Page 148 of Dukes of Peril

My face heats at the mention of what we did this morning, Sy shooting off into my mouth. “I just think it’d be good if–”

The abrupt whine of the large double doors makes Nick jolt, the barrel of the rifle swinging toward the sound.

“Pops,” Sy says, Nick immediately lowering the gun. “Dad. What are you doing here?” He turns a suspicious glare on Nick, who just gives a curt shake of his head. Last I heard, the brothers had been dodging phone calls until they could figure out how to best break the news to their parents.

Manny speaks first. “We got a call—”

“I did it,” Remy says, rapping the end of his marker against his palm. “I told them everything.”

Sy goes rigid, before hurling a curse at his friend. “What the fuck, Rem?” His voice echoes off the ceiling, making Remy’s eyes roll. “This isn’t how I wanted it to happen!”

“I know, and I decided that’s bullshit.” He glances between Nick and Sy, jaw going taut. “Look, it’s a big day for you. You’ve got two really cool dads, and it’s fucking stupid to keep them out of the loop just because you’re being little bitches.”

Sy rubs his face, his perfectly collected facade crumbling. “This is a fucking nightmare.”

Davis snorts. “You really think we didn’t notice Saul Cartwright’s obituary plastered in the media for the past five days? Give us some credit, son.” He gestures to Remy. “He just colored in the lines for us.”

Looking flustered, Sy meets their gazes. “I know this isn’t what you wanted—that it’s actuallyexactlywhat you didn’t want.”

“Remy said you got the votes,” Davis says, eyes zeroed in on the ring his son is wearing.

“Fuck yeah, he did,” Nick says, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Unanimously, as far as anyone who matters is concerned.”

“This wasn’t about revenge,” Sy says, palms raised defensively. “It was about setting things right. Getting DKS and West End back on track.” Without even looking at me, his hand reaches for mine, lacing our fingers together. “Protecting the people we love.”

“Son,” Manny says, leveling Sy with a look, “we just wanted you to find your place—therightplace—not some role you’ve been forced into because of tradition and bloodlines.” He looks at Nick, his dark hair falling around his shoulders like we’re in some kind of shampoo commercial. “You’ve both taken your own journey to get here, and now that you are, we couldn’t be more proud.”

Sy’s forehead creases, eyes skeptical. “You’re serious.”

Davis steps forward, giving his son a tense look. “Simon, I wouldn’t be your Pops if I didn’t tell you how dangerous this is.” His eyes pass over all four of us. “The target you’ve put your back–on all of your backs–is a threat that will always be there. It’ll be there when you wake up. When you go to work. When you come home at night. When you sleep.” His eyes soften as he assesses Sy. “But since you’ve done what it takes to become King, then you already know all of that. So all I really want to say isthis.” Reaching out, he grabs Sy by the neck and hauls him into a hard, backslapping embrace. “To the victor, kid.”

I step back, letting the Perilini-Bruin men have their moment. After a moment, Remy joins me, slipping his arm around my waist. “That was a bold move, Maddox.”

He laughs darkly, curling his fingers around my hip. “Neither of them knows what it’s like to have psychopaths for fathers like we do. I didn’t want them to fuck this up.” Uncapping his marker, he glances at Manny, who’s visibly appreciating Nick’s rifle. “They needed to know the truth.”

At the mention of my father, the flutters of anxiety rise in my belly again. “Are you nervous?” I ask, tilting my head when he grabs my chin, directing it to the side. “About seeing him again?” It’s second nature now when he has a pen or marker to just go where he poses me, and the felt tip tickles at the pulse point on my neck.

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” he answers, distracted as the marker loops and curls against my skin. “I’m nervous about what he’ll say to Sy. How he’ll treat him. All the ways he’ll try to sneak orange into his head.” His lips press into a tense line, the fingertips on my jaw holding me steady. “Davis was right. Sy’s a target now. That means my father will see him as something worse than his equal.” He pulls back, capping the marker to blow a shivering breath across the wet ink. “He’ll see him as competition.”

“I’m twenty-fucking-two!” Sy suddenly belts, drawing our attention to the standoff happening in the middle of the gym. In a stark contrast to the declaration, he’s pouting. Arms are crossed tight, mouth pulled down into a hard frown, Sy looks as immovable as Archie often does.

Looking just as stubborn, Davis replies, “You’re not meeting the most powerful men in Forsyth while wearing a sweat-stained shirt with a beer logo on it. ”

“You’re the one who wanted to be King. That means putting West End over your own petty values.” Manny’s holding up the bag they’d walked in with, thrusting a finger toward the locker room. “Go.”

Sy relents with a frustrated sound, snatching the bag from Manny’s hand. “You,” he barks at Nick, “get into position. And Remy?”

Remy jabs the marker behind his ear, pulling his gun from his waistband. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.”

“Ten minutes!” Sy insists, marching angrily toward the locker rooms.

“Oh, thank god,” I groan, trudging to the dads. “I’ve been trying to get him into something? presentable forhours.”

Manny’s eyes flick to whatever Remy’s drawn on my neck. “You’ve adopted a real pair of brick walls here, Lavinia. I hope you’re a patient woman.”

Shaking my head, I admit, “Not even a little. I usually resort to bribery or threats of violence. I’m just off my game today. You know,” I rub my neck, “considering.”

Davis gives me a measured stare. “Your dad coming to this thing?”

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