Page 78 of Vicious Souls

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I signedthe docks over to the Accardis seven years ago. Willingly and happily, without a regret in the world. It was the least I could do for the act of heroism Rollo Accardi performed, saving my life.

Then recently, something extraordinary happened, and that is the reason for this letter. The information that has come into my possession has poisoned my blood slowly as I think about what to do with it. I can’t tell Durian and Dante and risk an all out war, for that’s what there would be. Nor can I let the matter go so easily without doing what I know must be done. I have set in motion the necessary steps to rid myself of Tate, knowing that this could very well be the end for me. I have written him out of my will. And I mean to kill him… slowly but surely… for ordering the hit on me which ultimately killed Rollo Accardi.”

* * *

Kingsley gaspsand lets the letter flutter to the ground again. She sways on her feet, almost losing her balance had it not been for a nearby chair on which she rests her hand. My father isn’t doing much better as he sits staring through me, shock veiling his face.

“Tate killed your brother,” Kingsley whispers, her face paling as she finally grasps how dangerous Tate is. “I don’t understand why he kept him around after knowing that.”

“He didn’t,” my father says, his voice a strangled mutation of his normal self. “He wouldn’t. But your father has been sick for almost that long, so obviously he was unable to do anything about Tate. There’s no way he would have willingly left you in his care.”

“But Tate’s been in the picture,” she argues. "He picked me up from Switzerland.”

“I dare say he was working to his own agenda.”

So many things make sense now, down to the visit that my father paid Maddog before he passed. I look at my father, recall that Maddog had told him to look after his son, but what else had he told my father? Why wouldn’t Maddog have told my father about the danger that Tate posed?

“Maddog didn’t tell you anything about Tate when you met him in the hospital?” I ask, turning in my father’s direction.

“Like I said, he was at times not altogether lucid, so I couldn’t always make out what he was trying to say. But he definitely did mention taking care of Kingsley. Although I can’t imagine why he didn’t tell me she’s a girl. He had me believe, to the very end, that he had a son. So maybe he was more delusional toward the end than we actually thought he was. Maybe he thought hewasseeing things?”

I find that hard to believe. Maddog had always been an astute man; nothing could have ruffled his feathers more than knowing his child was in certain danger.

“You’re taking this extremely calmly, considering what you’ve just learned.” I don’t know whether to be angry or crazy or just downright psychopathic considering Tate was responsible for my brother’s death. Someone who King had known all her life. A man that now technically worked for her. I don’t know how I feel about that, even knowing that she hates the man even more than I do.

“Now I know, this gives me some measure of closure,” my father says. “But neither of us can fall apart here – Tate is the objective and if we’re falling over ourselves with hatred and grief, Kingsley’s going to get hurt. And I won’t have that.”

My father rakes his eyes over Kingsley, much in the way I think he would do had he been lucky enough to have a daughter. If I was protective of her, my father was damn near territorial.

“Nothing will happen to me as long as I have you both by my side,” Kingsley says, raising her chin defiantly. She has been complying with all our orders down to the letter. Never leaving the building on her own and going off on a tangent. This is what will keep her safe. And I realize, with a sense of pride I had never known I’d be possible of, how far she has come in her transition from man child to rebel to woman. Kingsley, my very own bag of contradictions.

67

KINGSLEY

While Dante occupies the Lotus Building in one of the busiest streets in the Central Business District, I am located directly opposite him in the super secure VC Tower, where I reside in the Penthouse, with the two floors below for security, and a further two floors in which I conduct business. Not that I have any idea what to do, but that’s where my advisors come in. The selection panel has been stringent, with Claymore filtering through each and every candidate before he recommends them to Dante and Durian for their approval. Both men seem to be taking their vow to ensure my safety to the extreme.

Once we have a solid team going, they move into the tower and commence on their work, explaining and teaching me the ins and outs of business beyond what I had learnt during the years of my accelerated but rather limited college education. The advisors are well versed in letting me know what is expected of me (not much beyond decision making) and how to handle particular situations and different assets.

We haven’t heard a peep out of Tate, and Claymore, checking in on me every second day, assures me that he has people out hunting for him as well as others investigating his affiliations in an attempt to discover the identity of the mercenaries who had attacked Dante’s home.

And now to add to our woes, there is the matter of Tate being responsible for Rollo’s death. And his attempt on my father’s life. Which, if I am sure of anything, would not go unpunished. My father may be gone, but vengeance is well and truly alive.

Dante comes to see me a few days after I’ve settled into the Tower, striding casually into my office with his hands in his pockets like he owns the place. He wants to know how things are going, any issues I am having, and anything he can possibly help with. I can’t ignore how my stylist, in a corner of the room zipping up her portfolio, stops midway and stands ogling Dante. Yes, ogling.

“My Advisors are keeping my hands full,” I tell him, dismissing the stylist. She’d been foisted upon me against my better judgment. But I have to agree she has done wonders for my wardrobe.

I come around the desk and lean against it, my skirt riding up my thighs slightly. I watch as Dante’s eyes stray to the slit in the side of the fabric.

“Yes, I can see that,” he murmurs, his eyes climbing my body and skimming dangerously close to my cleavage before they rise to meet mine. “You have time for coffee?”

“I have a meeting in fifteen. How about dinner?”

“Done.”

“See you at my place at seven,” I call after him. He turns back and looks at me in surprise. He’d been expecting that we go out. I have other plans. He laughs and shakes his head before he walks out of my office.

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