Etienne Duval.
Sarai Duval.
Augustus & Bernard Duval.
Julen Duval.
Adela Duval.
Noah Duval.
Patricia Duval
I recognize each one. If not by face then by reputation. The Duvals run the docks. Petty, useless crimes that resulted in pain and death. Their empire was built on the bones of all the people they climbed over to reach the highest point of their business.
Including my boys.
“I asked for a rundown of the Duval family,” Marcus mumbles, slapping the page down on his desk. “This seems to be all that’s left of them.”
“There are less of us,” I remind him, never taking my eyes off our targets.
Memorizing each one.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” he goes on. “We were living in peace.”
“Peace is an illusion,” I retort without thinking, but not taking it back. “They started it.”
Marcus sighs. He reaches past me for the sleek, black fountain pen and begins crossing two names off.
Patricia Duval.
Noah Duval.
“Why?” I ask.
“They’re children.”
I think I should care. The previous Lenora would. The other Lenora would tell him to forgive and let it go. But that useless thing is dead.
“Noah is eighteen,” I say instead. “He’s next in line.”
The end of his pen smacks the wood. Once. Twice.
“He’s still a kid.”
“Eighteen is an adult. With the others gone, he will take his father’s place, and it will never end.”
“Let’s leave it for a later conversation.”
Anger wells up in my throat. The hot ashes of an open flame that scorches across my tongue.
“You promised all of them.”
“Not the children, Lenora,” he snaps back. “I don’t hurt children.”
Reminding him yet again that Noah is eighteen, nearly nineteen and most likely already deep in his father’s shadow would do nothing. Despite it all, he continues to hold stubbornly to his nobility.
“Hey.” My chin is captured and my face is tipped to his. “I made you a promise. I will handle this.”
