Page 72 of Poison Aches
Vaughn is subtle, plays his cards close to the chest. Hardly makes any waves, but I know better.
He’s as sharp and precise as a bullet—and in this race to become the next boss of the Family, he’s myonlyopponent.
He stands to the left of Grandfather, holding the umbrella up for him.
Unlike everyone else who’s watching me, he goes back to being impassive, staring straight ahead, but I know he’s aware of everything, just like I am.
He’s the one person I have to be most cautious of because just like me, he has a hidden, sinister side that I don’t quite know of.Yet.
Up until now, I haven’t dealt with him, not because I haven’t done my homework on him, but because I choose not to. After all, I want to see what he can do.
It’s more fun that way.
One thing is clear, though, I won’t let him—or anyone else—get in my fucking way.
“Emmett is finally here!” a cheery voice I haven’t heard in a long time squeals.
I look to my left and spot Giovanni’s eldest daughter, Scarlet. Another huge-ass thorn in his fucking heart that he couldn’t get a son as his firstborn.
The last time I saw her, she had tears and mascara running down her face and sky-blue streaks in her jet-black hair.
This time she’s gone all out and dyed her hair hot pink, sporting a new tattoo on her wrist.
Under the sea of black, gray, and thundering skies, she’s the only pop of color and the only one smiling at my presence.
“Cousin,” I mutter. She’s the only one I ever acknowledge when it comes to these things.
“Hey yourself! We’ve been waiting for you!” Scar says cheerfully, twirling her umbrella as she watches me.
To others, she’s an airhead. To me, she’s a secret weapon.
I walk closer to Grandfather and stand in my designated spot, his right side, the spot that everyone covets and secretly desire in their hearts.
But it’s also the post with the heaviest burden—but that’s the good thing about being on the verge of death with each heartbeat.
No burden seems important or particularly heavy. It’s just something that must be taken care of.
“Grandfather,” I greet him in a low voice.
Thanks to the third stroke he had a few months ago that restricted him to a wheelchair, Grandfather sits quietly in his wheelchair, with a solemn look on his face as he stares at the large tombstone of his father, my great-grandfather and the man who took the Easton Family to the next level.
He’s also the man responsible for the current partnership of the Blue families in Westbrook Blues.
“You’re here,” Grandfather says, barely noticeable annoyance in his voice.
Ripley was right, he’s in a peculiar mood—but then again, he’s also a man running out of time.
All these years he thought himself invincible, as if he can escape death.
“I had matters to take care of.”
No apologies, No explanations.
“What matters? Finding your wretched father?” Emilio shoots from the back.
I don’t even spare him a glance, instead I stare at Grandfather. The topic of my father is also something I’m aware he’s very interested in.
“Uncle, that’s also part of it, yes,” I say simply, but with a finality to my voice.
