Page 37 of Vendetta

I'm sitting in his office, discussing killing a whole family to prove I'm worthy enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm still that thirteen-year-old boy he picked up from the boarding school.

I never saw him much before that day. My dad never mentioned him, as if he didn't even exist, and I had better things to do than to ask. My mother used to travel a lot, always taking me with her, so it’s not like I even needed an uncle. Then the whole thing happened, and he appeared out of nowhere ready to claim his place as “the boss.”

Why did it never occur to me that he might have had a hand in what happened to my family? When I look at him, I don't see my uncle. I don't see my father's brother. I see a man of power, wanting more power. It's never enough.

“Devon,” he says, looking at me expectantly. When he sees he has my attention, he says, “Will you deal with George?”

“Yeah,” I answer, though I'd rather not be the one to talk to him. He just really pisses me off.

“Make sure to let him know how important it is he gives us the right info. We can't afford to make any mistakes right now.”

I nod, though I can't seem to ignore that this is all so convenient. Once the Moores are gone, we, or rather,hewill get it all. Nothing to fight over. No more worrying if we're stepping on their turf. No one will speak up when he claims it.

But the proof doesn't lie. It was Keith who tried to hide the evidence of my parents' identities. And is my uncle really so power hungry that he'd kill his own brother? Why am I still alive, then? In theory, I'm the rightful heir.

I forget all about my suspicions later that day when I go to pick up a shipment. I pass one of their restaurants on the way there. I see Keith getting out of his car, surrounded by his men. Dominic Moore, his surrogate son, is standing beside him, all six feet of him, dressed in a fine suit, his dark hair slicked back. I hate the guy. He was always around Leighton, watching over her like a hawk.

Keith says something, slapping Dominic on the back, and he laughs, shaking his head. He looks back, and his bushy eyebrows knit together when he sees me, and then he nods at me. He fuckingnodsat me.

Dominic, to his credit, doesn’t acknowledge me, the way Keith shouldn’t have.

I nod back, though I have no respect for this man.

Hayley is already waiting for me in the library when I'm finally home. I'd say I dread this conversation, but I don't. I'm almost positive she's the one to blame for Leighton's behavior since yesterday morning.

I know I shouldn't care; it's for the better to keep our distance. I find myself trying to figure out a way out of this mess. I know I owe it to my parents and Joey to see this through, but I keep thinking at what cost? Would they even want me to do this?

And, truth be told, I don't want Leighton to hate me.

So, as Hayley smiles at me, and stands on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek, I move away and ask her, “What happened yesterday after I left?”

“What happened?” she asks, her eyes wide with pretend innocence. I recognize it so well.

“You tell me. When I left, she didn't hate me. When I came back, she couldn't stand to be near me. So something must have happened in between, and you were the only one with her.”

“I just explained some things to her, Devon,” she says, an air of arrogance around her, something she picked up from her father. This is the side of Hayley I never liked. She likes to meddle in things because she thinks she knows best. “Like, if she cared, she wouldn't put you in danger like she did yesterday morning. You both should have known better.”

I start to pace the room, frustrated, and then stop in front of her, looking down. “You have no fucking idea what's going on.”

“Then whatisgoing on? I thought I had it figured out, that she was playing some game with you to get herself out of this, but clearly I'm wrong. And you stopped talking to me ages ago,” she says, waving her hands in exasperation. “How can I know if you won't tell me?”

I turn my back to her, and look straight into my father's eyes above the fireplace. “You wouldn't understand,” I say to both of them.

“And then she started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know what to say, what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what to think of this, Devon.”

I turn back to her. “What questions?”

Hayley looks down at her hands and starts playing with the rings on her fingers.

“What did she ask, Hales?”

“She asked about you, and me. About us.”

I can't help myself. I lose it. “What the fuck, Hales?” I yell, striding toward her. “What did you tell her?”

She starts crying. Of course, she fucking starts crying.

Now, I've been friends with Hayley for a very, very long time. And the tears I see, they're not sad, or scared. I've seen her cry these tears whenever she knew she did something wrong. Whenshe took my music player and lost it, she cried these tears. When she broke up with me, she cried these tears. These tears are guilty.

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