Page 45 of The Queen
“Are you okay with killing Lila?” I take this in two parts now, as lumping them together is a mistake.
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “It took a toll, but she was a bitch who needed wiping off the face of the earth. She shot her own son! Can you believe that?”
“Unfortunately, yes, I can,” I grunt, and she giggles.
“Yeah, well, as for Felix, he wants to be a Hughes. That makes him loyal to me. He had my back when he quite easily could’ve ended me on multiple occasions. He is a lost little kid looking for attention but not sure how to get it, you know? Lila treated him like shit.”
“So, no trauma?”
“Do you forget who you’re talking to?” she asks archly.
“Nah, but I have to check.”
“I appreciate you checking in.” She leans forward to kiss me softly on the lips.
Her kiss sends a shockwave through me, fierce and tender all at once. I draw back slightly, our foreheads touching in the semi-darkness of the room. “I just need to know you’re not carrying this shit alone.”
Eliza laughs softly, “I’m good, I swear. But thanks for giving a damn. It means more than you might think.”
I nod, and I stand up slowly, my hand retreating from hers reluctantly.
“I should let you get some rest,” I murmur, already missing the warmth of her skin, and slip out of the room. The corridor is silent as I go back to my bedroom, but inside, there’s a roaring in my ears that sounds suspiciously like hope mixed with terror.
Back in my room, I throw myself into bed, but sleep feels like an enemy tonight. Instead, I run through every scenario about tomorrow’s talk with Eliza and the guys. How do we navigate this? A mafia queen and her four lovers—it’s not exactly textbook material.
But then again, since when have we done anything by the book? All I know is that she needs to lay her cards on the table,so we all know exactly where we stand and if this is an equal thing, or whatever the fuck it is. Getting up to grab the laptop, I settle back down on the bed and open it, lying down with my head on the pillow, just staring at her. Raph stirs, and she slides on top of him. He is ready to go as they start to move under the sheets; despite his side wound, that doesn’t seem to be holding him back, but I don’t blame him. I would have to be dead not to be with her if she wanted me.
Trouble is, she didn’t ask me to stay. She let me leave and then climbed on top of Raph. That’s a shitload to deal with, but I have to push it aside and be happy that she wants me at all. Closing my eyes, I drift off, hoping tomorrow will feel a bit brighter than this all-consuming darkness.
21
ELIZA
I’m pacingback and forth across the plush carpet of the townhouse’s expansive living room. Each step feels like I’m treading on the thin line between two worlds—the one my father ruled with an iron fist and the shadowy abyss that now beckons me.
Somehow, I’ve fallen directly in the middle of no man’s land. Not ruling, but not the princess anymore. I feel like I’ve been through some rite of passage where killing your own family makes you or breaks you. I told Tarquin last night that I was fine, and I am. But there is just something about this entire thing that I hate so badly, I want to crawl up into a corner and cry.
Weakness.
Hughes’ aren’t weak.
“No, Dad, but sometimes they have feelings,” I murmur. “Momentary wobbles where it feels like the world is crashing down.”
My palms are sweaty, but I ball them up tight, knuckles going white.
The legacy of the Hughes family feels more of a burden than ever before. Dad is a king among thieves, a man who demandsrespect with just a look. But here I am, his daughter, his heir, trying to figure out if I can be half the leader he is without falling into the soul-crushing darkness that comes with the crown, forcing me to be alone and sad. It’s not the darkness I have a problem with. It’s the latter part. I don’t want to end up like my dad. I want to have it all, but is that even possible? Will one day come along out of the blue and rip everything away from me, like it did with him and my mum?
But I have a choice to make. One that is being demanded of me whether I like it or not. I have only myself to blame. I got involved and fell hard.
The door opens, and they file in. James with his stormy hazel eyes and sleep-tousled dark hair; Raphael, my silent guardian, his blue eyes wary; Tarquin’s smirk barely contained because he knows what this is about; and Oliver, the calm that soothes my inner storms with his grey eyes alight with mischief. They scatter, sitting down and looking up at me. They are my fractured world, each carrying a piece of my heart.
“What’s this about?” James is the first to break the silence, his voice steady as it cuts through the tension.
“I need to lay everything on the table.” My voice doesn’t shake; it can’t. Not now. “This is a convo that’s way overdue, but I was pushing it away because it makes me feel things, and I don’t like feelings. It complicates things. I’ve had sex with all of you in the last few weeks, some more than others, some darker than others…” My gaze lingers on James, who doesn’t respond in the slightest. “And it’s messing with my head, these feelings—they’re complicated. Theyarecomplicating things for me.”
“I’m by your side, Eliza. Through hell and back, if that’s what it takes,” James says steadily, almost as if this was rehearsed.
Did Tarquin tell on me?
