Stolen Crown by S. Massery

1

Gemma

I marchinto the bar with my head held high. Colin shadows me. Like we’re kids again, I reach back and capture his fingers. He gives me a short squeeze, then drops it.

And I’m alone again.

The faces staring back at me suggest differently, but that’s because I’ve got my mask firmly in place. The one that says I’ve only ever been a West. That I hurt like they do.

But really, my heart is being pulled in two different directions.

My father wanted me to marry Aiden. I was so close to doing just that…

“I’m sorry for your loss, Gem,” someone murmurs.

We’re in my parents’ pub. One that ran without a hitch until four days ago, then shut down with news of Dad’s death. It hasn’t reopened to the public. The building has been in my family for generations, and I’ll run this business on my own if I have to. Until I can hire someone who knows how to maintain a bar, anyway. The sense of legacy just walking into this place is powerful.

It’s a familiar place, too, only a couple of streets over from where Colin and I grew up. There are a thousand pictures on the wall. Celebrities or random people, it doesn’t matter. Have a drink at the bar, take a picture on our Polaroid camera, and tack yourself to the wall.

Tradition.

It gives West Bar a homey feel, like you can walk in and immediately belong. That’s the mood my parents strived for, and the tone it conveys unapologetically.

The crowd of Wests—friends and family alike, their actual last names discarded at the door—parts for Colin and me. As is tradition, we step into the middle of the gathering. Hands touch my shoulders and Colin’s. Those in the outer circle touch who they can, creating a web of support. We all bow our heads.

It’s been two days since my wedding. Two days since Colin’s hired hands yanked me out of Aiden’s grip. Two days to reconcile in my heart and brain what I need to do.

We’re waiting for something—and then I realize they’re waiting for me.

I lift my head and take a deep breath.

“He died trying to protect me.” I look around at the familiar faces, and the loneliness punches my chest again. “My father was the strongest man I knew. Intelligent. Resilient.”

I pause. I’ve had two days to think of what the hell I was going to say to everyone who wanted answers.

“My father wanted to keep us safe. He wanted to avoid the trauma that a war would bring—but the DeSantises found us anyway. They exploited our hurt and anger for one thing, and one thing only. Power.” I meet their gazes and take in their expressions.

Confused.

Angry.

Frustrated.

“This family is the most important thing to me. That’s why my father and I devised a plan that, at the time, we thought would work.”

Colin’s breath hitches. Yesterday, I told him our father’s true motivation. I doubted I should, but after everything? We can’t have a lie between us. He was stunned… and then accepting. Dad had tried to get him out of the city, too. Something he stubbornly refused to do.

“I gave myself up to the DeSantises, in hopes that I would be enough to stop the war.”

Some gasp. Other mutter curses.

No one raises their hands or breaks our embrace.

And that, in its own way, is satisfying.

“It didn’t work,” I continue. “The war was never going to end just because I stood in its way as a sacrifice. But I hope this proves to you that I’m willing to do anything for this family.”

“Hear! Hear!” Marius calls.

“For blood,” Turner yells.

The rest echo it.

“For family.” Colin raises his fist.

We automatically mirror him. A warrior’s salute.

“Let’s take our goddamn city back,” I finish.

Agreeing. Cheering.

“Now let’s celebrate a life well-lived.” I step forward. Hands slip off me, and our trance is broken. Drinks are passed around, music started. Someone hung a giant, poster-sized photograph of my parents on the wall. A small table below it has tea candles and a box of matches, ready and waiting. Flowers on either side.

Other than this memorial, we’re here to be strong together. To celebrate and commemorate. Later, when everyone is drunk, they’ll share stories. It’s meant to be a beautiful thing.

Yet my eyes burn.

“You asked to see me?”

I glance over. The coordinator of my rescue has managed to slip through the throng and end up at my back. His bright-blue eyes see too much, and his gaze softens.

“Don’t,” I snap.

He shrugs. “Don’t what? Feel sorry for the girl who’s lost both parents inside of two years?”

“Yeah, don’t do that.” I face my parents’ photo again. “I did ask to see you, Xavier Eldridge. You’re a hard man to track down.”

He stiffens. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“Right. You’re just X, a gun for hire.” I scoff. “Easy enough for my brother to track you down—”

“He was unaware of who I am. As is anyone I work with.” He glowers at me.

It has nothing on Aiden’s glare.

Unfazed, I smile at him. “Well, I’m not anyone. And your guy shot my fiancé.”

He grunts.

“Which wasn’t your mission.” I gesture for him to follow me. I try not to hold it against him. I probably would’ve been inclined to shoot him, too.

I grit my teeth and force my thoughts away from the image of him lying on the altar. He can’t be dead—Amelie would’ve found a way to tell me. Someone would’ve heard. But there’s just been radio silence, and I can’t help but think that’s for the best.

