Matt grunts and takes a sip. “I don’t know. I mean, I know the protocols, the safeguards Dad put in place before he—before this. But what I don’t know is how the remaining Syndicate members will accept me taking over. Dad had a pretty solid hold on things, but I’m sure some of the survivors will defect, and some will want to fill the power vacuum on their own.”
I gesture with my half-empty mug. “You’ve got two more days before those protocols kick in. There’s time to plan, time to set things in motion. We can start rebuilding before our people even check in.”
“Yeah … Two more days. I can still hear Dad’s voice, drilling that into my head. ‘Vacate. Find a safehouse. Wait three days, then report.’ Except no one can report to us now, because I’m hiding here. Like the coward I am.”
“You’re not a coward, Matt. You’re smart. Right now, hiding is the smart thing to do.” I frown. “But are you saying there’s no way to check messages? How are we going to find out who, if anyone, is left alive after last night? Where could everyone be?”
He taps the cup to his chin. “Hm. Good point. Where would you have gone?”
That’s a dumb question. “Wherever you went, like always.”
Predictably, Matt rolls his eyes. “Where would you have gone if I hadn’t kidnapped you while you were in shock?”
“My answer’s not going to change, Matt, no matter how many different ways you ask.”
“Oh, please!” He snorts and slams down his cup. “You didn’t even know I was in danger until seconds before your own house blew up. How were you going to follow me here if you didn’t know ‘here’ existed?”
I’m up so fast that my chair turns over with a loud clatter. “I knew something was wrong! Fuck, I was about to disobey the don by calling you before you showed up on my lawn.”
“You were going to call me against Dad’s wishes?”
I expect him to praise me for my loyalty to him, but instead, Matt seethes, turning red and raising his voice.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you fucking idiot!”
Shocked by his anger, I fire back the only way I know how: I shout right back.
“Better me dead than you, dummy! I had to know Tito didn’t fucking murder you.”
The coffee cup crashes against the wall behind me, releasing the acrid scent of liquor as it splashes its contents. Matt Irished up his coffee this morning. No wonder he’s on edge. My gaze flitsto the nearly empty pot, and I realize he’s already had more than just one cup.
“Dad wouldn’t kill me, and you know it. Beat the shit out of me, sure, but kill his only son and heir? He’d sooner commit suicide, and you know that’s a fucking mortal sin.”
Tears stream from my eyes as I remember how easily Emily distracted me from the task of contacting Matt. I’d brought her to the store with me, so I never got the burner phone I was planning to buy. This argument is kind of pointless. Feeling deflated and defeated, I drop my shoulders into a slouch and lean back against the wet wall. “Murder is a sin, too, but that never stopped Tito.”
“You’re staining your shirt,” Matt grumbles, and I know that the fight is essentially over. I give him a few minutes of contemplation before I speak again.
“What was that about, Matt?”
He sighs and gets a fresh cup out of the cupboard, pouring half the last of the coffee and, sure enough, adding some liquor from a flask in his pocket.
“Denial? Anger? One of the stages of grief, I guess.” The coffee disappears down his throat. “Dad would have gotten here by now if he survived the attacks. Would have shown up to scream at us for sleeping in the same bed.”
Ah. So that’s his problem. “I’m sorry, Matt. I know Tito loved you, even if his last act was to beat you.”
“He warned me, actually,” Matt whispers into his next cup of alcoholic coffee. “He had time to make one phone call, and he used his last breath to call me and warn me. He’s the reason I’m alive.”
“See? He loved you. Hold onto that, man. Don’t let yourself forget that part.”
“He loved what I represented. A future for the Syndicate, for his legacy. If he really lovedme, he would have accepted me as I am.”
I push away from the wall and walk over to Matt, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He did, in the end. He knew his life was over, but he saved you as his final act.”
When that has no immediate effect on his melancholy, I draw him into an embrace, holding his head to my chest. Within seconds, Matt breaks down in blubbering sobs. I engulf him in my arms, like I can somehow protect him from this intangible emotion the way I’ve always protected him from bullets and blades.
“It’s all gone,” he sobs. “Everything Dad built from the fucking ground up … It’s gone. All of it.”
“You don’t know that. It might not be as bad as you think. Even so, you’ll rebuild it,” I say, stroking his soft, dark hair. “You have the knowledge. Tito taught you everything he knew. Give yourself time to grieve, then we’ll go out there and show the world that you don’t fuck with the Royal Syndicate.”
