, who sits up straight in her seat and smiles broadly.

“Me…and Bambi? Mom, you already know?—”

“I know,” she rushes to say, cutting me off. “I, um.” She shakes her head. Trying to silently prevent me from talking about Shae?

“You and Bambi have always gotten along. You were playmates. Friends. And it just makes sense?—”

“And it just makes sense from a business perspective for Massimo and me to have a stronger link. Through marriage. And blood.” This comes from Lakeland, and I stare at him, thoroughly dumbfounded by the conversation.

Lucielle swoops in like she’s been waiting in the wings for her cue. “Bambina is smart. Beautiful. Raised well. And our families already know each other—what more could you ask for?”

“Respect for my damn autonomy would be a good start,” I say, snapping out of my fog. After a breath, I say louder, “I didn’t realize I stepped into a live taping of The Bachelor: Nepotism Edition .”

Bambi’s eyes flash hurt, and instantly, I regret the bite in my tone. Bambi doesn’t have anything to do with this.

Probably.

Dad clears his throat like he wants to strangle me with a monogrammed napkin.

“That was unnecessary,” he says, tone clipped.

I take a deep breath and shift in my seat to look directly at Bambi.

“I’m sorry,” I say, quieter now. “That came out wrong. You’re amazing, Bambi. Truly. But I’m not in that place—not with you.”

Bambi swallows hard but nods. “It’s okay, Storm.”

But I can tell it’s not and she’s spinning in a space where she’s composed and wounded all at once.

Everyone goes silent, except for Lakeland, who hums. Against my better judgment, I look at him, and his smile unfurls slow, sharp. Like a knife being drawn.

“Not there…with Bambi . Are you there with someone else?”

Before I can even think of opening my mouth, Dad is out of his chair, clapping a hand on my shoulder to silence me.

“Storm, come with me for a second.”

My jaw tightens. “Now?”

“Now.”

His grip tightens. I nod once and rise, letting him lead me toward the private lounge just off the dining room.

With each step, the impact of the last few weeks begins to pile on, growing exponentially into a ball of anger and frustration and—goddamn it, fear—so by the time the door shuts behind us, I’m in another stratosphere of rage.

But Dad? He seems to be there, too. His whole demeanor shifts, and the CEO mask drops.

“What the fuck are you doing, Storm?”

I cross my arms. “What are you doing? Marrying me off like we’re in The Godfather ?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re about to fuck everything up, Storm.”

“With whom? You mean Lakeland?” I snap. “You mean the Feds? Oh wait, that’s been ‘handled.’”

His head snaps toward me, his eyes stormy and panic causes those new wrinkles to appear deeper.

“What does Lakeland have on you, Dad? What have you gotten yourself into? Tell me. Let me fucking help!”

Dad shakes his head so sharply I fear he might snap a tendon in his neck.

“Help? I don’t want your fucking help!” he rages.

“Dad,” I start, but he cuts me off with a quick slice of his palm in the air.

“No,” he grinds out. Final.

I gape at him, unbelieving that he’s just rolling over and playing dead.

“Then why not fight them? Why not fight him ?” I ask, voice low. “Why give him Stratos? Why let him fuck you?”

Dad laughs.

Loud. Harsh. A little cracked around the edges.

“Because, Storm, I wasn’t letting him fuck me as you so crudely put it. I was trying to protect you. You and your mother. You think this is about stocks and press releases? You think Lakeland plays by the same rules as the rest of us?”

The air gets tighter.

“I know he doesn’t,” I grind out.

“If you know, you know what he’s capable of, you know what depraved shit he’s gotten into.”

“Oh, are you talking about your parties on that billionaire island in the Caribbean?”

My father’s face seems to lose all color.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, son.”

“Oh,” I say with a humorless laugh. “Nah, I think I do, Pops. I know everything you’ve been up to. Trying to protect Mom, huh? It sure didn’t look that way when you had that chick face-first in your lap.”

The pain in my face surprises me, but not more than the fact my father just punched me in the mouth.

“Storm,” he grates out, taking a step away from me and putting his hands to his head. He looks bewildered and distressed and dismayed at what he just did, but at this point, I couldn’t give a fuck.

I lick my lip in a slow move, letting the tang of blood set my mood.

“Storm, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. For everything.”

He shakes his head, and for once, the strong, unstoppable man I’ve known my whole life seems…broken.

“Fuck you.” My voice is near a whisper, choked off with my rage.

This man is my father. I will not harm him. I don’t want to harm him.

Even if he’s fucking hurting me.

He takes a step closer with caution, as if approaching a wild lion.

“There will be a time when I won’t be here to protect you, Storm. There may not even be time for me to right all the wrongs.”