Page 114 of Ugly Truths
She stays half a step behind as I walk us as efficiently as possible past the rows of curious eyes. They watch and whisper about my father, about me, about Elena, who they still know as Scarlett, until they watch the news this evening. I move faster to outrun their gossip.
By the time we make it to the entry doors, the early October breeze feels like salvation. I take a deep breath. The weight in my chest easesslightly, even with the cameras aimed at us from the sidewalk and the hired security keeping them at bay. I glance over my shoulder at Elena.
“There’s still time,” I say, the corner of my mouth tugging into a grin. “Altar’s empty now if you’ve changed your mind.”
Elena rolls her eyes at me, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks as she shakes her head. “You're an idiot,” she mutters, though her lips curl into a delicious, subtle smirk.
—
The burial service is quicker than the church service, yet it somehow feels longer. Our security team has set up a tight perimeter, but I still catch sight of photographers and a cameraman from the local news stations lurking at the edges of the cemetery, their cameras trained on Natalie, Jeremy, and me. And on Elena.
It bothers me to position her in plain view as part of a strategy, but Davey and I agreed it’s the best move. The sooner we deal with Peter, the sooner we can start setting everything right without interruptions. His embarrassment might make him sloppy, and we use that to our advantage.
If we can finally kill the bastard, then all the inevitable headaches that come with doing so will be worth it, for my family and Elena. She’ll be truly free of him for the first time in over ten years. No more constantly looking over her shoulder.
No more fear.
The thought brings relief, but it also stirs something uncomfortable deep in my chest.
She said she’s here for as long as I allow her to be, but will that still be true when there’s nothing holding her back from walking away and starting over to live virtually any life she wants?
Would she escape across the world? Go back to Luis? Settle down somewhere new and try to find someone to build the rest of her life with?
The idea twists in my gut, nauseating and sharp. I force myself to look ahead, focusing on the priest’s words as dirt is ceremoniously tossed over the grave.
Without thinking, I lift Elena's hand to my mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. My lips linger for a moment, warm against her cool fingers. In my peripheral, she glances at me with a faint, closed-mouth smile. I lower her hand to my lap, cupping it between both of mine for the rest of the service.
When they begin lowering my father’s casket into the ground, I can’t look away. The process is painfully slow, and the urge to jump on top of the box to shove it down with my own two hands flashes through my mind more than once.
This part of the service was intentionally kept small, as per my father’s request, with mostly his closest friends, family members, and long-time associates in attendance. There are only a few dozen of us compared to the few hundred at the church an hour and a half ago.
We stand from our seats, and I brace myself for the inevitable parade of condolences.
“Well, I have to admit, it was a hell of a turnout at the church. Your father would’ve been proud.”
My spine stiffens. Martin Shaw stands a few feet away, though his name wasn’t on this guest list.
Jaw tight, I look towards my team.How the hell did he get past them?
My father’s ex-business partner looks like hell. His suit, though expensive, is wrinkled, and his tie is slightly crooked. His face is pale with shadows under his eyes that make him look like he hasn’t slept in weeks. And yet, for all his disheveled appearance, his posture is straight and his expression smug.
It takes everything I have to swallow the fury rising in my throat and bury it deep. There are eyes on us. Not just people I know, but those damn news cameras on the edge of the trees.
Without a word, Natalie and Davey turn their backs and head toward other guests.
“Martin,” I say, keeping my tone even as I look him over. “You’re looking… well.”
He smiles faintly, unfazed by the jab. “And you’re looking every bit the heir apparent,” he responds. “Not an easy day, I’m sure.”
His gaze shifts to Elena, his stare far too appreciative. “Scarlett.”
“Martin,” she replies coolly, and doesn’t correct him about her name.
Martin’s smile doesn’t falter, though his eyes narrow slightly as he looks between the two of us. “I just wanted to offer my condolences personally,” he says, turning back to me. “William was a force of nature. Tough, brilliant, and endlessly determined.”
He continues, tone almost conversational, “He built something incredible. A legacy most people could only dream of. Big shoes to fill, Silas. I’m sure you’ll do your best to live up to them.”
The anger threatens to surge again, but something else drifts in like fog, curling around the edges of it. It doesn’t consume as much as it soothes, whispering low and certain:Don’t worry, we’ll get him soon.
