Page 8 of Goldflame

I shake my head. My mother doesn’t know that Aurelia killed DeMarco, Whitman, and Victoria. Telling her won’t change anything, so I say, “I don’t know. He was always Dad’s perfect soldier. Maybe he threatened to share some dirty secret and she panicked.”

“Perhaps.” Mom’s fingers twist in the silk of her nightgown and her gaze returns to the window. “Your brother was always… dutiful.”

Her eyes are distant, staring out at the city like she’s seeing something else entirely. The bandages beneath her nightgown stretch across her stomach—a reminder of how close I came to losing her too.

But it’s strange… I swear she smirked for a second.

Who smirks like that when talking about their dead son? A chill creeps up my spine as a forbidden thought hits me. What if Aurelia was telling the truth?

I remember how her eyes burned with conviction. How she looked at my mother with pure hatred, like she knew something I didn’t. The desperation in her voice when she told me my mother killed Adrian.

But that’s insane. Why would my mother kill her own son? The same woman who endured years of abuse to protect us? It doesn’t make sense.

I shake my head, forcing the insane thoughts away. My grief must be messing with me. Mother loved Adrian. She’d never…

I look away—must be seeing things.

Aurelia killed my brother. That’s a fact. And it’d be easier to accept if she did it out of self-preservation, if he came at her forcefully to expose her crimes to the InfernoConsortium. But even that theory doesn’t sit right in my gut. Adrian was calculating, precise. He worked in the shadows, never one for direct confrontation. That was my role—the hot-headed younger brother who bruised his knuckles and broke bones while Adrian pulled strings from dark corners. He’s always great at that.

I bite my tongue.Was.Past tense. Hewasgreat at that. I’ll have to use past tense now when I think about him. Adrianwascalculating. Adrianwasmy brother.

My fingers curl into fists, fingernails trying to draw blood from my palms, and I start pacing paths in the carpet again.

“I should’ve seen this coming.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. “I should’ve known she couldn’t be trusted.”

“Stop.” Mom’s tone turns sharp. “Don’t blame yourself for her actions. She made her choice.”

But what if I pushed her to it? The thought gnaws at me like a starving rat. All those times I held back information, trying to protect her while also maintaining control. Did I drive her to this? Make her feel like she couldn’t trustme? So she lashed out and?—

“Julian.” Mom’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “You need to focus. The Consortium can’t afford weakness right now. Do you understand? You’re the only heir left.”

I stop pacing, my legs suddenly feeling ready to buckle.The only heir left.

Everything I’ve spent years running from now faces me like an inevitability. With Lucian and Adrian gone, there’s no escape. Someone has to take control of theInferno Consortium—all its territories, its operations, its countless people and business partners. If I don’t step up, someone else will. Someone like Valentine, who’s already showing his true colors.

“Your father,” Mom continues, rising from the bed and wincing slightly. “He was cruel, yes. But he understood power. He knew how to take it, how to keep it.” Her fingers brush my cheek. “Now it’s your turn. If you don’t take control...” Her voice breaks. “What will happen to me? To our family name?”

I close my eyes, letting her words sink into my bones. She’s right. Of course she’s right.

“Think of the men who will try to take the Inferno Consortium, and me, and tarnish our family name,” she continues. “Will the Harrows be remembered as cowards? Do you want that?”

I storm to the bar cart in the corner, crystal decanters catching the city lights. I pour a full glass and then swallow it whole. The bourbon burns as it slides down my throat, but I like it. Anything to dull the edges of this nightmare.

As I consider another glass so I can get black-out drunk, the amber liquid glints, and suddenly I’m thrown back to another night, almost a year ago. I was at The Den after hours, my underground fight club that was supposed to be my escape from all this family business bullshit. Adrian had shown up unexpectedly—he never came there. Said it was beneath him.

But that night was different. Something seemed to be on his mind, though he never told me what. He just watched my fight and thenlingered after.

The ring was empty, the crowds long gone. Only the faint scent of sweat and blood hung in the air, mixing with leather and steel. Adrian sat across from me at the bar, his pressed suit completely out of place next to my bare, bruised chest and wrapped hands. He was always the picture of control, even there.

“You did well tonight,” he said, swirling whiskey in his glass. The dim overhead lights caught the liquid, making it glow like molten gold. “He’d never say it, but I know Lucian thinks your strength is an asset.”

I scoffed, knocking back my drink. “I don’t give a fuck what that bastard thinks.”

“If only I had that luxury.” There was something different in his voice. Something… strained. Exhausted.

“What do you care?” I poured us both another round. “You’ll be in charge soon. You can take all the luxuries you want.”

He stayed silent, staring at the bartop.

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