There’s a set of stairs in the back that lead up to Dad’s office. Of our many bars and restaurants in Brooklyn and Manhattan, this is the only one where he kept an office.

And now it’s mine, I suppose.

Xavier climbs the steps behind me, almost too close for comfort, and I remind myself that I’m armed. I won’t let anyone catch me off guard again.

I unlock the door and circle the desk.

He eyes me, then finally allows the door to swing shut behind him.

The noise from downstairs abruptly cuts away.

“Okay, Gemma West, you’ve managed to get me alone. Now what?”

I drum my fingers on the worn wood. Mom used to do the same thing when she was about to say something important, and the unexpected connection has me pausing again.

“You aren’t friends with the DeSantises,” I state.

There’s bad blood between the families. As in, Jameson took personal issue with the Eldridge family and did his best to wipe them out—and he succeeded. The Eldridges were conquered and ground into dust. I thought they were all gone, either dead or in hiding. The fact that Xavier stands before me is a testament to his… what? His tenacity? His anger? His need for revenge?

Either way, I can use it.

“Clearly.” His voice is dry.

“Which is why you didn’t hesitate to shoot Aiden.” My fingers still on the wood.

He quirks his eyebrow. “As you said earlier, it wasn’t me. One of my guys. And if he had listened to orders, he would’ve been just fine… But you seemed upset by what happened.”

Amelie would’ve told me if he was dead, I remind myself. She… Well, I suppose she wouldn’t if Luca went all protective beast on her again and locked her away.

I really need to stop thinking of worst-case scenarios.

They’re bad for my health.

“I’m upset because I’m trying to prevent unnecessary death,” I say instead. “But I’m curious about your family. Are you the only one who remains?”

“Me and my merry band of mercenaries,” he answers cheerfully.

I narrow my eyes. He knows he’s attractive, and that’s half of the issue. Xavier Eldridge has probably relied on that too much in his life. A way to charm clients and women alike. A way to slip in and out with whoever they’re paid to abduct. Or rescue, I allow.

“They’re family,” I repeat.

He lifts one shoulder. “I’m not sure why I should be telling you any of this. You’re a DeSantis lover.”

“That’s a pretty little line. Did you practice it in the mirror?”

He leans back and finally smiles. “Yeah, did it sound okay?”

“It could’ve used a few more adjectives to spice it up.” I roll my eyes. “Listen. I think you know as well as I do that the West family is ill-prepared for a war against the DeSantises. They outnumber us.”

By a lot.

In two days, I’ve learned more about my own family than I could’ve imagined. And that boils down to a body count: there are at least five times more DeSantises living in the tower than there are Wests in total. And that’s not even counting the DeSantises who are loyal to the family that reside elsewhere.

We have solid allies in Brooklyn. Our drug trade gives us easy access to money, and the legal operations clean said money. Our expenses are lower because we’re spread out, and we don’t have a whole fucking skyscraper. That has to cost a lot.

But the DeSantises have the billionaire Pages acting as bankers. They’ve been preparing for this for far too long, stacking the deck against us.

Xavier straightens. “They do outnumber you, just like they outnumbered us.”

“And they wiped you out because…?”

He presses his lips together, and maybe he remembers a conversation between our fathers from a few years ago. He was there, after all. And so was I. One teenager invited to participate in the conversation, and the other eavesdropping at the door.

“We should’ve accepted your help,” he says tightly.

“See, that wasn’t so hard to admit.” I grin.

He grunts.

“Now’s your chance to make up for past mistakes. Help us. Help me. Everyone downstairs trusts me to make decisions to win this war the DeSantises are bringing to our doorstep. The truth of the matter is that they’ll wipe us out in weeks if they put their minds to it. Up until now, Jameson has been toying with us.” I slide a piece of paper across the desk toward him. “Our families were on good terms when our fathers ruled. If you need more reason to help me, I’m willing to pay for your services.”

They aren’t cheap—but trained security?

Even if they’re patrolling our establishments under the guise of patronage, they can stop us from bleeding out.

In theory.

He doesn’t touch the paper and instead stares at me like he’s never met me before.

Hell, he hasn’t. I’m not sure I’ve even had time to meet the new me.

The angry Gemma.

The betrayed Gemma.

“I want one thing,” Xavier says.

I raise my eyebrows and wait for him to go on.

“When this is over, I want to be the one to kill Jameson DeSantis.”

My stomach rolls. This is a negotiation. Of course he’s going to ask for something ridiculous—I just naïvely thought it would be more money.

“You know he killed my father, too,” I point out.

There will be many people who want to have Jameson’s blood on their hands. Me. Colin. Hell, maybe even Aiden. Not only adding Xavier to the mix, but ensuring he gets to be the one to pull the trigger?

