Gordon and Delilah Andresano. They both stopped and turned, twin expressions of scorn on their faces.
Delilah was in her late sixties—tall and very thin, with icy white hair swept back from her very white face and tucked into a chignon, showing off flawless high cheekbones. Her cold blue eyes were piercing, thin lips, pursed in disapproval.
Gordon was older, in his mid-seventies, but he still had all his hair, iron-gray and combed carefully with pomade. Deep crease marks lined either side of his thin-lipped mouth.
I should have seen this coming.
Relax, Susan, I told myself. You are a strong, confident woman. You are in control.
Vincent’s parents had always hated me. I didn’t really know exactly why, but I could guess, and there were too many reasons to choose from. Vincent was their only son, and he’d rebelled, choosing to be an artist instead of going into property development with his father. I came along and enabled their son to follow his dream, so they disowned him. And I apparently emasculated him, too—not that Vincent had ever cared about that—by being the breadwinner of the family.
The other man narrowed his eyes, peering at me, and stepped closer. “You are Susan Moore, aren’t you?”
Heat surged in my belly; I tamped it down and arched my eyebrow. “Yes.”
Delilah, waiting at the bottom of the steps outside, sneered up at me.
“I’m Rufus Stonnington.” The man walked towards me, holding up an envelope. “This is for you.”
I wasn’t an idiot; I knew what it was, and I wouldn’t let Delilah, or her jumped-up lawyer, have the satisfaction. Instead of waiting for Rufus Stonnington to climb back up the steps and hand it to me, I sauntered forward, swinging my hips and blocking his ascent. “Oh no, wait, let me, sweetie. These steps can be tough on old joints. I don’t want you to strain yourself. Stay there, dear.” I casually plucked the envelope out of his hand.
He glared up at me, jowls wobbling. “You’ve been served.”
“Indeed. And how lovely that you’d come out on the weekend to serve me.” I gave him my most patronizing smile, knowing that it would annoy the crap out of him.
Most white men didn’t experience discrimination until they got old, and it was always fun to be the one to introduce them to how shitty it feels to be patronized and belittled. It was petty, but I figured I’d earned it. I’d spent years being talked over in board meetings, fighting for the same pay as my male colleagues, and left out of client meetings because they were being held at strip clubs. I couldn’t even count the number of times in my career I was told to go back to the kitchen where I belonged. Just before my breakdown, in fact, another male executive told me to go make him a sandwich when I disagreed with one of his proposals. All the other executives laughed.
And if Rufus Stonnington was anything like his clients, he deserved to get put down a peg or twenty. I patted his shoulder and made a sympathetic noise. “I hope your knees are okay. It’s going to be getting colder out, you should have a hat on, at least, dear.”
He harrumphed, stomping back down the steps away from me. “I’ll thank you for keeping your opinions to yourself, Ms. Moore.”
“So, your clients are taking me to court again, is that right, Mr. Stonnington?” I folded the envelope, tossed it carelessly behind me, looked up, and met Delilah’s eye. “What is it this time, Delilah?”
She didn’t answer; she just glared at me. The lawyer cleared his throat, obviously trying to regain control. “We have evidence that you’ve been hiding assets from your former spouse. This building, for example. Even if you’ve come to it through nefarious means, it’s still subject to assessment. We need to redress the settlement with Vincent Andresano.”
“Oh, of course. You’re after my money. Again,” I tutted. “Some people are so greedy.”
Delilah’s mask cracked. “You tried to kill my son, you whore,” she hissed from down the steps. “You stole the best years of his life and gave him nothing.”
“Nothing except my whole heart and soul, and my entire fortune, and my sanity.”
“You didn’t give him the one thing that mattered. A legacy.”
That old injury stretched and ached like stitches straining at a stab wound. Would it hurt forever? Probably. I had always wanted to have kids, and I would never get the chance. “You hated me before that, though. Tell me, Delilah. I’m curious. What did I ever do to you?”
Gordon lifted his chin, eyes blazing. “You took our son away from us.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” I let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Your son is a grown man, not an object to take.”
“You seduced him. You corrupted him, and he turned his back on proper family values.”
“You’re talking about him as if he’s a silly teenage boy. Like I said, he’s a grown man, and he’s responsible for his own actions. Just like you.” I wagged a finger. “And you’re being dishonest. You disowned him because he wanted to be an artist. He called your bluff and lived his life the way he wanted to. Any offense you feel is entirely on you.”
“Family and duty are everything,” Delilah snarled. “Our only fault was in waiting patiently for Vincent to come to his senses and come home to us. But instead, you degenerated so far, you went crazy and tried to kill him. Nothing will ever make up for that scar you gave him.”
Some of my bravado evaporated. “I didn’t try to kill him.”
“You did. And we don’t want your money, slut,” Delilah spat. “But we will have it if that’s what it takes to tip you over the edge and put you away for good. We will not rest until you’re locked up in the hospital where you belong.”
My stomach churned, hot like lava. The memory of the psychiatric hospital felt like being plunged right back into a nightmare. Harsh fluorescent light everywhere, impossible to block out. The squeak of footsteps on the linoleum floor. No door handles. The screams.
So many screams.
I swallowed. The lump in my throat was too big; I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding too fast. It was going to explode. Come on, Susan. Witty retort. Acidic riposte. You can do it.
The words stuck in my throat.
Suddenly, heat surged at the small of my back and a big, warm hand slipped into mine. It felt like an anchor, and I was a little lifeboat tossed around in a storm. I held onto that hand like it was my salvation, inhaling his overwhelmingly masculine woodsy sandalwood and leather scent. My lungs expanded gratefully.
Donovan pulled me into his side, supporting me. He put his lips close to my ear, an intimate gesture that took my breath away. “Chosen,” he whispered. “Say the word, and I will remove their heads from their bodies and place them on pikes to frighten the rest of your enemies away.”
“Who are you?” Delilah’s voice echoed. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. “Who is that man, Stonnington?”
“No beheading,” I mumbled. “Please, Donovan.” With enormous effort, I pushed the nightmare of the hospital away and forced myself back to reality. “I’m fine.” I took a deep breath and turned to look up at his face.
It helped a little more. Donovan’s eyes bored into mine, fathomless, filled with endless compassion as well as a relentless savagery. I held his gaze and focused on my breathing.
“Are you sure?” He cocked his head slightly. “No beheading?”
