She’s a pariah. A bottom-feeder.
Quincy Abbot hadn’t updated his will before his accident. In fact, he hadn’t changed it since his fortune began to collapse. So, when their attorney reads his final wishes, it’s a moot point. Because the house is mine. Controlling shares of the company will remain mine even though each of his daughters will receive an equal division of his shares. And there’s not much fortune to speak of.
Irina would receive an allowance out of his estate, but since said estate is no longer financially viable, she will get nothing.
I watch her from my place at the back of the room when she hears this and, exactly as I expect, she huffs and puffs and leaves in a flurry, her rage overriding any grief she may have pretended to feel.
I watch Lizzie as her mother throws her tantrum. Persephone isn’t affected but I see her watch her sister too and as much as Lizzie tries to pretend she doesn’t care, she does. She’s hurt. I see it. I’m sure Persephone does too.
When it’s over, Shane takes them home. I don’t accompany them. I have to take care of one thing first. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I call my father and, without even a greeting, tell him to meet me at the hospital.
When I enter Jonas’ room, my father is already there.
Jonas is sitting up on the bed, his face swollen and bruised, both eyes black one arm in a cast and bandages circling his torso. He gives me a hate-filled look, but I don’t miss the fact that he presses himself deeper into the bed at my approach.
“You fucking asshole. Look what you did to me.” He seethes, his rage a palpable thing.
“Shut up,” my father tells him before I get a chance to. “What’s this about?” my father asks as the door quietly closes behind me.
“Quincy Abbot’s death makes that hit-and-run a homicide.”
My father’s jaw tightens, and Jonas looks the other way.
“I have a question,” I say. I wait to speak until Jonas turns back to me. “Why did you leave that letter for Persephone to find in the chapel the other night?” I’m actually not certain it’s him who did it, but he’s the one with the most to gain from it. She’d know her father was involved with Nora to the point that he’d thought he’d impregnated her. She’d know her father tried to pay for an abortion. Maybe she’d see that Nora loved Jonas? The thought still sickens me but in his twisted mind, maybe it made sense.
“I wanted her to know if she told anyone what she knew, her father would also be implicated.”
He was covering his own ass. Hardly a surprise.
“Like I said, he’s dead now.” I turn to my father. “Homicide.” I pause to let that fact sink in, although I’m sure he’s already figured it out. I shift my gaze to Jonas. “You commissioned the photographs of Lizzie Abbot.” It’s not a question.
“He wasn’t thinking—” my father steps in.
“I’m not asking you,” I tell him.
“It’s not like you can commission something from the fucking mob. I told Scava about your relationship with Percy. He wanted to take her, but I wouldn’t let him touch her. It’s because of me he didn’t take your precious Persephone.”
My father steps toward me, puts a hand on my shoulder. He must feel the energy it’s taking me to keep control of myself.
“I should thank you?” I ask Jonas.
“Son,” my father starts. “Please.”
“First Nora, now this. You’re fucking sick, Jonas. A predator.”
He blinks several times, finally turning his gaze away. Guilt? No. People like him don’t feel guilt.
“Nora’s gone,” my father says. “I don’t want her name dragged through the mud. You can’t go public. For her sake, not his.”
“So, he should walk away scot-free? And what about you? Should you for your part in this?”
“My part? You don’t care about Quincy Abbot whatever you feel for his daughter. Remember, he played a role in Nora’s downfall too.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
My father backs up a couple of steps, drops into the seat in the room. “It’s too late to make this right.”
It’s too late for a lot of things.
He looks up at me. “What do you want me to do?”
I turn my gaze back to Jonas because ultimately, he’s at the heart of this. He’s the cause of it. And Nora’s part, she’s paid her price. So has Quincy Abbot. The only one who hasn’t is this piece of shit.
“You’re gone. Disappear.”
“What?”
“Today. Tonight.” I turn to my father. “Make it happen. Make sure I never see or hear from him again. Make sure he doesn’t come near me or what’s mine. Or believe me.” I stalk to the bed and Jonas cringes away. “If there’s a next time, you won’t survive it.”
43
Persephone
It’s late when Hayden walks into my father’s study that night. I don’t even realize he’s in the house. It’s not like he rings the doorbell or anything.
I’m sitting behind the desk after having gone through most of his things to separate anything personal.
“Hey,” I say, looking up at him, feeling strangely relieved that he’s here. I think about what he said about how he feels when I’m not around. I have the same with him. My mind wanders to that afternoon before my sister’s call came in. To what he told me. To those few moments after.
He loves me.
Hades loves Persephone.
“Hey.” He comes inside and closes the door. I see the black envelope in his hand and remember the last time I had one of those delivered to the house. He sits down on the chair across from the desk, his stance casual. He’s still wearing his dark suit that he wore to the funeral.
“Where’s your sister?”
“She went to bed. She’s exhausted.”
“I think we all are. How are you holding up?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Okay, I guess. I have to be there for Lizzie now.”
“You lost your father, Persephone. You also have a right to grieve.”
“It’s weird,” I start, looking at the few stacks I’ve made. “I think a part of me knew he wouldn’t wake up, and you’d think I’d be ready, but I wasn’t. Not even close.” I wipe a stray tear.
He’s up on his feet and pulling me into his arms. He holds me to him, touches my cheek gently.
“I don’t think you can ever be ready for death.” He sits down, sets me onto his lap and I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I tell him.
He smiles down at me.
“Where did you go? After the funeral?” I ask.
“I needed to take care of some things.”
“What things?”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear and gestures to the envelope.
I glance at it then back at him. “I remember the last one of those envelopes that was delivered.”
“Open it.”
I pick it up. I open the flap and take out the sheets of paper inside. I read the first sentence but sit up to re-read it as it requires all of my attention.