Page 24

And part of me thinks Aurelia deserved it; she’s the reason my brother is dead.

Isn’t she?

The thought slithers through the cracks of my certainty, slimy and persistent.

Gregory Whitman slides a folder across the table toward me, interrupting my spiral. “The projections for the new casino,” he explains, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

I take the folder without opening it. Another decision to make. The weight of it crushes against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Your father would’ve seen the potential immediately,” Gregory adds, his voice edged with challenge. Testing me. They’re all testing me. Even after I showed them why I should be feared .

This struggle against them is endless.

My jaw clenches, the muscle there jumping beneath skin that’s still healing from the beating I took at The Den. “My father isn’t here,” I snap. “I’ll review this and decide what’s best.”

“Very well,” Gregory replies, leaning back in his chair.

Lorenzo watches this exchange with quiet interest, his fingers drumming against the tabletop. There’s something about this guy—something in the way he studies everyone and doesn’t seem to have the same intimidation of me—that sets me on edge.

I groan. I can’t take any more of this shit tonight. “We’re done.”

“But—” someone starts to say.

“I said we’re done!”

I hear a few grumbles but everyone stands and starts to gather their things.

Lorenzo lingers as the others file out, his movements unhurried as he collects his papers. There’s something deliberate in the way he stays behind, something calculated in his casual posture.

“A word, Julian?” he asks, his Italian accent thickening the syllables of my name.

I lean back in my chair, keeping my face carefully blank. “Make it quick.”

He approaches, hands sliding into his pockets. “I couldn’t help but notice Aurelia at the Harvest festival,” he says, and something hot and volatile ignites in my chest at the way her name sounds in his mouth. “She seemed… unwell. ”

“She’s fine,” I reply. “And why the fuck would it be your business?”

He remains collected. “It’s not. I just wonder…

” He glances at a plant in the corner. “Well, perhaps she needs fresh air. A change of scenery.” His eyes meet mine again, and the meaning behind them is unmistakable.

“I have a property just outside the city. Private. Secluded. We might be able to come to some agreement?—”

“I’m not interested.” The response snaps out, sharp as a whip.

“Of course.” He nods. “Just an offer. I understand how… distracting such situations can be when trying to lead. Just thought I might take some burden off.”

The implication slithers beneath my skin—that Aurelia is a distraction, that I’m too weak to handle her and the Consortium simultaneously, that he’s offering to take her off my hands like she’s nothing more than a problematic asset to be transferred.

Like she’s a thing to be passed around.

Like she means nothing to me.

“Get out,” I say, my voice deceptively soft, hiding the rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

Lorenzo inclines his head, unbothered by my dismissal. “As you wish.” He turns to leave, pausing at the door to add, “The offer stands, should you reconsider.”

The door closes behind him, and the room is now empty except for me. I’m left with the distinct impression of being circled by a predator who’s found a weakness in my defenses .

And it’s very clear now: Lorenzo wants her. But most men do. She’s the Golden One.

Valentine, who was standing guard outside, enters the room. His expression shifts when he sees mine. “Problem?”

“No.”

He nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I do.” I point at the seat that was empty the entire meeting. “Who bailed tonight?”

“I’ll check.” He swipes through his tablet for a moment. “Lucas Carter. Said he was out of town. Some emergency at his Las Vegas operation.”

“Convenient timing.”

Valentine’s eyes narrow slightly. “It’s disrespectful. Missing your first official meeting as leader.”

“Almost like he doesn’t recognize my authority,” I observe, watching Valentine’s reaction carefully. “Or like he has something to hide.”

Valentine looks unmoved. “Possibly. But is it worth your time to deal with him now?”

“I’ll decide that,” I tell him. Fuck, he’s always trying to micromanage. If he wasn’t Aurelia’s stepfather, and if Mom didn’t insist that we need him around, I’d fire him in a heartbeat.

Or kill him.

“Get out,” I add, and the fucker leaves me alone.

As the door closes behind him, I sink lower in my chair, so low my head is level with the top of the backrest.

I hate this. I hate leadership. I hate these fucking privileged families around me.

Hate that my father built this life for himself and then forced me and Adrian into it.

Neither of us chose this shit, we were only forced to take the mantle of our father’s dreams. A father neither of us truly loved.

If I could’ve been doing something else tonight… I’d be with Aurelia. I said it to her as a threat at the festival, but I really do need to be buried deep inside her. Even if she hates me, she wants me to fuck her raw.

I can see that truth in her eyes.

Sighing, I pull out my phone, checking the security feed from Aurelia’s room.

She’s curled on her side, hair spilling across Adrian’s pillow like liquid fire, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep.

She’s been like that all day—not moving, just drifting in and out of consciousness like she’s trying to escape her reality.

Something about the stillness unsettles me.

Aurelia’s prone to explosive outbursts, to fits of rage that burn everything in their path.

