The Brit

“Really?”

“You want to test your theory, Adams?”

“I’m not surprised, Danny. Don’t beat yourself up about it. She had the same effect on me.”

“Let me spell this out for you, Adams,” I seethe, starting to quake with anger. “If I don’t get that marina, you, your wife, your kids, every living fucking relative of yours will be dead, and it won’t be quick. They’ll all know the reason why they’re sitting on that chair with metal prongs in their thighs. They’ll all know it’s because of your dirty dealings. And as for Rose, you will get her pretty face in a box. You want that?”

“No,” he whispers.

“Who is it, Perry?”

“I don’t know! They contact me. I swear, Danny, I don’t know who they are.”

I slam my fist on the desk, out of control, standing and sweating on the spot.

Brad rushes into the office, his face alarmed when he finds me heaving down the phone. “The next time they reach out to you, you tell them to come see me.” I hang up, reaching up to my throat, feeling my neck veins bulging.

“Do I want to ask?” Brad steps forward, nervous as shit.

“Get Adams and bring him to me.” I slump into my chair, stressed as fuck. My only comfort in this moment is that Rose is here with me, so Adams’s contact can’t touch her. My head falls into my hands. That fucking missile came pretty fucking close, though. I don’t know much right now, but I know whoever’s pulling Adams’s strings is playing for the win. And at this rate, he’s going to get it.

If I could crawl into bed and stay there until today is over, I would. My bedroom being completely obliterated isn’t the only reason why I can’t. My father would haunt me for the rest of my days if I didn’t show up at his funeral.

I fix my black tie in the mirror, wriggling it from side to side until it’s perfect. Then I make my way to my office and have two straight Scotches, one after the other, before opening the top drawer of my desk just a fraction. I stare at the serpent ring, the emerald eyes glowing in the darkness. They could be my father’s eyes, sharp and accusing. I ignore the ache in my stomach that tells me he’s disappointed, pulling the drawer open the rest of the way and picking up the ring. I turn it between my fingers for a few moments. Then slide it into my pocket, unable to put the damn thing on my finger.

I look up when Brad enters, his black suit as crisp as his hair. “You find Adams yet?”

“Yeah.” His eyebrow hitches, and for a moment I wonder whether he’s going to tell me that yeah, they’ve found him. Washed up on the shore. Splattered on a sidewalk. A bullet in his head. “He’s taken a last-minute vacation to the Hamptons. One of the men is on his way to offer him a ride back.”

I laugh out loud, the sound unstoppable. He thinks he can leave the state and his problems will go away? Stupid fucker.

“You ready?” Brad asks.

“No,” I admit, forcing my feet forward.

We walk together out of the office and down the corridor to the entrance hall, and Brad opens the front door for me. I pull the lapels of my jacket in, and then smooth my hand through my hair.

My skin heats, and everything tells me not to seek out the source. But I still turn, finding Rose standing at the top of the stairs. Our eyes meet, hers soft, mine hard.

I look away, refusing to be drawn into their dead depths. “Let’s go,” I say, even and strong, feeling anything but.

Brad gets into my car with Ringo, and two of my other men take the Range Rover behind. I watch them pull away, taking a left when they pull out of the mansion. I slide into the other Merc alone, wait five minutes, and then leave.

The entire drive to the quiet cemetery on the west side of town, I can hear my father voicing his displeasure, his ego dented by my intentions. I ignore him, keeping my hands firmly on the wheel. When I pull up at the ancient churchyard, the priest is waiting, my father’s coffin laid by the side of a grave. I swallow and get out, making my way through the headstones to the spot I chose by a beautiful rose bush. The pink pompoms bursting from the green are the only flash of color in the cemetery, and the very reason I picked this spot.

“It’s never too late to have some color in your life, Mister,” I say quietly, reaching the edge of the pit that I’m about to have my father lowered into. The priest and the grave diggers remain a good distance away, leaving me to myself for a while until I give them the nod. I stare at the top of his coffin. “Don’t be mad,” I say to him, lowering to my haunches and resting a hand on the edge of the shiny wood. “I have an assassin on steroids after me. This was the only way.” I fight down the expanding lump in my throat. “I know you wanted a show, to go out with a bang, but this time I’ve done what I wanted. Just me and you, Pops. How it’s always been. Just me and you.” My damn fucking eyes sting, and I reach up and roughly wipe them. “Things are changing, Mister. Power is harder to keep, people are harder to control, and my determination is getting harder to maintain. I just wanted you to know that.” I stand and slip my hand into my pocket, finding his ring and feeling it. “Everything is uncertain, except one thing.” I swallow and move back, nodding to the priest. “I miss you.” It’s only now I realize, all these years after he found me, that this moment was always in his thoughts. Because the reality is, who would miss him if I wasn’t here? I feel like he’s set me up for heartbreak. He succeeded. He’s also made me wonder who the fuck is going to miss me when I’m gone? I’m the last Black. The legacy ends with me. I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a travesty.