Page 45 of The Burnt Heart

Trading hurts.

23

Adelaide

“She would be so proud of you,” my father rattled out a sigh. I stared down at the dirt, my face a mask. There were no markers on the ground, but I could feel the energy of my grandparents next to me. I laid the loose, white roses on the brushed dirt. The air was thick, like cement in my lungs. Behind us, my grandmother’s greenhouse languished without her medicinal hand.

“At least they’re together.” My father cleared his throat, turning away so I wouldn’t see the glassy film over his eyes. I looked at the dirt in front of me. My grandmother had wanted to be buried here, next to her own father. At one with her plants. When my grandfather followed her only months later, he wanted to be with her. His wife. Their love shaped my view of the world. Fierce, devoted and deadly.

“We should decide what we want to do with this space,” I mused, curiously numb. My heart had reached its quota for agony and there was no more room to further mourn my grandmother. A slight breeze ruffled through my father’s thinning hair, and he nodded in agreement.

“Low priority at the moment. Any news on Crimson Claw?”

I waved off his concern. My thoughts whipped between heartache and blistering rage. The reclusive motorcycle club had cruised through Greenich Bay again but evaded the men I sent to apprehend them. It was like they were taunting us, crossing through both Orazio and Donato territory, never stopping in one place long. Just enough for the red brand of their club logo to be noted. A wolf showing its fangs. I had tried to reach out to their Club President, but they had ignored all efforts. There had been no more attempts on my life or macabre gifts, but I had a distinct feeling of being hunted. The back of my neck prickled almost constantly.

“Nothing.” My lip curled. “How they keep slipping in is a mystery. But if I see one more leather jacket, I might lose it. We run this city and they’re making us a laughing stock.”

“Peace, darling.” My father clicked his tongue. “They will have to make another move soon. What they didn’t realize was that it only brought the Orazios and Donatos closer together. Let them try when we’ve finally united.”

I hummed, my stomach still turning. My father was still under the impression that I was dating Ray and it seemed Harold and he were bonding over the idea of a potential marriage. Another problem I had to solve. Ray was still avoiding me, but I needed to tell him our arrangement was over.

Crimson Claw infiltrating Greenich Bay hadn’t gone unnoticed by Chief Goldman. My sources told me he was furiously trying to tamp down the rumors of an outlaw motorcycle club taking up space in the city. Ray had fallen through the cracks, his dubiousreputation glossy compared to the rough visage of Crimson Claw. Knowing the Chief was apoplectic gave me a small smidge of pleasure.

I turned my focus back to the unmarked graves of my family.

“Do you want to be buried here?” I tilted my head at my father, unsure how I felt about the grim graveyard the greenhouse plot was building. My father shrugged, eyes flickering to where my mom lay.

“It doesn’t matter to me. We are all just skin and bones at the end. I won’t be in the ground. I’ll be in here.” He reached over and tapped my upper chest. My pulse thumped in my ears in response.

He was right. I looked to the left where I knew we buried my mom. My grandparents? My mom? They all existed in my heart still. Some memories were darker and twisted than others, but they still existed. Nothing could change that.

“Besides, my mother would kill me a second time if I lay her to rest here and got myself a fancy coffin and headstone.”

I laughed, my throat feeling raw. There had been scarce opportunities to laugh lately.

“I have to get back. Keep me updated, especially if you get any more presents.” My father squeezed my shoulder before leaving. I had driven out separately, knowing I would need more time here. I wasn’t quite ready to leave and face the tangled mess my life had become. Silver glinted on my wrist, the bracelet that my grandmother had left me. I wore it today in memory of her. She was guarded and blunt. Love from her came as tersely presented gifts. She didn’t speak with affection. Her touch wasn’t warm but measured. A storm encapsulated in a bottle. I had always strived to be just like her. The opposite of my mom. Who had been so soft this life had crushed and poisoned her. My father had brought a bunny into a world full of wolves and it had torn herto pieces, mercilessly. Thinking about her made me queasy, and I pressed my palm against my stomach.

I made my way over to the greenhouse. The interior was musty. Since my grandmother had died, I couldn’t bring myself to visit often. All the plants were removed and without the vast array of greenery, it seemed lifeless. There was so much legacy on this secluded plot of land. Hidden on the outskirts of Greenich Bay, shouldered by thick trees. Privacy was paramount when you grew plants that could kill. I swiped my finger over a mortar worn from decades of use. In six years, I had only brought Logan, Jesse, and Briar last year when we buried my grandparents. I’d made the same mistake my father did, falling for men who weren’t ruthless like I was.

I had tried to keep them separate from my life as much as possible. So, they weren’t put in the position my mom had been. I didn’t involve them in the details of my life as an heir to a crime family. It made sense to me at the beginning, but now I wished I had done everything differently.

My forehead pulsed. Too quickly, intrusive thoughts assaulted me.

Flashes of red tumbled in.

Dusty secateurs plunging into my chest.

A startled gasp escaped from me. I clutched at my head, unable to stop the barrage of gore, terror and blood that flooded over me.

“Stop,” I whispered fiercely. “Just fucking stop.”

There was no point pleading. I had to focus on relaxing. Filling my lungs with deep, slow breaths. To let the thoughts come without judgement. Not to twist, turn and rage against them. But I was already weak from everything. My mind was vulnerable. I clutched at the windowsill, cradling my head with my other hand. Outside the blurred glass I spotted a flash of color. White of my blooms, but also sunflowers. The white roseswere mine, but the sunshine yellow? My hand went to my hip, and I cursed. I’d left my gun in the car.

“They’re from all of us,” a voice cleared behind me.

Logan lingered in the doorway, ducking his head at the force of my glare. What was he doing here?

“After dinner the other night, I’m sure we’re the last people you want to see. We thought all three of us would be overwhelming, so it’s just me.”

---