Page 48 of Royal Beast (Royals of the Underworld #1)

KELLAN

I t’s been almost a week since Max passed, and everything still feels too quiet. The tension between the Russians and our side has been surprisingly calm lately. I’m cautiously optimistic, but Rory’s not buying it. He keeps saying it’s just the calm before the storm.

I glance over at Darcy. She’s doing her best to hold it together, but I can see the sadness in her eyes.

Rose is withdrawn, barely speaking, barely playing.

It’s tough to watch, but I know they’re both hurting, and as much as I want to help, all I can do is be here for them, keep them close, and wait for the pain to ease.

The day of Max’s funeral dawns, gray and drizzly outside. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone. We get dressed in silence and head to the funeral home.

Darcy steps up to the podium, her heels clicking softly on the floor, and I watch her shoulders tense. She clears her throat before speaking, her voice quiet but steady.

“Max was never a perfect man,” she begins, her words hesitant but firm. “But no one is. He had his flaws, his weaknesses, just like the rest of us. And he made mistakes, plenty of them. But despite all that, he was still my father. And I loved him.”

Her eyes flicker toward Rose, who’s standing by her side, holding the small bouquet of flowers that Darcy picked out for the service.

I see the sadness in Darcy’s eyes, the way she’s fighting to keep herself together, but there’s something more there—something soft, a tenderness she’s trying to hide.

“The thing about Max,” she continues, her voice catching slightly, “was that he loved in his own way. And no matter how much he messed up, he cared. He did. Maybe not always the way we wanted him to, but it was there. I can’t deny that.”

I watch her swallow hard, taking a moment to collect herself.

There’s no bitterness in her voice, only a resigned acceptance.

She’s grieving, but also coming to terms with the fact that Max, for all his faults, was still her father.

And that complicated love is something she’ll carry with her, even if she never got to say the things she wished she could’ve.

“Rose,” Darcy says, her gaze falling to the little girl seated next to me, “This is your grandfather. This was Max. He wasn’t always easy to understand, and I know I didn’t always have the answers, but he was part of your story. And I hope one day, you’ll understand that, too.”

I can’t help but admire her strength. She’s standing there, so composed, even though I know she’s falling apart inside. “Goodbye, Dad,” she says, finishing her eulogy and stepping back, leaving the podium behind.

I reach for her, offering a hand, and she takes it without hesitation, her fingers cold and trembling.

I pull her close, my arm wrapping around her shoulders, and I feel the weight of the moment settle between us.

Darcy needs me right now. Rose needs me.

I may not have been Max’s biggest fan, but I’m here for them.

I’ll always be here for both of them, no matter what.

After the service, as we head toward the car for the burial, one of Max’s old gambling buddies approaches us to pay his condolences.

We chat for a moment, and he chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

“That was my guy. Max, always thinking ahead, huh? Can’t believe he put all that money aside for his granddaughter. ”

Darcy and I exchange a confused glance. “What money?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

He blinks. “The big win?” he offers.

When he sees the look of confusion on our faces, he clarifies. “Max had one last good bet—cleaned up enough to pay off all his debts and then some.”

We both stare at him, processing the news.

“He didn’t keep it for himself?” Darcy asks quietly.

The man shrugs with a grin. “Nah. Said Rose needed it more than he ever would. Put it all in a fund for her college.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”

I squeeze her hand, giving her a reassuring smile, though I’m just as shocked. “I don’t think any of us did.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice small, “But I’m glad to know he cared, Kellan.”

There’s a long pause, and I can see how much this revelation is affecting her. Max had been a complicated man—often cruel, often selfish—but in his final moments, he chose to do something right and protect the future of the daughter he’d failed so many times.

“I think he did too,” I agree quietly. “He showed it in his own way.”

We stand there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say next. I’ve always said Max was a piece of work, but I never imagined that in the end, he’d make one last, meaningful gesture. It doesn’t erase the years of damage he caused, but it’s something. And right now, that’s enough.

The two of us gaze at each other, processing the information. It seems like maybe there was more to Max than we could ever know, more sides to him than I’d ever expected. Despite his selfishness in life, he put his family first for once. Maybe he wasn’t entirely beyond redemption.

