Page 92
Cain watches.
Cain listens.
Cain disappears into the background and absorbs.
But he is not weak.
No Vexley brother is weak.
Still, it’s rare that a Vexley brother directly has a hand in someone’s death, though people assume otherwise.
The Halstead business was an exception. Samson dealt the blow, I covered it up, and Cain—still a teenager—stood back, absorbing it all.
We killed the wrong man.
Or rather, we killed a man who needed to be dealt with, yes, but not the man who held the greatest threat to us. That man walked out of that night alive, and whatever became of him afterward remains one of the few unanswered questions that can still make the walls of this house shake.
I drag a hand down my face.
Not now.
I can’t go there now.
My thoughts race back to Ella. She didn’t take the town car home last night.
She must be okay. If she hadn’t reported to work this morning, Audrey would have made sure the entire house knew. No one has mentioned Ella’s absence.
Therefore, Ella must be here.
She must be fine.
Still, I should check on her.
Not because I feel something.
Of course not.
Because she’s an employee, and I arranged her attendance at the gala, so I bear some responsibility to make sure she made it home in one piece.
I turn toward the credenza.
Again.
I open the false panel and wake the screen. I zero in on Hazel’s room. Ella is there, sitting in a chair by the window. Hazel sits on the bed.
Ella’s okay.
I exhale. The relief is so immediate I almost reach for the edge of the desk.
She’s in uniform again. Her hair is pulled back, but loose strands frame her face. Her eyes are swollen and red. She’s been crying.
Seeing her like that is like a blade to my heart.
I switch off the feed.
Enough.
I’ll go to her.
