Page 99 of Dukes of Peril

“Vinny’s tough,” Remy adds, shoving the last roll into his mouth before stacking the basket on top of an empty bowl.

“That’s obvious.” Dad pushes his chair back. “But the life they lead, being a Duchess…” He goes unexpectedly quiet, his long dark hair shielding his expression.

Pops is the one to explain. “She needs someone who can relate to her situation just as much as the three of you do.”

That statement sits uncomfortably in my chest.

“Which is exactly why we need to know what we’re getting into with this poker game,” Nick says.

Pops snorts and turns on the faucet, shifting it over to hot. “You mean the one we haven’t been invited to since we dropped DKS?”

There are rules in the fraternity. If you drop, like our parents did, then that means you’re no longer affiliated in any way. It’s full-on persona non grata. A former member can no longer attend events, receive any perks, or wear letters or symbols associated with the fraternity. But this is Forsyth, where allegiance runs deeper than a pin or ring. The brand on my mother’s flesh tells that story just as much as the blood that runs through Nick, Lavinia, and Remy’s veins. Still, I know our parents were ostracized when they chose one another over Royal life.

Dad opens the dishwasher and starts rearranging the plates, but abruptly freezes, jaw dropping in horror. “Who put this pot in here?”

“I did,” Pop snaps. “It’s fine.”

“This is hand-wash only!” Dad barks, thrusting a finger at the pot. “And it takes up too much space, anyway.”

Fighting over the dishwasher is a lifelong struggle with these two. Both think they’ve figured out the key to maximum arrangement. Whatever talk she must be having with Lavinia isn’t the only reason my mom happily escaped from cleanup.

“Jesus,” Nick says, swiping the pot from Dad’s hand. “I’llwash.” He shoots me a look. “You dry. Remy, you put up the leftovers. You two sit down and drink a beer.”

Dad and Pops both look impressed. It’s the first time they’ve seen Nick wearing this new leadership skin. It suits him better than anyone expected.

I grab the dish towel off the rack. “So,” I start, trying to get this back on track. “The poker game?”

“Right,” Dad says, taking a seat at the kitchen counter, while Pop grabs two beers. “I don’t know what to tell you, son. Other frats gather alumni together for homecoming or a family weekend. DKS has always had our poker game. As it grew, it seems like Saul decided to link it to the fall festival. A lot of local families come out to that anyway—”

“Because it’s a good place to be seen,” Pops adds, sitting next to him, sliding the beer over. “The media is there. Politicians. Saul likes that attention, but really what he wants is to remind everyone that West End is still open for business.Hisbusiness.”

Dad’s eyes dart between us. “But you boys already figured that out, didn’t you?”

“It’s not the business part that worries me,” I say, that flicker of possessive anger sparking in my chest. “He’s making Lavinia the night’s entertainment.”

Pops freezes, the beer halfway to his mouth. “You pissed him off, didn’t you?” After a moment of obvious silence–Nick can’t spend time with anyone and not piss them off–Pops deflates. “I’ve tried really hard to hold back on the ‘I told you so,’ but Nick.” He levels my brother with a hard look. “I told you so.”

“You can always walk,” Dad says. “We did.”

I chuckle, the sound dark and mirthless. “You ‘walked,’ huh? Because that’s not the way I hear it.”

Pops’ eyes narrow. “And just how do you hear it?”

A lot was happening that night I met with Maddox at the Underworld, so much that I didn’t have time to dwell on what he told me. That doesn’t mean I forgot, though. “Word is, you lost the loyalty of the frat.”

Nick watches our fathers closely, expression hardening at the look they share. “Hey, fuck that. Don’t just leave us in the dark.”

Pops sighs, avoiding Nick’s glare. “You know your grandpop died when we were Dukes.” Grandpop was his grandfather, our great-grandfather.

My back goes ramrod straight. “You’re not saying Saul–”

But Pops shakes his head. “Saul didn’t kill him. Your grandpop had been dying for years with lung cancer.”

Dad pipes in, “We all figured he’d go once Davis was in the belfry.”

“And we were right,” Pops says, the dullness of an old grief filling his eyes. “In fact, we’d only been in for a couple months when he kicked it. I never wanted to be King. You all know that.” Finally meeting Nick’s gaze, he adds, “But grandpop was always good to me, and I wanted to honor him. Do right by him. Do things just the way he taught me.” He lifts the beer to his mouth, giving a bleak smile. “Saul had other ideas.”

Dad stresses, “Bigger ideas,” and I take a guess.

---