IV

"So, just to get this straight," I spoke slowly, the frown on my forehead feeling like it was permanently chiseled there. "You want me to believe that this guy – this Aiden, or whatever – was snooping, and that is what you were fighting about?"

The question had been aimed towards Ian, but my gaze was on his father, too; both men irritating me equally at the moment as they sat the other end of my grandmother's dinner table. So far neither had managed to adequately explain the situation to me. If anything, they were only making it worse.

"Aides", Ian corrected almost automatically, "had no business being here. I don't care what you believe, sugar. You shouldn't have invited him to the funeral in the first place. That man is bad news."

There was a proudness to the tilt of his lips, and that only caused the blood inside my veins to boil harder, making me grind my teeth in frustration.

He had to be fucking kidding me here.

"Oh, so this is my fault, then?" I snorted as I glared at him. "For fuck's sake, Ian. If you were really so worried he'd make off with the table silver, couldn't you have just kicked the guy out or something?"

Everything about their story reeked of bullshit, but I couldn't say that that surprised me – not with the way Chante was honing in on Ian like a kidnapper forcing his victim to have a phone call under gunpoint.

I wasn't gullible enough to think the Picard family patriarch was really there to convey his condolences. He could've simply done that over the phone. Nope, this had to be about the more illicit side of their company, and Ian was either too proud or simply too scared of his papa to tell me.

As if I was really that much of an idiot that I needed telling at this point.

"Mon Dieu, woman, always with the skepticism and the accusations", Chante finally decided to honor us by inserting himself into the conversation, a loud scoff escaping his lips. The denim of his eyes was filled with nothing but impatience. "You heard the man threaten us, did you not? Ian protected the family, as was his right. We have more important matters to discuss here. Ian, get on with it."

It was all he had to add before he sat back and reached for his phone again, looking for all the world like a child who had gotten bored with the conversation. Ian shot his father a dark look, but the gesture got lost in my reaction. Incredulity and anger won from caution. I slammed my coffee cup down with a bang.

If I was constantly accusing them of not being careful enough with their illegal shipments it was only because they were being fucking obvious about it – no matter how many times I'd said I didn't want to fucking know.

I still vividly remembered the day I found out about Picard Cruises' side hustle. I hadn't yet moved in with Ian yet. We had been visiting his parents, but neither Ian nor Chante had been home at the moment.

Ian's mother, his sister and I had been well on our way to the third bottle of wine when they'd smashed through the garden doors. Three men, every single one of them armed to the teeth with knives and crowbars and hell-bent on proving they weren't afraid to use them. Their balaclavas had made it hard to understand them, but I'd definitely gotten the words 'hand over the fucking money, bitches'.

God, more so than the event itself I could still remember the sound of Ian's sister crying, her sobs so loud one of the guys had knocked her out just to shut her up. I'd somehow managed to stay a tiny bit calmer, but it was Ian's mother – Pénélope – who'd really saved our asses that day.

If she hadn't had the wits to keep her gun close that day, I don't think any of us would still have been able to count to ten right now.

Which was to say Ian and Chante had no right to act as high and mighty as they were doing right now. I'd never imagined myself to be engaged to the son of an smuggler, but I'd never imagined the son of a smuggler to look so guilty when he found out either. He'd apologized so many times I'd eventually had to tell him to just stop bringing it up already.

Not that it'd been enough to get them to stop, apparently.

"I know what you are thinking, sugar, but I promise you this isn't like that", Ian pulled me from my thoughts before I could spiral any further, the bitterness in his tone audible enough that I knew his mind had gone to the same place. Good. I hoped he wouldn't soon forget how close I'd been to dumping his ass that day. "My father is right, we do urgently need to talk about your grandmother. More specifically, we need to talk about a necklace that she owned. Do you remember ever seeing a gold chain with a small black stone attached to it?"

The angry thoughts that buzzed through my head came to a halt at once.

I tried not to freeze at my spot at the dinner table as a slight panic bubbled up in my chest. I brushed a frustrated hand through my hair to stall for time. Inwardly I was wrecking my brain for a proper response.

The necklace? Where the hell had that question come from? Had they somehow found out about my illegal act of grave robbing?

Fuck. I could see how that would make the whole me-accusing-them-of-being-involved-in-shady-shit-again-thing a bit hypocrite.

"I uhm- I mean, I think so? What about it?"

An appropriate amount of suspicion crept into my voice as I looked first at Ian and then at Chante, the necklace feeling like a heavy weight inside my pocket. It was an effort not to wiggle while I checked if it hadn't slipped out beneath the table.

"Then you know where it is?" Chante questioned at my side – his fingers tapping on the wooden tabletop repeatedly. He sounded aggravated. Not accusing.

My fingers slipped out of my pocket again. Did I know where it was? Obviously, but I failed to see how that was any of their business. This was something between me and my grandmother's ghost who was no doubt coming to haunt my ass.

I blinked. "It was with Annetta inside her casket when she was laid out in the church, so if I had to guess, I'd say its six feet below the ground right now. Why?" I repeated.

"She didn't gift it to you or anyone else?"

I simply shook my head, and Ian cursed underneath his breath, the two men sharing a long glance that was filled to the brim with annoyance. Chante's seat scraped over the floor when pushed himself up. He made it a point to turn his back to my side before he spoke to Ian.

"I suppose that one is on me, for trusting you to take care of it", he sighed in that disappointed tone that he seemed to reserve only for his son. "Very well. I'll handle the daughters, and you go and retrieve it. Take Nicolas with you. I want this done no later than tonight."

"Yes papa", Ian inclined his head like the subservient creature he was whenever Chante was around. It was perhaps the most annoying thing I'd watched him do all day.

"And fix this bullshit between you two before then. I won't condone any more insolence when I see you in the harbor this evening."