Tricky.

So many moving pieces, guaranteeing anything at this stage is a risk.

“I can’t guarantee it,” I finally say.

He shrugs. “Then I can’t guarantee my help.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He strides to the door, and I let him get halfway down the stairs before I yell out, “Okay!”

I’m seriously going to regret this. It feels like a deal with another devil—one I’m not sure I can trust. Once he’s back in his chair, staring at me with a cocky expression, I list out my rules. He can kill Jameson, but…

When I’m done, he nods. “Deal.”

“You and your five friends who rescued me are included in this agreement,” I push.

“Yes, Gemma.”

I rise, and he does, too. “If you double-cross us, I will hunt you down and make you wish you were never born.”

He chuckles and moves back toward the door. “I’d expect nothing less.”

I give him a head start, then go back downstairs.

Xavier is gone.

Colin climbs up on the bar and stomps his feet until the whole place goes quiet again. “The DeSantises are going to pay for taking my father.”

I narrow my eyes. There’s a bottle in his hand, the sloshing liquid already below the top edge of the label. The crowd doesn’t have any such worry, though. They murmur their agreement. The sound rushes through me like water.

“They took Lawrence West, the greatest leader this family has seen in a long time.” He raises his hand in a fist. “They took my cousin, Kai.”

Angry hisses and jeers.

My skin crawls.

Colin’s attention lands on me. “They almost took my fucking sister.”

Everyone is moving now, restless.

But he’s not done. “Gem. It’s your job to lead this family into war. It’s your job to win.”

“Do you have a plan?” someone calls.

“What are we going to do?”

I force my emotions down, down, down. The panic, the worry. My family might want me to lead now, but that doesn’t mean they won’t turn on me if I show weakness. And I’m afraid I’m full of weaknesses.

Colin is stoking the fire, but I can’t tell if it’s intentional or drunken frustrations. He watches me from on top of the bar.

I make a snap decision and walk through the crowd—people leap back to avoid touching me—and climb up beside my brother. I slide my hand down his forearm and relieve him of the liquor, quick enough that he doesn’t realize that’s my intention.

“It is my job,” I say quietly.

Dad used to say that speaking quieter would draw attention to you. It showed a confidence you couldn’t fake. Loud people were often desperate to be heard.

On the other hand, crowds are desperate to hear quiet people.

Power. He knew it. My mother knew it.

Now I’ve got to figure it out.

“Do you want war?” I ask them. “Do you want to ride through the streets and spill DeSantis blood?”

They agree—it’s on their faces. Devils, every last one of them. I’m almost tempted to join us, but as I told Xavier earlier: we’re outnumbered.

The hate is not their fault.

It’s not my fault, either.

“Who killed my father?” I ask, then wait.

“Jameson,” Turner calls.

I meet his gaze and incline my chin, and he mimics the movement.

“Jameson,” I repeat. “Jameson lured my father to a restaurant in Queens, then shot him in front of me. He disguised it as a choice, but there was no choice at all. And you want to take out his army? An army of soldiers thirsty for your blood—but they overpower us.” I’m getting angry, and I let it seep through my voice. “And you want to poke the bear? Cut down our family with senseless attacks?”

I’ve got their attention now. Their faces are pale, still, horrified. Family. Men I was raised around, who dealt with my parents, who ruffled my hair when they saw me.

“That isn’t how we win. We are underdogs—believe it or not. Hate it or accept it. We need to start fighting smart.” I smirk. “Lucky for you, I’m used to being underestimated. Used to being seen as the weaker counterpart.”

Colin flinches.

“I have a plan,” I say. “But now isn’t the time to discuss it. Now, and this week, is the time to mourn my father and Kai. We need to collect ourselves. Regroup. Heal. And most of all?” I meet as many eyes as I can. “Stay off the fucking radar.”

I step down onto a stool, and a hand reaches out to help me down. I let them, then blink up at Marius. One of the two who almost killed Aiden after crashing into our bike—one of the scarier members of the family, honestly. Tattoos crawl up his chest and neck. A snake curls up his jawline, ending at his temple. I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.

He releases my hand and nods to me. “I’d like to help with protection,” he says. “If you’d allow it.”

I glance around, then nod. “Knock yourself out.”

I slip away, to the edge of the room, and sip on the alcohol I took from Colin. The whiskey burns on its way down my throat. The flavor is smokey and lingers in my nostrils. I take another sip, then set it aside. Heat unfurling like wings in my chest.

Someone pulls out a guitar, and people retake their seats. And sometime later, the stories begin. Marius takes his place at my shoulder, leaning against a wall, and I allow myself to close my eyes.

I won’t cry—not here. But soon, I’ll mourn my father and Kai and Aiden and every other tragic loss in this pointless war.