Page 37 of To Have and to Hold

Charlie’s body stayed slumped where I’d ended it, staring up, glassy-eyed and slack-mouthed. I wanted to spit on him, scoop his eyes out with a spoon and present them to Violet on a platter made of his bones. Instead, I smoked a chain of cigarettes and waited for my more sensible uncle to arrive and set the scene straight.

After calling me a fucking idiot, we called Father, explaining that we’d come home to find Charlie assassinated. That he was dead on the floor and we had no idea what had happened save for the bullet wound between his eyes. We all carried standard weapons, untraceable on purpose. There was no way they could pin it on me unless Connor and I missed something.

The reaction from Father was about what I expected. He didn’t get upset; he didn’t gasp or cry or breakdown. No, he went into disaster mode. Fixing the problem in an emotionless, cold way that only the head of a crime family could. He couldn’t have cared less that his son was dead, like he didn’t care about Violet. He just moved us as if we were cogs in his machine.

Now, a day later, my father had sworn me into Charlie’s place over the phone, threatening death if I failed to keep Rafe on side.He was flying in for the funeral, to collect Charlie’s body and smooth things over with the Delucci clan and the church. The whole Lewis gang would be here early tomorrow, my mother and sisters coming across the ocean too. Even if they didn’t truly give a shit about his brutal departure from this world, it had to look like they did. It was hard to tell with them. Mum had long since clocked out of life, and the younger girls were kept so tucked away I didn’t know them at all.

So I was in a suit, one of Charlie’s that was too big at the shoulders and baggy at the cuffs, amongst the Delucci’s and their cronies at a fucking birthday party. Side by side with Connor, I tried not to scowl. The second we’d informed Rafe of what had happened, he’d extended an invitation for tonight. No mention of a church funeral, however that might look. I guess I might have to learn more now.

Father hadn’t let me refuse. We needed to look active, not weak. In mourning, but still powerful. They both mentioned my new role, the transition of power, and how important it was I knew everything. But neither shared more. Keeping me in anticipation of what darkness might reveal itself next.

“Calm the fuck down,” Connor muttered to me when I sucked in a deep breath to cool my rage. “You look like you’re about to steam the fuck over. If I can see it, they sure as hell can.” He gestured out to the party, to all the faces I didn’t care about, drinking, dancing and schmoozing. Fucking disgrace.

“I want to lay eyes on Violet,” I informed him, like he didn’t bloody know. “See her in the fucking flesh and make sure she’s okay.” Touch her body, feel her skin against mine again. Mutter sweet fucking nothings to her and ensure she knows she’s loved. I’d been on edge since Charlie told me what he’d done to her, what they all had. It was so much worse than I ever imagined. I just wanted her to glimpse the face of a family member thatloved her, would never hurt her. Try to tell her without using words that I was coming for her.

Needed to see her eyes so much it ached like fire under my skin.

Connor was supporting a bruised rib from my fist from last night, when he refused again to use his secret squad or whatever the hell to barge the fuck in here and take her away from his hellhole. After phoning in Charlie’s death everywhere we needed to, we had to wait and see where the pieces landed, if any more trouble came our way.

It led to whiskey, to loose words and fists landing. Even if I never saw Violet again, I could live in peace if he freed her, if she could be happy far, far away from all this darkness. But he took my beating, smacked me up some himself, and walked away. “Not yet,” was all he gave me. Not fucking yet.

“This is her husband’s birthday party,” Connor reminded me, his tone flat. “He’ll bring her out for this.”

“If she’s still even alive,” I blurted, seething, needing to punch the fucker beside me again. Or anyone, really. One of Rafe’s men, that prick Les, smirked when our eyes caught across the room. Holy shit, he was going to die such a brutal death. I scowled back at him, and he laughed, looking away.

“She’s alive,” Connor said, his hand landing on my arm to calm me down. Or stop me marching over to Les and slamming my fist into his nose. Even over the expanse of this ballroom, he pissed me off. There was just something specifically cuntish about that weasel.

“Just drink your expensive whiskey, old man,” I told him, shrugging off his touch and taking a swig of my own. I’d been nursing it for an hour, wanting a clear head, but with no show from Violet, I was getting fucking itchy.

Needed the booze to give me the balls to go hunt her down. The brazen excuse of alcohol heating my blood.

Connor was here too on father’s request, and Rafe had been only too happy to oblige, insisting we both come to introduce ourselves. Myself, in my new role. I was about to be let in on a lot of family secrets, it seemed. See what Charlie did, what plans he had with Rafe here. They’d been working together for a year now, and it was apparent that the biggest loss from Charlie’s death was whatever deal was almost complete. Violet’s pot sweetening captivity was one of the final coffin nails.

The boat was well and truly fucking rocked, but so far, nobody had paid us any attention. Rafe was with his family, minus the wife, deep in conversations and laughter, not sparing us so much as a glance. Hens in the fox house sprung to mind. Surrounded.

Connor was grumbling something about not being that old when the double doors at the top end of the ballroom swung open and Violet walked in. She had a guard behind her, a hand on her back to guide her into the space or hold up her tired body. War raged in my head, my gut, my entire fucking body. Rage because he had his hands on her, relief that she was walking and breathing, aching need to reach across the room and scoop her up, protect her. Deep-rooted terror that Rafe would hurt her more.

I was running out of impotent fucks to give.

“Theo…” Connor said, his hand on my arm, making me realize I’d taken a step forward.

“What?” I snapped, sparing him a glance, shrugging him off me.

He shook his head, gaze drifting from me to Violet and back again. The guard shut the door behind them and bee-lined for Rafe. “You’re vibrating, mate. Stop it.” He looked at me like I was mad, like he was trying to pick something apart in my mind. Well, good fucking luck. I didn’t care. I made to go over to her again, but Connor held me back with a firmer grip on my sleeve. When I turned to wrestle with him, battle him away, his harshwords made me pause. “Don’t. Look.” He tilted his chin across the room, and we watched Rafe stroll over to his wife, meeting her in the middle.

It was like the crowds kept their distance, a bubble around them in case they got sucked into Rafe’s sick games, too.

Even from here, I could see her shaking with fear, but I also witnessed her steel herself, swallow it all down. My brave girl. Brave, beautiful sister. I clenched my fists, ready to pounce if he did anything. We were hidden enough here, with the crowds of people and flashing lights helping with anonymity, but I had no doubt those that wanted to know where we were did.

Mercifully, Rafe looked over at us, and with his hand around his wife’s bicep, he began walking our way. My sister. He had my sister.

“Brace yourself, Theo,” Connor muttered, barely moving his mouth. “Don’t do anything stupid. Remember, this is a good thing. A boon.”

Fuck his boon.

“Theodore,” Rafael said, reaching us. The music was low enough that we could talk with only just raised voices, and here, away from the band on the stage, it was even easier. My skin itched to reach out and touch Violet, like it was fated, necessary. I had to. Ihadto. She was right fucking there, her eyes heating my face.

“Rafael,” I said, nodding at him. Then, “Violet,” I muttered, then leaned in, kissing her on the cheek, taking a moment longer than polite to breathe her in. “Hi, beautiful,” I whispered, so low I’m not sure she even heard. But fuck, her skin, her smell, it was her.

---