Chapter 11 - THE MOTHER OF THE KING
Z
Ethan did not speak for twelve minutes after Roman hung up.
I know because I counted.
Maybe his habits were contagious.
He stood in my mother’s kitchen staring at nothing while Elena packed Sophie’s bottles and pretended she wasn’t listening.
Finally, I touched his arm.
“Ethan.”
He looked at me.
“I need to go home.”
“To Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“We’re coming.”
“No.”
I actually laughed.
He closed his eyes.
“Not now.”
“This is exactly when.”
“My mother may have ordered my wife’s murder.”
“And you think I’m letting you deal with that alone?”
“This is family.”
I stared at him.
“So am I.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Ethan looked at me.
Elena went very still.
My face warmed.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
His voice had changed.
Softer.
Dangerously soft.
I pointed toward Sophie.
“And she is too.”
He looked at our daughter.
Not biologically his.
Nobody in that room needed to explain that anymore.
His face changed.
“Fine.”
Elena exhaled dramatically.
“Thank God. I did not have time for another twenty-minute argument.”
We flew back to Chicago that afternoon.
Private jet this time.
I did not complain.
Nobody had photographed us boarding.
That alone made it worth swallowing my pride.
Margaret met us at the Callahan house.
The moment Ethan entered, she knew.
“What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Ethan?”
“Where is my mother?”
My stomach dropped.
I had never met Ethan’s mother.
I knew almost nothing about her.
Margaret’s expression turned guarded.
“At the lake house.”
“Since when?”
“Two weeks.”
“Why?”
“She wanted quiet.”
“Tell her I’m coming.”
Margaret’s face changed.
“What did you find?”
Ethan held up his phone.
Isabelle’s photograph filled the screen.
Margaret sat down.
Not slowly.
Hard.
“Oh.”
That one word told me everything.
She knew.
Ethan stared at her.
“You knew Isabelle met Roman.”
Margaret looked suddenly older.
“I knew she was frightened.”
“Of my mother?”
Silence.
“Margaret.”
“Yes.”
I watched something die behind Ethan’s eyes.
He stepped back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were already burying your wife and child.”
“So you let me spend thirteen years believing Patrick did everything.”
“Patrick did enough.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Margaret stood.
“Your mother believed Isabelle had betrayed you.”
“With Roman?”
“Yes.”
“Had she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“I asked Isabelle.”
“And?”
“She said she was protecting you.”
The exact thing I had guessed.
My chest tightened.
Ethan laughed once.
Brokenly.
“She was protecting me, so my mother killed her.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Roman does.”
“Roman lies for sport.”
“So do Callahans, apparently.”
Margaret flinched.
I stepped closer.
“Ethan.”
He pulled away.
Not from anger.
From pain.
“I need air.”
He left.
I started after him.
Margaret stopped me.
“Give him one minute.”
I looked at her.
“One.”
Outside, Ethan stood beside the stone fountain.
Snow had begun falling.
I wrapped my coat tighter and joined him.
“You’re supposed to be inside.”
“Apparently nobody can make me do anything.”
“That’s becoming clear.”
I stood beside him.
“Tell me about your mother.”
“Eleanor Callahan.”
“Still married to your father when he died?”
“Yes.”
“Close with Isabelle?”
“At first.”
“And then?”
“She thought Isabelle made me weak.”
I stared at him.
“Your family really needs therapy.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“Eleanor believed weakness got people killed.”
“Did she like anyone?”
“Power.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“She tolerated me.”
My heart hurt.
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
I touched his hand.
He looked down.
“Whatever your mother did, it isn’t yours.”
“That’s not how families like mine work.”
“It is now.”
He studied me.
“You really think you can rewrite generations?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I think you can stop repeating them.”
The snow collected on his hair.
For a moment, he looked younger.
Not king.
Not boss.
Just tired.
He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles.
Then the front door opened.
Declan called.
“Boss.”
We turned.
“We found Roman.”
Ethan’s expression changed immediately.
“Where?”
“He checked into the Palmer House under his own name.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
Roman wasn’t hiding.
That meant he wanted to be found.
Two hours later, we entered a private suite.
Roman stood by the window drinking bourbon.
No guards visible.
Ethan brought six anyway.
“Where is the letter?”
Roman smiled.
“Nice to see you too.”
“The letter.”
Roman poured another drink.
“You look like your father when you’re angry.”
“Don’t.”
Roman slid an envelope across the table.
Yellowed edges.
Ethan’s name written on the front.
I knew immediately it was real.
His hands shook when he picked it up.
Barely.
But I saw.
He opened it.
Read.
And stopped breathing.
“What?” I whispered.
He handed it to me.
The handwriting was elegant.
Ethan,
If anything happens to me, you need to know I never betrayed you. I met Roman because he showed me proof someone in your family had been moving money through Patrick’s accounts. Your mother knows. She thinks I’m the leak. She told me Grace would be safer without me around.
My blood froze.
There was more.
Do not confront her alone. She still controls men your father thinks belong to him.
I looked up.
Roman watched Ethan carefully.
“She came to me because I had proof,” he said.
“Why didn’t you give it to her?”
“I did.”
“What proof?”
“Bank records.”
“And?”
“She took them.”
“Then where are they?”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“She died the next night.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“You could have told me.”
“You would have killed me.”
“Maybe.”
“Exactly.”
Ethan grabbed Roman by the shirt.
I didn’t stop him.
Not immediately.
Then Roman said:
“There’s something else.”
Ethan froze.
“Grace wasn’t supposed to be in the car.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“Your daughter.”
Roman’s eyes met his.
“Isabelle changed plans at the last minute. Your mother’s people expected her to be alone.”
Ethan released him.
I felt sick.
“So Eleanor ordered Isabelle killed,” I whispered, “but accidentally killed her granddaughter too.”
Roman nodded once.
Ethan’s face emptied.
Then his phone rang.
Margaret.
He answered.
“Margaret?”
Her voice came through faintly.
Terrified.
“Ethan.”
A crash sounded behind her.
Then a man shouted.
“Margaret?”
“Don’t come home.”
The line cut.
Ethan turned toward the door.
Roman’s face had gone pale.
“What?”
May you like
Ethan looked at him.
“My mother just came back.”
