Page 123 of Unveil

My jaw falls slack.

She chuckles. “Your little outfit’s already white and everything.”

Her eyes scan my black and crimson stained swan costume. “Almost anyway.”

Anger and fear vibrate through me, but before I can scream, run, fight, doanythingat all, the chapel doors slam open, banging against the walls.

Every weapon shifts toward the two men barreling in like they’re ready to set the world aflame. One’s the dangerous King of New Orleans, the Phantom of the French Quarter himself, rage carved into his scarred face. The other, NOLA’s prince, his father’s furious, lethal spitting image.

Despite the knives raised, the guns cocked, and the crossbow aimed, Solomon Bordeaux strides in, staring them all down without flinching. Thunder rumbles, vibrating the walls as he stops in the center and growls.

“What thefuckis going on?”

“Daddy? Nox?” I breathe.

Nox looks murderous, and my dad’s chest heaves like he’s run through fire just to burn everything down behind him. Which, considering his history, wouldn’t be that off-brand.

“Ah, Mr. Bordeaux.” Bossie claps once, her time-worn voice syrupy sweet like a Southern belle at brunch. “Everyone simmer down now.”

All weapons lower a fraction, but the air stays charged, like the chapel holds its breath right along with me.

“So glad you got my invitation, Solomon.”

“You mean this?” Dad lifts bloody stationary between two fingers, his hand slightly trembling. Not from cold or fear. Fromrage.

A pit forms in my stomach as he snarls, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Ruth.”

“Call me Bossie, hon. Everyone does,” she chuckles, but he ignores her.

“You left this on one of my men’s bodies. A manyoukilled.” His hard voice falters. “Aboy. Benoit was like a son to me. And you?—”

He chokes like he’s drowning, and his sorrow drags me under with him. My chest swells, my eyes burn, and I ache to reach for him, Nox, and Orion, to hold on for all of us. But relief and adrenaline have drained me, leaving my body weak. It’s all I can do to keep standing. Collapsing now would break their concentration when it seems they’re already hanging on by a thread.

Because I see it now. I see everything Dad and Nox are trying to bury beneath rage. Red rims their eyes, their jaws twitch from being clenched too long, fists curled around their guns, knuckles blanched. And underneath all of it lies raw, bone-weary grief.

Dad hadn’t reacted much when Orion told him about Benoit, but I think I know why. With my arms literally holding my grief at the time, he must have forced a brave face for me.

And then he had the impossible task of breaking the news to my twin that his best friend is dead. Murdered. I have no doubt Nox has been changed fundamentally, irrevocably, in ways I’ll only understand on the surface.

Now Dad holds the evidence of our heartbreak in his hand, drenched in Benoit’s blood, all because this woman ordered it.

“I am sorry about that,” Bossie says like she’s commenting on the storm that’s opening up outside to drown us all. I want to fling her tiny body out the window and let the elements finish her. “But he stood in the way of my family’s business. And nothing gets in the way of family business. Surely you understand.”

“Familybusiness?” I hiss, my skin hot. “Benoitwasfamily.Ourfamily.”

Dad snarls with me. “And what the hell do the Bordeauxs have to do with Wilde ‘family business’?”

Bossie tuts. “You’ve cursed in my presence for the last time, Mr. Bordeaux. I won’t have that language in a house of God.”

Dad’s nostrils flare, and for a second I swear I see smoke curl out of them. My own breathing sounds loud in my ears as I wait for him to combust.

But then his gaze finds me, dismissing her. He softens and beckons me with one hand.

“Come on,ma luné. We’re getting the fuck?—”

Click.

Every weapon in the room snaps toward him and Nox.