“Family business can be so complicated. Loyalties, obligations, the weight of legacy." Edmund's smile sharpens. "But I'm sure you understand that better than most."
Every word that comes out of his mouth seems like it’s wrapped in passive-aggressive pleasantries. A reminder from Edmund for us to know exactly where we stand in the pecking order of things.
"I understand that family is who you choose," Blake says. "Not who shares your blood."
"How very modern of you. I wish you’d had that mindset when you ran Miss Quinn’s DNA tests yesterday.”
Shot’s fired.
“Speaking of DNA,” Edmund turns back to me. "Peyton, I'd love a moment of your time. Privately. There are things we should discuss before the evening progresses."
"Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of Blake."
"I'm afraid I must insist. This is… a family matter." His tone leaves no room for argument, except I'm done following orders from men who think they own me.
"Then I must decline. Mr. Delano and I are a package deal tonight." I step closer to Blake to let Edmund see exactly where my loyalties lie. "If you want to talk, we can talk together, or not at all. I’m sure you understand my position.”
Edmund's jaw tightens. It’s barely visible, but there. He's not used to being refused, I bet, especially not by women.
"Very well." He gestures toward a side room, away from the main gathering, but I can feel Talia and the women of the FC keeping a close watch. “This way. Though I warn you, Ms. Quinn, the conversation we're about to have may change how you see your future in Wintervale."
"Good," I say as we follow him. "I'm ready for some honesty."
Blake's hand lies at the base of my spine as we walk, a silent communication that says I'm here, I've got you, we do this together. And suddenly, despite the danger, despite the fear, despite everything that could go wrong tonight, I feel ready.
Not safe. Not certain. But ready to become the thing they fear instead of the thing they use.
Blake said I was dangerous in this dress.
He has no idea how right he is.
Tonight, they're all going to learn exactly what happens when you underestimate a Kingsley with nothing left to lose and a Delano at her back.
Edmund opens the door to what looks like a private study, gestures us inside with the confidence of a man who's never questioned his right to control the room.
It’s time to teach Uncle Dearest that control is something you earn, not inherit.
* * *
Chapter Twelve (Corrected)
BLAKE
Edmund's private study reminds me a lot of Nonno’s. He’s a man who's been consolidating power for fifty years, so it’s full of heavy mahogany furniture, first edition books behind glass, and smells like expensive Cuban cigars and secrets– the kind that get people killed when they dig too deep.
While Edmund is fifty years my senior, and I could easily bitch slap him into next week, I’ve learned to never underestimate any living, breathing thing. Old or not, anybody can pull a gun and shoot. Bullets don’t discriminate. So when he closes the door behind us, I immediately catalog the exits.
One door we came through. Windows overlooking the gardens, third floor, thirty-foot drop to frozen ground. A second door, partially hidden behind a bookshelf, which was probably an old servant’s entrance, and a possible escape route if things go badly.
I could also just shoot the motherfucker. It would make life a lot simpler for Peyton.
Edmund moves to a sideboard and pours himself a scotch without offering us any. Power move. He’s establishing dominance through casual rudeness. I’ve done it myself a million times.
"I'll be direct," he says, settling into the chair behind his desk like it's a throne. "I am aware of who you are and what the DNA tests revealed."
“Okay.” Peyton doesn't flinch. "Then you know I have a legal claim to the Kingsley trust.”
"Legal, perhaps. But legality and reality are often at odds in Wintervale." He sips his scotch, studying her over the rim of the glass. "The question is what you intend to do with that claim."