This quiet feels… wrong. Like the calm before a storm that will level everything in its wake.

Is she plotting? Or have I finally broken her?

She could at least show some gratitude that I let her out of that room.

I expected some kind of ‘thanks’ for the freedom, even if it was temporary.

After all, I didn’t need to let her out.

My mother certainly didn’t want me to—had practically hissed with rage when I suggested it.

But I’m the leader now, and I make the decisions.

Not her. Not Valentine. Not the ghosts of my past.

But all Aurelia did was hate me more.

After speaking to her friend, she ran straight to Valentine.

My mother warned me not to let them speak, but even if Aurelia and her stepfather are plotting something, Valentine can’t do shit.

Not when everyone is finally listening to me, finally respecting the name I carry. He’s too smart to make a move yet.

But I didn’t expect that man. Skinny, anxious-looking fucker, pale as a ghost and fidgeting like he was about to crawl out of his own skin. I barely caught the exchange—Aurelia speaking with him near the food tables, his trembling hands offering her something.

She tried to hide it, but I caught a glimpse.

A feather. A fucking black feather.

I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with Valentine about a month ago, just before Aurelia killed Victoria.

Valentine had told me Lucian suspected that the same person who killed DeMarco also killed Whitman.

Though Aurelia really killed those two idiots, my father saw footage of the restaurant where Whitman ate his last meal.

There was a strange figure in a hoodie. After Aurelia killed Whitman in the bathroom—Valentine scrubbed all evidence of her from the video footage—the strange figure went into the bathroom to leave a black feather on Whitman’s chest.

There was a black feather on Theodore’s chest too. The detail had been nagging at the edges of my consciousness for weeks, but I’d buried it beneath the demands of the Consortium and dealing with Aurelia.

But now—Christ—it all came back to me at the festival and has been churning in my head ever since. I know I need to do something about this.

Who was that man? Was he working with Aurelia ?

Or—and I hate that this thought even forms—what if he acted alone?

I’ve tried finding information on him. Nothing. He’s not part of the Consortium, not connected to any of our operations. Which means he’s working through someone. Aurelia? Some third party I haven’t even considered?

I’ve been chewing on these thoughts, letting them rot my insides.

When I imprisoned Aurelia, I acted on pure instinct—raw emotion—exactly what Lucian would have done.

I see that, and the thought turns my stomach.

Becoming him is the one thing I promised myself I’d never do, and yet here I am, locking up a woman because my rage needed somewhere to go.

I locked her up without proof, and it’s possible that she didn’t kill Theodore. That she was telling the truth about that at least.

Adrian would’ve been methodical. Patient. He would’ve gathered concrete evidence before making accusations—I know because I watched him do it a hundred times while Lucian raged and demanded immediate action.

“You’ll get us both killed with your impulsiveness,” Adrian once told me, his voice low as he stitched a gash over my eye after one of Lucian’s fits. “Always investigate before you act. Always.”

Now he’s gone, and the only compass I have left is the memory of his methodical mind.

If Aurelia didn’t kill Theodore— if —I need to find that evidence. And if she did, I need to know that too. But I can’t act rashly again—not like Lucian. Not like the monster who beat my mother until she bled, then blamed her for making him angry.

I don’t want to be like him. I’d much rather be more like Adrian.

My eyes drift to the empty chair where Lucas Carter should’ve been. I don’t care if he had an “emergency.” He should’ve been here. I’m sure everyone in the Consortium has pressing shit to deal with, but family leaders still came tonight. They showed respect. Lucas didn’t.

I dial Valentine, preferring not to see his face again. He answers and then waits.

“Tell me more about Carter,” I say.

Like he was already prepared, Valentine fills me in.

Carter was one of Lucian’s closest associates, handling casino operations in Nevada. They seemed to get along pretty well and Carter did everything my father asked. In exchange, Lucian gave him extra benefits—vacations, women, even bought him a nice house for his wife and kids.

I hang up on Valentine once I have enough information.

The fact that Carter missed this meeting registers as a glowing red flag in my mind. He has a reason for wanting revenge against Theodore for killing Lucian. And Carter was at the funeral reception, so he saw how I acted when I thought Aurelia was the murderer.

It’s possible he was scared of being found out and afraid of the consequences—either from me or from the Marlowe’s.

It’s suspicious enough to look into, which is exactly what Adrian would’ve done .

“Don’t assume. Don’t act emotionally. Gather facts first.”

So how would he handle this? He wouldn’t storm into Carter’s home demanding answers.

He wouldn’t show his hand so easily. No, he’d gather information discreetly.

Maybe interview Carter’s wife first—that brittle blonde with the surgical smile.

Or one of Carter’s many mistresses, the ones he parades around when his wife is visiting her parents in Palm Springs.

That’s what Adrian would do. That’s what I’ll do.