This isn’t over. It’s just beginning. That fire is raging now.
My claws dug into my palm as I gripped the steering wheel, pulling down the long driveway where a landscaping team was manicuring every inch of what’s about to be my new front lawn. It’s coming together…and it’s mine.
I’m building anewhouse.
And it won’t be stained by the name I never fucking wanted.
It’ll befearedby the name they thought was dead.
My mouth curled and I parked in the circular driveway in front of the entrance to my new castle. The contractor stepped out of the front door just as I’d slammed mine shut.
“Miss Byrne.”
That’s right…the queen just arrived home.
Sylvan National was a bust.
I didn’t even bother trying to get whatever money was left in Jonas’s account. The safety deposit box isn’t there. I don’t need, nor do Iwanthis fucking blood money. I just want theblood. I have a gut feeling my answers are in this box…wherever it is. I stepped into the large glass door at Everton Trust, and my throat felt tight as I took in the massive marble foyer. I’m not dressed for this. Might as well own it now. At least I wore heels today. They clacked and echoed off the walls as I held the manila envelope in front of me and raised my chin, stepping up to the teller. I didn’t wait for her to ask. It’s gonna taste just as bitter as it did about half an hour ago when I had to force the venom from my tongue.
“My name is Bridget O’Dell. I’m here to empty and close my husband’s safety deposit box.” I opened the envelope and turned it over, cringing when the brass key pinged on the counter. Then I slid the paperwork out.
“We’ll need his sig—”
“No, you won’t. He’s dead. I’m trying to tie his loose ends and put this behind me. Can you help me, or not?”
I got a few really stern looks from around the counter and decided to keep my composure, lest I look like an impostor instead of a grieving widow. She thinks she’s better than me in that cheap pantsuit and standard mani. She’d be fucking prettierwith her throat split open.Keep looking at me like that, bitch…I’ll do it for fun.She slid the stack of papers towards her and went to typing away on her stupid computer. I think I’m pulling this off simply because I’m livid at the fact that I have to utter his last name. It’s doing wonders for the scowl on my face.
“Are we closing all accounts, or just the box?”
My heart leapt. I tried my best not to let it show. Every muscle in my body gave way to relief. I can’t believe I got this on the second try. “Close them all. Write a check and make it out to Leviticus House in Castine. I’d like it to be donated anonymously.”Lydia…looked up from her computer screen.
“All of it?”
I nodded once.
A few protocol signings and thirty minutes later, I sat in a chair in an office that was way too clean and tried not to let my foot bob in impatience as it dangled over my knee. The stiff little prick that tried in all ways to figure me out, came back with his tail tucked and the key in his hand.
“If you’re ready, Mrs. O’Dell, you can follow me.”
I did. Silently…aside from my uneasy footsteps down the hall behind him as he led me into the room. A tall table stood in the middle and I stopped at it, watching him go down the row until he found what I came here for.
“Box 77.”
You’re shitting me.
My stomach flipped. He slid the key in, and turned it, pulling the box out and turning towards me while I swallowed down nerves and vomit. That can’t be a fucking coincidence. Maybe it’s karma. What a bite to have in his patheticass.
“Take all the time you need. There’s a bag here for the contents. When you’re finished, just leave the box on the table. You have our condolences.”
I cleared my throat and stared down at the box. “Thank you.”
The door closed and my fingertips rested on top of the metal box that could either be a blessing…or a curse. I lifted the top and the hinges screeched, kind of matching the way my lungs locked when I looked inside.
“The fuck?” I choked out, peering down at a plethora of…question marks. There were several stacks of banded cash sitting on a stack of clipped papers. None of it was American currency. Every stack looked different. I recognized one as euros. Banknotes. Pounds…sterling.
Rolls of coins. A flash drive. A smaller brown envelope tucked underneath the money. The answers are in here. I feel it. Just as many answers as there are questions, and every one of them setting my fuckingteethon edge.
I slipped the envelope out from beneath the money, and it wasn’t sealed. I pulled out photos—somanyphotos. There were some of Shavonn and Mal from years ago…around the time the talks must have started about joining the houses. These are surveillance. A few of me…one of them being at a swanky restaurant with Sean…the last guy Malek gutted for me. There were several of Daddy, meeting in various different places with different people. Some were Irish that I recognized, but couldn’t quite remember…some weren’t. The rest were mostly shots of random young girls, all of them very pretty…and then it hit me.
