His eyes snap to mine again. “Help Toni set up. You know the business this end, your input would help him. Our uncle needs someone he can trust,” I continue. “Family.”
Erik wipes his face with the back of his hand, swallowing hard.
“And Leoni?” he asks quietly.
“Some things can’t be fixed,” I admit.
He nods once. Then inhales deeply before saying, “Italy sounds good. A fresh start.”
He holds out a hand, and I take it firmly. We shake. “Fresh start,” I agree.
Chapter Twenty-Three
LEONI
“Local businessman Nico Baxter was laid to rest this morning in a private ceremony attended by family, friends, and several prominent figures from the city.”
I pause, my mug of coffee hovering halfway to my lips as I turn toward the television.
The screen shows a line of black cars outside a stone church. Dark figures cluster beneath oversized umbrellas, faces blurred by rain. Respectable. Controlled. Mourning, the way powerful people do it—quietly, neatly.
“Mr Baxter, described by colleagues as a shrewd businessman and devoted family man—”
I switch the television off. The silence that follows is deafening.
Nico Baxter isn’t a businessman. He isn’t devoted. And family was never something he cherished; it was something he owned.
My hands shake as I set the mug down. I tell myself it’s just the heat. Just caffeine on an empty stomach. Not the fact that a week ago, the world I thought I understood collapsed in on itself. Not the fact that Warren Baxter hasn’t contacted me once.
And it’s not like I want him to.
I don’t.
But I have questions. Too many. They circle my thoughts at night, sharp and relentless, keeping sleep just out of reach. Everything feels unfinished, like a sentence that stops halfway through and leaves you waiting for a meaning that never comes.
I move to the window, staring out at a street that looks exactly the same as it did before all of this. Before I knew how deep the rot went. Before I realised how close I’d been standing to it.
Part of me wants to scream at how unfair it all is.
But I can’t share it. Not with Court. Not with Mum or Jordan. Because then they’d have to carry the weight of it too. And the one person who might actually know the truth, my father, is the one person I can’t face.
I still remember the way he looked me in the eye and lied when I asked if he was the reason Isaac was dead.
The door bangs open, and I jump so hard my heart slams against my ribs.
“Christ,” Courtney groans, dumping her bag by the door and kicking off her shoes. “They’ve been pinching my feet all day.”
She collapses onto the couch, dragging one foot up to inspect it, muttering under her breath. Eventually, she drops it and looks at me.
“So,” she says lightly, flashing a smile. “How’s heartbreak hell going?”
I swallow.
I told her Warren and I split. Framed it like a mutual decision. Clean. Simple. A lie that was easier for both of us.
“I’m feeling better today,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “You look like shit still.”
