Page 16 of Goldflame

He has to see through his mother’s lies eventually. He has to remember everything we shared and realize I could never, ever kill Adrian.

But that darkness shrouding his face speaks of vengeance, not understanding. I finally pull my eyes away and stare down at my feet.

Time. Julian needs more time. And I need to find a way to expose Lady Harrow. Should I set some kind of trap? Maybe she left evidence behind. Valentine knows someone who can alter video feeds and other things, the person who helped hide my presence while I took care of people on my list. Maybe that person can help.

I just don’t know. My thoughts are so scattered they’re like ashes in the wind.

I start to space out because I desperately need to leave. I need to get back to my room and try to figure out my next steps. I’ve spent too many days already just sobbing into my pillow and drinking.

The priest’s voice drones on about eternal rest, and every now and then, Lady Harrow’s theatrical sobs punctuate the sermon. I fight the urge to scream as she dabs at her eyes with a black lace handkerchief. She’s portraying such a perfect image of a devoted mother, crying over her fallen son.

Yeah, the one she murdered.

After an eternity, the mass finally ends and transitions seamlessly into Julian’s coronation. He stands before the assembled crowd, shoulders rigid under his tailored suit. It’s strange to see him in such formal clothes, but power seems to settle over him like a crown of thorns—unwanted and impossible to remove.

My chest aches as I watch him recite the ancient oaths. He never wanted this. He spent years running from his father’s legacy, and now here he is, trapped by it. The words fall from his lips like stones: duty, honor, blood. Each one another link in the chain that now binds him.

If only he’d believe me, I could help him escape this twisted world, the same way I’ve always planned to.

When the coronation is done, when Julian is officially the leader of the Inferno Consortium and I feel vomit inching up my throat, Valentine touches my shoulder. “Time to go,” he murmurs. “The reception is next.”

Oh, joy.

I sink deeper into the leather seat of Valentine’s car as he parks outside the reception venue. We’re at Grimward Manor Vineyards, which is one of many vineyards owned by Emeric’s family. It sprawls out across the Olalla hillside. There are weathered stones and twisted vines that cling to trellises like arthritic fingers, and the afternoon sun bleeds through the gathering clouds, casting rows of grapevines in shadows.

It’s actually a breathtaking place, but the thought of going inside makes my limbs feel like they’re filled with lead. More fake sympathy, more predatory smiles, more of Lady Harrow’s theatrical grief—I don’t have the strength for any of it.

“You should make an appearance,” Valentine says, his dark eyes watching me in the rearview mirror. “Given the rumors circulating.”

My head snaps up. “You still believe me, right? I didn’t?—”

“I can’t stop the rumors.” He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go inside. We don’t have to stay long.”

His non-answer doesn’t make me feel better. Does he think I killed Adrian? Of course he’s on my side—he raised me. But does he actually believe me when I say Lady Harrow pulled the trigger? The uncertainty gnaws at my insides as I give him a tiny nod and get out of the car.

There’s a ringing in my ears that grows with everyfootstep closer to the vineyard’s entrance. The cobblestone walkway is next to the Grimward’s prized cabernet grapes—Adrian’s favorite wine, a cruel connection.

The same black-clad vultures from the funeral meander around the stone terrace, their laughter too shrill as they clutch stemmed glasses like weapons. Inside the converted barrel room, there’s a crystal chandelier suspended from wooden beams and fresh flowers cascading from copper containers—maybe used for fermentation? The air is thick with the scent of oak and sweet grapes, mixing with expensive perfumes. As if wealth and aged wine could somehow mask the stench of death and greed in this room.

Valentine gets a phone call and then tells me he needs to handle security concerns at the vineyard’s perimeter. He disappears and I’m left to drift along the edges of the crowd, past emptied wine barrels repurposed as standing tables. Family leaders and powerful allies clink glasses and speak in hushed tones about the new redistribution of power.

Fuck them all.

I find a dim alcove behind a massive oak barrel with the Grimward family crest and press my back against the cool wood, trying to make myself invisible. I don’t have the energy for confrontations or games today—not when every full wine glass reminds me of Adrian’s blood seeping through my fingers.

“Ciao, signorina.”

I turn with a gasp, not expecting anyone to find me here. A man stands nearby, waves of dark golden hair combed back from his tanned face, a light contrastagainst his black suit. Something about him tugs at my memory—the lightest shade of green eyes, an air of maturity that seems to weigh on his shoulders…

I’ve met him before. On the elevator. The night I killed Victoria. He was there with a little boy.

He notices my baffled expression and says in a warm voice, “Lorenzo Mancini.” He extends his hand. The name clicks—I went to the opening of his strip club last month. I just never connected that the club owner was the same man from the elevator.

I shake his hand. “Oh, uh, hi. I’m Aurelia. How’s the little boy who was with you?”

Lorenzo’s face softens, his words rolling out with Italian inflection. “Roby is well. Very excited to start elementary school.” A slight smile tugs at his lips. “He’ll be homeschooled but he’s such a curious boy. Always eager to learn.”

I nod. “He seems sweet.” I lean against the barrel behind me again, grateful for any distraction from the weight of this day.

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