We make our way to the burial site, the air heavy with quiet reverence. The crowd has thinned, leaving just the family and a few close friends to say their final goodbyes. Max’s casket, simple and unadorned, sits in front of us.

Rose approaches the casket, a single, long-stemmed rose clutched in her small hand.

The sight of it stirs something in my chest, the connection between her and her grandfather stronger than I realized.

She takes a deep breath, staring at the casket for a long moment as if gathering the courage for her goodbye.

Then, with tentative steps, she moves forward and gently places the rose on top of the casket. The flower, her namesake, sits there, and she presses a kiss to her hand and places it against the wood of the casket.

Darcy kneels beside her, her hand resting on Rose’s shoulder as they both watch the casket being lowered into the ground. The sound of the ropes moving, the heavy thud of the earth against the casket, fills the air. Rose flinches but doesn’t look away.

Once it’s finally lowered, Rose remains there for a moment longer, her eyes fixed on the spot where Max now lies. Darcy whispers something to her, and after a beat, Rose nods slowly, her grief settled into a quiet understanding.

After the burial, we head to the pub for the wake.

The solemnity of the day starts to fade as we step inside, greeted by the warmth of the familiar, bustling atmosphere.

The sounds of quiet laughter and clinking glasses mix with soft conversations.

It’s a far cry from the stillness of the cemetery, but it’s the way Max would have wanted it, his life celebrated with a pint in hand, not with sorrow.

I stand by Darcy’s side, my hand resting on her back as we make our way through the crowd.

Rose is quieter than usual, still holding onto Darcy’s hand, her small face serious but calm.

Everyone greets us with a nod, offering condolences and stories of Max, but they quickly shift to memories of good times.

It’s not the kind of celebration I had imagined when we first learned Max was dying, but I can’t help but feel grateful for this moment. The sense of closure feels real here.

The bar is lined with drinks, some of Max’s old friends holding court, telling their tales of the man they knew—a wild, reckless man, but always with a kind word for those who needed it.

As I listen to the stories, I feel a tug of something bittersweet.

Max wasn’t perfect, but he was Darcy’s father.

And even though I spent so many years resenting him, I’m starting to see the man he really was, flaws and all.

I glance down at Rose, who looks up at me, her eyes wide as she watches the adults talk and laugh.

She’s not quite part of this world yet, too young to understand it all, but she knows enough to stay close to her mom.

I give her a reassuring smile, and she reaches out, slipping her little hand in mine.

I feel Darcy’s hand slip into my other, the contact grounding me. She’s worn out, I can tell, but there’s a softness in her eyes that makes my chest tighten. She’s been through so much, and I can see the weight of today pressing on her, but she’s here. She’s still here, standing beside me.

As the evening continues, I start to feel a strange kind of peace settle over me. The tension that’s been hanging over us for weeks begins to lift, bit by bit, as the laughter around us fills the air, the stories of Max continuing to circulate.

“One time, he stayed with me as I went on a two-day gambling binge,” someone shares, chuckling at the memory. “He didn’t put any money in the pot himself, but he lent me a few hundred bucks and never asked for the money back.”

Someone else chimes in with another memory, and I smile, enjoying the camaraderie.

Darcy and I sit at a table together, Rose curled up on my lap. It’s probably time to head home soon since Rose is all tuckered out from the long day, but I can sense that Darcy has something on her mind, something she wants to tell me.

But I don’t want to push her. I need to let her open up on her own. Whatever she has to say, I’m here when she’s ready to tell me.

Her gaze follows Liam, who is talking to someone in the corner in a low voice. I follow her gaze and frown. The woman seems familiar, but I can’t place her. She’s too far away and half-hidden in the shadows. They seem to be arguing, and I watch as she turns on her heel and walks away.

Darcy clears her throat, bringing me back to the present. I turn and face her, and she reaches out, taking my hand in hers. “I have some news,” she says, her voice soft.

“Oh?”

She nods. “I’ve been talking to Miranda. I think I’m finally ready to publish my first story.”

My jaw drops and I squeeze her hand, brimming with pride. “That’s great, I’m so proud of you. And your father would be too.”

She smiles shyly and glances at Rose, who is fast asleep and clinging to me.

“We should probably take her home,” she says.

I nod. “Let’s go home,” I say, scooping our daughter up. Darcy takes my hand, and the three of us leave, closing the chapter on this bittersweet day.