Page 71 of Dukes of Peril

It’s been a long time since I didn’t have someone else to worry about.

The mud clings to my boots, and halfway through, I strip off my jacket and overshirt, handing both to Lavinia before returning to the task. I’m hit with the sudden curiosity of what they may have been like–Lavinia and Tate–if they’d ever met.

The thought is both tragic and terrifying.

When I’m done, I stab the shovel into the mound of upturned dirt, turning to her.

“This should be deep enough.”

She hasn’t said one word and I search her eyes, wondering if I’m fucking this up. It’s still a mystery to me how Nick and Remy can just…bewith her so easily. Every time I try something like this, my palms sweat. My chest feels too tight. My mind runs a mile a second, always questioning.

So when she begins trying to open that box, I jolt. “You don’t have to–”

Her eyes fly to mine. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? She was such a bitch to me, but… I can’t do it.” Her fingers unlatch the box, revealing the skull inside. “I can’t just leave her in this box.”

My heart falls into my stomach as I watch her crouch down, placing the box on the dirt. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” A fucking cemetery. Really? Bring the girl with pathological claustrophobia to a place where all the bodies are in boxes.Real smooth, shithead. Sighing, I offer, “You’re giving her something she never gave you. But…” I hold her eyes, almost unable to bear the strange, panicked misery swimming within them. “Boxes aren’t always bad, Lav. It’ll protect her.”

She glances down at the skull, teeth worrying at her lip. “You don’t think it’s cruel?”

“The things that were done to you…” I stall, trying to find the right words. “Leticia probably had her own demons.”

There’s a moment where she just stares at the skull. And then, “Leticia had the chance to take her freedom. Maybe if she’d had someone to protect her like I do, she would have kept it.” Slowly, she closes the box. “You’re right.”

Still, she springs up, like she might change her mind at any moment. That’s the only reason I act swiftly, lowering it into the hole.

Brushing my hands off, I ask, “Do you want a minute alone? I can go wait in—”

“Stay.” Her hand clamps on my forearm. “Please.”

Like there’s any fucking way I could say no to her. “Of course.”

“When I was ten,” she’s staring down at the box, clutching the flowers to her stomach. For a second, I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Leticia, her face so set and blank. “Dad put out two tables across from one another. Each filled with duplicate weapons. Pistols, revolvers, shotguns, and a box of mixed-up bullets. He stood at the end, set the timer, and told us the first one to get each one fully loaded with the right bullets would be the winner.” Her voice catches, eyes sliding away. “You won.Of course, you won. And I spent the next twenty-four hours in the chest.” Her brows pull together, eyes beginning to brim with a shiny wetness. “For a long time, I thought that was your fault. But now I understand that, like me, you were just trying to survive. While he was breaking me down, he was building you up for a life just as miserable.”

When a tear finally spills over, she angrily swats it away. I pull a handkerchief out of my pocket, pressing it in her hand, and she stares at it in surprise before going on.

“With all the lies and secrets and competitions, we never had any hope of being sisters.Realsisters. I always figured that made us less like family, but here’s the thing, Tish. No one in the world could ever understand what it was like to grow up as a Lucia but the two of us. Maybe that’s the realest sisterhood of all.” She chuckles darkly. “It took me a long time, but I realize now that’s why Dad pitted us against one another. Because he knew that together we were stronger than him.” She shifts, her shoulders squaring. “But what he didn’t understand then, and doesn’t understand now, is all the abuse, the challenges, the belittlement… itdidmake me stronger, Tish. Strong enough for the both of us.” Her hand finds mine, cold fingers threading through mine. “I’m sorry I never got to meet Tate. I’m sorry you had to run away and didn’t feel like you could come to me for help. I’m sorry that our father is a sociopathic monster who cares more about money and power than his own family.” Her tears fall faster now, and she makes no attempt to stop them. When she speaks next, it’s full of resolve. “Wewillfind out who killed you and Tate, and we’ll make them pay. But I promise you, big sister, Dad is going to find out just what kind of Lucia girls he’s raised.”

She inhales deeply, and I press a kiss to her temple, my own throat feeling tight. “That was perfect.”

In the middle of the graveyard, a murder of crows surveys us from the crypt as we cover the box with layers of dirt, their caws setting our rhythm. When there’s nothing left but a mound that doesn’t quite fit back in, Lavinia bends, resting the bouquet of flowers on the soft soil. When she straightens, she leans into me, and it doesn’t matter that I was the one who did all the physical labor.

She’s the more exhausted of the two of us.

Wrapping my arms around her body, I tuck her into me, ignoring the way her little body is shaking. “You’re right, you know,” I say, watching as the crows depart, their wings flapping in the mist as they fade into the distance. “All that pain and suffering made you strong. Probably the strongest woman I know, and hell, I know Mama B.”

She takes a deep breath, her back expanding against my forearms, and then tips her head back to meet my gaze. “Thank you for doing this for me,” she says, eyelids fluttering when I thumb away her tears. “I’ve been trying to find out how I could forgive her, and now…”

“I know,” I say, thinking of Nick and all the hurt he’s caused. “Family can feel like that sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” she agrees, ducking her head as she wipes her face.

I take her hand and lead her down the path to the car, clutching my jacket and the shovel awkwardly in front of me. The mist is lifting now, a single ray of anemic sunlight limping through the clouds overhead as I open the door for her.

I have a stern talk with myself, jaw tight as I stand over the trunk, breathing hard. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror when I slam the hatch, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bare, my nerves zinging as I hobble toward my door, wrenching it open. When I drop into the driver’s seat, Lavinia turns to me with shrewd, assessing eyes.

“You know, you’re not too bad at this boyfriend thing,” she says, giving me a soft, tired smile.

I don't know what it is. Maybe it’s the emotional upheaval of the last hour, and trying so hard to hold it together. Maybe seeing Tate’s grave dug up too many memories. Maybe when Lavinia looks at me like this, it just makes me feel like scum.

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