Page 8 of Sardonic Burn

I smile. “Don’t worry too much. It’s all part of my plan.”

She raises a curious brow. “Is that so? It better not result in one of our own dying.”

“I’m not an amateur.”

“Good.”

That concludes our morning chat. It’s usually longer but since Jane and Niko are absent, I’m left alone to deal with her. I love my mother, I truly do, but she’s an odd one. Like a screw is missing from her head.

Well, who am I to judge? It’s not like I’m completely sane, either.

Mother takes the last sip of her tea and stands to leave. All I want to do is sigh in relief, but I control my muscles and act like I’m unbothered. She slowly picks up her tablet and stares at me for a moment longer.

“Be prepared. You’ll be accompanying your father and brother tomorrow.”

I frown. “Where?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

I nod in response and the moment she walks out of the living room, I pour the remaining liquid from my cup into the nearest flower pot. With a sigh, I return to the task at hand.

There’s nothing in the news about Franco’s death. They’re keeping it a secret, and it makes me anxious. It’s a big deal; the heir of the De Santis family had his throat slit—twice.

I’m frustrated. I expect them to strike twice as hard, which is why I’ve made sure the children of my family are kept under watch at all times. I don’t think they would aim for children, but you can never know for certain with those bastards.

All that’s left is to see what kind of attack Hudson De Santis will come up with.

I hope he doesn’t disappoint me.

THREE

Between the time it took to get here and the priest reciting a terribly written eulogy, the snow had fallen, and it now reaches my ankles.

I stare up at the sky, the wind blowing in my face. The funeral is over, and I did my best not to laugh during the eulogy. I understand priests always say great things about the deceased, but it was way over the top.

My father approaches me with a pissed-off look. He can’t mourn his child in peace because there are too many eyes on him. One wrong step, and it will blow up in his face. He’s already at risk of showing that he is incapable of holding his family together since my mother is a sobbing mess.

“Hudson,” he calls over. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

Despite his tone, it’s not a suggestion—it’s an order. I nod, my hands in my pocket as I follow silently behind him. We reach the far end of the family graveyard, away from all the listening ears and curious eyes.

“Noelle Campbell.” He spits her name like it’s venomous on his tongue. “Will it be hard getting rid of her?”

I understand why he’s skeptical. He hates her with a burning passion after killing Franco, and I share the same sentiment. He wasn’t the best person in the world, but he was my brother. I will not allow his death to remain as a simple win for the Campbell family.

“It’s hard to say.” I whisk out a pack of cigarettes and put one in my mouth. I’m surprised when my father snatches the pack but hands me a light. Silently, he’s telling me it’s alright to smoke in front of him during a time like this.

Usually, I would’ve been smacked.

“So, she’s a difficult one to deal with.”

“Not necessarily. I just don’t know much about her except for the very basic, useless information. I’m not sure how long she was keeping an eye out for Franco. But I won’t let it end like this.”

“Then find out everything there is about her. I don’t care how useless you think it might be, find out every detail of her day-to-day life. Take it slow, and don’t rush. We’ll get revenge for Franco.”

Of course we will.

But now it’s my burden to bear.

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