Page 33 of Into the Woods

Isn’t that the fucking question. “I don’t know.” Simply put, there are not a whole lot of options.

“You could step up, demand your rightful place at the table.”

This is a conversation we’ve had on more than one occasion. Teague has always been in my corner, always had my back even when I had nothing but the hint of legacy withinLes Millieu. But my uncle is all the family I have.

If my parents hadn’t been slaughtered in the bloodiest of ways, things would be different. An iota of support, having evenMaman, who stayed clear of the family’s business, as counsel, a voice of reason, would have made all the difference in the world.

I was barely a man, grieving the murder of my parents. Stuck between throwing myself into a position of responsibility I was in no way ready for and doing what other kids my age were doing—going to college. Who knew a business degree would translate to mafia life, butLes Millieuis a business with profits and losses, our product might be different but we most definitely were a business.

“Timing is an issue,” I mumble.

“Timing. You think there’s ever going to be a good time to tell Alain to fuck off? You think he’s going to be receptive if you ply him with—what? Winnie? A beautiful young thing for him to taunt and tease, torture and ultimately destroy?” The glare I send him doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. “He’s not going to willingly step down. He’s not going to pat you on the back and thank you for allowing him the opportunity to hold things together until you were ready to step up and take your rightful place.

“You’re going to have to overthrow the dictator, Christophe. You have your people in place, ready and willing to back you in this coupe, but you have to want it.” There’s not another manalive who could talk to me the way Teague does. He’s the only one who can get away with laying it all out there for me, and he knows that.

That doesn’t stop the warning glare I shoot him. “I do want it,” I growl.

“But…?”

I sigh. But is right. What’s holding me back? Fear of the unknown? Fear of the known? Because I have no doubt if I go straight for his throat, Alain will put me down like a dog.

“It’s late,” I deflect. “Tomorrow, we make a plan.”

Teague stiffens, pulling back from me. “I have shit of my own to take care of tomorrow. You gave me two days. I’m going to need them to?—”

“Tomorrow, we plan. Then we each take care of business and reconvene prior to the event, but I’m done talking tonight.” I push back from my desk and stand, draining my whiskey before depositing the empty crystal to the table just inside the door. “Get some sleep; it might be the last you have for a while,” I tell him.

I stalk from the room, leaving Teague alone in my office. If he wants to waste his time sitting in there wondering what the fuck the next few days will bring, that’s his prerogative. I have things I need to sort out on my own before our joint planning session.

The fewer people who know what’s going to go down, the better.

I only get one shot at this; I can’t fuck it up.

Chapter 15

Derailed

Winnie

Morning comesafter what feels like not a single minute of restful sleep. Did I fall asleep eventually after my brain and heart chased each other from one thought to the next? Sure. Probably. Maybe a little, but not near enough to execute the half-assed plan I came up with between tossing and turning.

Watery sunlight filters through the windows as if taunting me in my plush prison. Whatever sunlight and positive boost the weather is willing to give me today matters.

After showering, I dig through the wardrobe, carefully picking pieces made for movement. Leggings and a soft long sleeved shirt under a hoodie is the best I manage to come up with. I grab an extra hoodie, leggings, and a handful of socks.

Are my feet cold? No, not at all, but there are no shoes in my wardrobe. None. The strappy stilettos Garrick set out for me to wear to dinner have been removed. The shoes I wore graveside have disappeared.

My best guess is that it’s intentional. In theory, it makes it harder for me to run without shoes. Pffft, they don’t know me if they think that little detail will hold me down.

The door swings open as I finish pulling on my socks, admitting Garrick and his usual tray full of food. I shove the extra leggings under a throw pillow and lean back against it.

“Good morning, miss. I trust you slept well?” he asks, a brow hiked high as he notes the dark circles under my eyes. “Perhaps after breakfast, you’ll enjoy a nap.”

“That was the kindestYou look like shit, WinnieI’ve ever heard.” I allow a smile to pull at my lips.

“I’m terribly sorry, miss. It was not my intent to offend?—”

My laugh cuts him off. “Sometimes the truth hurts; it’s totally fine.”

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