Page 80 of Red

Erik’s hand tightened around Melinda’s arm. A warning to keep her temper down.

“Yes. I knew your father was alive. I shouldn’t have known, but he came to me and Gramps before he left. We knew.” Grams reached out and touched Melinda’s arm with her fingertips. “I swear I didn’t know about the idiotic deal Gramps made. He was a fool, an idiot. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, so I left. I went to find your father to bring him home to help. I didn’t think…we didn’t know Mario Bertucci had been killed.”

Tears lingered in Grams’ eyes, and her bottom lip quivered. To her, this was fresh, a new death. Melinda had already mourned, and, as shocking the last few days were, she had never believed her father alive. Grams faced her son’s death for the first time.

Melinda pulled Grams close and hugged her, letting the bubble burst and sobs rack her. Although this was not a new grief to her, it was a new sort. She’d lost so much without even knowing it. Grams clung to her, crying into Melinda’s coat for the loss of her son, for the betrayal of her husband. Grams had been hurt in all of this betrayal as well. Her only goal had ever been to protect Melinda.

“I’m sorry,” Melinda said, sniffling and pulling away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Grams said with a pointed finger. She wiped the tears from her eyes then grasped Melinda by the shoulders.

“He came back for me.” Melinda’s voice cracked beneath the weight of her guilt. If she hadn’t been in Bertucci’s clutches, her father would have been safe. He would have shown up at Erik’s house, and they’d have had a bit of drama before dinner. But he’d be alive. He wouldn’t have been gunned down like a common thug.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but the priest is waiting,” Ian interrupted softly.

Melinda nodded. “Right. Yeah.” She wiped the tears from her face.

Erik’s arm slinked around her waist, and he led her to the gravesite. Two empty chairs were positioned there, and Erik helped her into one while Ian sat Grams in the other. The men took their places behind them. Erik’s hands rested on Melinda’s shoulders.

She took another long breath and grabbed Grams’ hand as the priest opened his booklet and began his prayers. Melinda didn’t need the dog-and-pony show, but she knew Grams would rest easier with it. Having to bury her son without the comfort of her prayers would cause more pain. And there’d been enough of that to add to it.

Erik’s fingers tightened and relaxed during the ceremony, easing the tension from her body. He had such an easy way with her, like he knew exactly what she needed and when. With all that had happened, her father dying in her lap, the police pretending to investigate, and Nico going into hiding, she hadn’t taken time to evaluate the situation with Erik.

What would happen now?

How was the next chapter supposed to go?

Chapter 30

“Here’s your breakfast.” Marianne slid a plate of scrambled eggs and toast onto the kitchen table and plunked down a fork.

“Thank you.” Erik picked up the utensil. “Has Melinda been down yet?” he asked, digging into the eggs. He’d woken up before the sun rose as usual and left her sleeping in bed. It was the first time in days he’d seen her sleep soundly through the night, and he wouldn’t be responsible for waking her. But that had been hours ago.

“No,” Marianna answered, pouring coffee into his cup. “She’s up, though. I heard the door to her office close about an hour ago.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll bring her some coffee.”

“Here you are.” Ian sauntered into the kitchen. “I checked your office.”

Erik wiped his mouth and crumpled his napkin in his hand. “How’d it go?” Erik’s chair scraped against the tiles as he stood up.

“About as good as I expected.” Ian picked up a mug from the counter and reached for the coffee.

“I’ll bring this to Melinda.” Marianne picked up the tray she’d been getting ready.

“He’s safe?” Erik asked, walking to the fridge and leaning against it.

“He is.” Ian nodded.

Erik’s jaw clicked. The sting of his brother’s treachery was still fresh. “He knows he can’t come back here, right? If Justin gets even a whiff of him in town, it will start a war.”

“He knows,” Ian said with more force. “He knows how badly he fucked up.”

“You think it’s my fault,” Erik accused. “The oldest always bears the responsibly of watching out for the younger ones, so it’s obvious I drove him to what he did.”

“No.” Ian shook his head, cradling his cup in his hands. “Nico’s his own man. He made his own decisions.”

“He wanted more, and I wasn’t paying attention.” Erik balled his hands into fists. He should have seen it. He should have been watching for the greed and hunger for power. They may be Rawlings by name, but the Komisky blood still ran through their veins.

“You had other things going on.” Ian said, his words missing the usual accusations and contempt.

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