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The Legare cemetery made Michael Willard’s skin crawl.

It was a macabre museum honoring fraud and deceit.

The decaying marble crypt of Louis Legare and his wife crowned the little hill, shaded by a stately oak.

Louis helped to force Joseph Willard out of the university he’d founded and erased his name from the school, changing Universitates Nova Cambridge Willardius to Tupelo Grove University.

Louis’s son, Luc—TGU’s second Legare president—rested next to the crypt beneath a pretentious granite obelisk, chosen to honor his sole scholarly achievement: a minor paper on Egyptian hieroglyphics.

The graves of Luc’s son, Andre, and most of his immediate family clustered just downhill from their forebears.

Andre, Pierre’s father, had started the deep corruption that had cored out the guts of the university.

Below them and to Michael’s left was a plot that could not be filled soon enough.

The space reserved for Pierre Legare.

He was the worst of the family, which was saying a lot.

His death was already long overdue.

Too bad he would be buried next to Marie and Jess.

That spot should belong to Michael, but Legares had been stealing the places of Willards for over a century.

Michael’s gaze moved to the graves of his lover and daughter, both adorned with fresh flowers from Mama’s visit two days ago.

He picked up a lily from Marie’s grave.

“‘The Lilly white shall in Love delight,’”

he recited in a husky voice.

“‘Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.’”

His vision blurred and he dropped the flower.

Marie had taught him to love poetry and so much else—to love life itself.

It had been an unexpected and wonderful lesson for a hard-bitten businessman bent on revenge.

She had lit his life like a meteor burning across a moonless night—and vanishing all too soon.

He focused on Jess’s fresh grave, and tears surged again.

Had he been wrong to pull her into his desire for revenge? Should he have shown his love and pride for her more often?

No, soft parents make soft children.

Willards were as hard and strong as steel, and the finest steel gained its strength and keen edge from the heat of the blacksmith’s fire and the pounding of his hammer.

Michael’s father had raised his children with fire and pounding to make them strong, and it had worked.

Michael did the same thing for the same reason.

Besides, he didn’t know any other way.

Jess had never thanked him—just like he never thanked his father—but she must have understood.

He shook his head as anger dried his eyes and hardened his heart.

The two of them should be celebrating now, toasting each other on a yacht in the Gulf of Mexico.

She deserved so much better than this—and she would have gotten it if not for that over-clever lawyer who married her half sister.

Michael should have killed the guy as soon as he became a problem.

If Hez had died, Jess would still be alive.

So would Tommy and Little Joe.

Michael’s blood pressure ticked higher at the memory of his nephews’ deaths.

They had been good men—strong, tough, and loyal.

Little Joe had even gotten a Punisher tattoo in honor of the uncle he idolized.

Michael’s nickname grew out of his reputation as a crime boss with a ruthless sense of justice and honor.

Little Joe had passed up opportunities in legitimate business to follow in his uncle’s footsteps.

Guilt needled Michael as he remembered that.

Should he have used his influence to set Little Joe on a different path?

He shook off the question.

Little Joe lived and died as a proud Willard.

The Legares bore ultimate responsibility for his death.

The Legares and Hezekiah Webster.

Had Hez known about the bomb in his car? Probably.

He’d spotted almost everything else, so he must have spotted that too.

And he gave Jess his keys.

Cold fury rose in Michael.

Hez used the bomb intended for him to kill Jess.

With her out of the way, he was able to take TGU for himself and his Legare wife.

Michael’s hands balled into fists.

Still, Hez had his uses—for the moment.

The information Michael fed to Hez through Martine had effectively turned the law enforcement focus onto Hornbrook.

That took the heat off Michael and the remaining Willards, which was a relief.

Having a single Willard spy in the Pelican Harbor Police Department was little protection against a multiagency, state-federal task force.

Martine had warned that giving Hez evidence against Hornbrook Finance might hand him enough ammunition to win the battle for TGU.

It seemed she was right.

Michael had fired two shots into Hez’s condo the night before the hearing to disrupt his final preparations and make sure he didn’t get any sleep, but even that hadn’t prevented him from somehow forcing James Hornbrook to completely surrender.

Still, that had been an acceptable loss.

Michael didn’t mind letting TGU survive if he could destroy the Legares.

In fact, having the university intact might make that task easier.

The Legares would keep fluttering around the school like moths around an open flame, ready to be incinerated one by one.

Just last night, they’d all been gathered at that party on the beach.

Michael had noticed it as he drove by and pulled to the side of the road for a look.

Even Pierre had been there.

Michael frowned.

Pierre had been standing near Jess’s boy, Simon.

Was that something to worry about? Michael had spotted at least one reporter at the event, so he pulled out his phone and hunted for coverage.

One of the local news websites had a bunch of pictures—including one of Pierre with his arm around Simon with the caption “Three years after tragic death of his only grandchild, former TGU president Pierre Legare connects with newfound grandson, Simon Legare.”

Michael’s blood boiled.

“That boy is a Willard!”

he hissed through clenched teeth.

He made the mistake of leaving Jess in Pierre’s clutches, but he would not let her son suffer the same fate.

There would be no replacement for Ella Webster.

“He is my grandson!”

He looked toward Ella’s grave and noticed a new statuary grouping.

He walked over for a closer look.

The sculpture was exquisite—and infuriating.

What made them think they could just take Simon? The presumption in that little stone family made him shake with rage.

Jess was barely cold in her grave and they were already stealing her son!

Michael wished he had a sledgehammer and could pound that statue into gravel.

His anger gradually cooled into icy resolve.

He was going to take Simon away and make him into a true Willard.

No one would stop it from happening. No one.

His gaze went to the smallest figure in the sculpture.

What would happen if Hez and the Legares knew the truth about Ella’s fate? How would they react if they knew she had been murdered?