Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
She turned her gaze on Godric. “You’re the head of the family now. You’re in charge of the business. I want you to find the motherfucker who took your father from me and bring him to me—so I can shoot him in the goddamn face.”
Now I knew why my father had married her.
Godric nodded. “Yes, Mother.”
She turned to me. “And you will help him, Bastien. You’ll watch his back as good as he watches his front. Whoever thought they could hit the Dupont family without consequence was sorely mistaken.”
I didn’t move an inch, but I felt my body slowly drift away. “I’m sorry that Father is gone, and I hope you find the revenge that you seek. But my stance on the family business hasn’t changed. I want no part of it, and no amount of guilt or threat will change that fact. I loved Father in my own complicated, fucked-up way, but I despised what he did.”
Godric sat with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes on the table.
My mother stared with her steel-like gaze, clearly unhappy with that answer but maintaining her silence. Father was impulsive with his anger, but Mother was patient. “Godric, give us the room.”
Godric rose from the chair. “I have work to do anyway.” He left the table, walked toward the armed men, and gestured for them to follow him into the dining room so they could get to work.
Now it was silent, the uncomfortable kind of silent.
“Bastien—”
“Don’t waste your time.” I didn’t raise my voice, not to my mother, but I wanted to. I wanted to shout from the rooftops. No amount of persuasion would change my mind. I thought of that missing girl often, the one shot dead in the snow by my brother’s hand. I’d found her name and sent her parents some money anonymously…along with a note saying she was dead. It was cruel, but it was crueler for them to wake up every morning wondering whether she was dead or alive, if she suffered, clinging to a hope that she would ever come back.
“I accept your decision—and I respect it.”
My body had tensed in preparation for a fight, but now it relaxed.
“I feel no disappointment, Bastien. Your father was always a madman. I knew that the moment I met him.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
Her eyes dropped as she considered the question, and then a painful smile came over her face. “Because I liked that he was a madman.” She lifted her eyes again, tears pooled into the corners. “I liked his danger and his wildness. I liked the promise of an extraordinary life rather than an ordinary one. I liked a man who would be a father that would turn my sons into men instead of boys.” Her eyes glazed over as she savored the memories of a time before I was even born. It stayed that way for minutes before her gaze sharpened on my face. “You’re the same, Bastien. With one major difference—your heart. You’ve always cared for others as much as you’ve cared for yourself. Godric was raised in your father’s image—a ruthless authoritarian who cares only for himself and his blood. But to you, we’re all the same blood. I’m proud of Godric because he’s the man we need for this family, but I’m just as proud of you for being greater than this family.” She reached for my hand, and she squeezed it again. “You can choose a different path. We can disagree on many things. But no matter what, you will always be a Dupont. You will always be my son.”
My hand squeezed hers. “Thank you, Mom.”
“I know you and your father had your differences, but he loved you very much.”
“Did he?” Because he didn’t call me once after I left the house. When I refused to be part of the family business, he said I was a disgrace to the Dupont name. He seemed perfectly content to have Godric as his only son. While I loved him in a very unusual way, I wasn’t sad that he was gone.
“Of course.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“He was a stubborn man. You know this.”
“Sounds like an excuse. Because if I were a father, there’s nothing that would stop me from having a relationship with my son. And I sure as fuck wouldn’t ask him to shoot a girl in his class when he was just fifteen years old. At any fucking age. You were right to call him a madman because only a madman would love his sons based solely on their use.”
There was a slight flinch to her eyes, like that assessment offended her.
“Don’t tell me my father loved me when all he felt for me was disappointment and then indifference.” I pulled my hand away from hers, feeling the surge of anger that had burned in my heart for years. “I’m sorry you lost him. Truly, I am. You don’t deserve to suffer like this.”