Page 155 of Unlock My Heart

If I’m going to be the villain of Faiben’s story, I might as well live up to the role.

Fabien

The present

“Kirksey will set up an ambush for the family, tonight at my office,” I update my brother on my plan.

Sienna has chosen to betray me, not that I blame her.

“Kirksey is too chicken shit to do it himself, so he needs to believe that I’ve been killed,” I continue. “That will draw him out of hiding, and I’ll be waiting.”

Angelo strums his fingers on his desk, a habit we both picked up from Vitto. “How will this work without a public announcement of your passing? I’m being sworn in on Monday, and I’d rather avoid the messy optics.”

“One step ahead of you, little brother.”

He snorts. “That’s doubtful, but let’s hear it.”

Ignoring the jab, I tell him, “There will be a private funeral mourning my loss on Saturday. Kirksey will hear the news.”

“How can you be so sure?”

I fall back in my chair. “There’s a leak in my house.”

Angelo whistles.

This plan will either be epic or an epic crash and burn. No room for in-between.

“Very well. I’m counting on you to handle this problem before Monday.”

“Relax, your coronation won’t be screwed up. Unlike mine,” I can’t help but throw in a dig.

“You’re the one who punched me,” Angelo grumbles.

“For good reason,” I counter.

My brother leans back in his chair. “You’re right.”

I hold an exaggerated hand to my ear. “Come again?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” he chides. “Had I heard you speaking to Remi the way I spoke to your wife, I would’ve done the same.” With a throat clearing, he continues, “Remi has asked me to extend an invitation for you and Sienna to join us for Sunday dinner at the weekend house.”

“Raincheck. I’ll be dead, remember?” I tell him, walking to the door.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Sienna

The Present

Examining myself in the mirror, I do a little twirl. My goth/Victorian wedding/funeral gown is complete, and all that’s left is some cleanup work on the veil.

“Will you be wearing that to my funeral?” Fabien stops in the doorway.

“That assumes I’d attend your funeral.” I brace my spine, hating the gnawing feeling of guilt trying to claw its way into my heart.

Fabien cocks his head. “You wouldn’t cry for me, piccola volpe?”

“I’ve shed enough tears for you, Fabien,” I say, feeling the heavy truth of those words in my bones.