Page 105 of Hell Hath No Fury

Pink Sparkle Club

Antonio

Afewmonthslater…

Many things changed with the passing of Mickey, yet most things remained the same.

Lilith’s sharp edges became slightly less sharp, but this did nothing to dull her generally unhinged personality. If anything, these new revelations pushed her to double down on her mission to rid the world of its demons, a mission her daughters wholeheartedly join her on.

She decided to stay in the mansion on the Upper East Side, at least for the time being, as she slowly goes through the contents, picking and choosing what stays and what goes. For the most part, everything is staying, but she has happily handed off the odd knickknack and a couple of paintings that had her cringing. I didn’t bother explaining the sheer value of them, and instead donated them appropriately, on a lended basis, with the agreement of full anonymity.

Otherwise, we’ve settled into life together quite easily, given the circumstances. I spend quite a bit of time jetting between America and Europe. Sometimes, Lilith joins me, either for her own business or just because she has nothing better to do than follow me around. Which I secretly enjoy while allowing her the satisfaction of believing she’s actually bothering me.

Now, here we are, all gathered in Declan’s expansive backyard, having something as common as a BBQ.

Having never attended a BBQ, I can honestly say I was intrigued; however, technically, a backyard BBQ seems to be just another word for a gathering of family—whether by blood or by design.

Tony has taken up residence in front of a huge grill. Clementina and Agatha are running around preparing what appears to be mountains of various salads, while Issa and Carolina are jumping around on the ridiculous play structure that takes up a large part of Declan’s yard.

Having lost track of Antoinette and Lilith ages ago, I finally gave up trying to find something to do and grabbed an empty seat in a corner that provided me with a clear view of the entire party. It didn’t take long for Declan to join me, and after a while, I catch sight of Darius as he exits the house and walks toward the outdoor kitchen.

I scan him up and down a few times, frowning as I try to pinpoint why he appears so off to me. Then, suddenly, it dawns on me. He’s missing his trademark suit.

He walks toward me, smiling at people here and there as he passes them, but for the most part, he’s obviously intent on making it to where I’m seated with Declan. This gives me a few extra moments to take in his new attire—dark slacks and a polo shirt— though, while not as casual as he could have gone, it’s a far cry from his typical suit.

He sits across from me, a sigh of relief expelled forcefully as he sets his drink on the table and relaxes back in the chair. He appears to be fine and doesn’t seem to be outwardly in distress, so I ask cautiously, “Are you feeling okay, Darius?”

He raises a brow at me. “Yes. Why?”

“Well, you’re dressed a bit differently, that’s all.”

He glances down at himself, then shrugs. “I figured it was time for a change.”

“A change?” I parrot, briefly at a loss for words. Darius Hughes does not do change in general, so this is either a cry for help or an intervention is greatly needed.

I’m about to question his reasoning when Declan slaps Darius on the arm, laughing. “Big man here decided he’d rather not be associated with the majority of men in suits. He says they’re starting to be representative of evilness and greed, and he wants nothing to do with that kind.”

At first, I frown, then, after a moment of thought, I nod. “Fair point. I’ve never been shot at by a man in a skirt.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been shot at by a woman in a skirt either,” Declan adds helpfully. “May have been poisoned by one, but that’s an entirely different kind of problem.”

“Lack of boundaries and overall personal responsibility knows no gender,” Darius retorts. “However, the vast majority of people who overextend their reach in a bid for endless power are men in suits.”

Darius says all of this as if it’s just an everyday topic of conversation for him, when in reality, this is so out of character for him that it’s almost not funny. Declan must notice my discomfort because he leans closer to me and says quietly, “He watched a video online where a man read a letter posted inThe Guardian,and the gist of it was if we’re going to ban any clothing for being dangerous, surely it would be a suit.”

Darius scowls at his brother. “His name isHenry Stewart,and quite frankly, he is not wrong. Historically and statistically speaking, it’s the men in suits who start wars, steal money, and do any other number of despicable things under the guise ofbusiness.”

“I know some women in suits who also have no qualms,” Lilith adds from behind me. “But you’re correct, historically and statistically, the duplicitousness tends to stem from men in suits.”

“You know,” I reply, looking down at my suit. “It is certainly something to think about.”

“You don’t have to ditch your beloved suits, Antonio,” Lilith says with a smirk. “We know you’re one of the good guys.”

Smiling, I lift a shoulder, relieved I don’t have to make any declaration without being able to think about it first. I mean, I’m not getting any younger, so maybe it’s time for a change anyway.

I’m saved from having to say anything further when Declan leans in, resting his forearms on the table as he says, his foot tapping, “I’ve been thinking a lot about it. Even managed to come up with some decent lyrics.”

He sits back, his hand sliding under the table, but then Issa is there, her hands slapping him away. He sits back in his chair, glowering at her as she stoops down, reaches under the table, and then stands, holding a guitar in front of her. “What is this?”

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