All We Ever Needed

by D. A. Young

  “Thank you but no. They’ll be back in three days to make sure I get there. I’m takin’ Kat to lunch tomorrow and will tell her then.”

  Alexei nodded his understanding, already knowing how disturbed Katya would be by the tale.

  “I’ve heard of Bojku. Be extremely careful with that one,” Cruz advised.

  “What have you heard?” Alexei asked.

  “That if crossed, there isn’t a lenient bone in his body.”

  A small smile traced Holt’s lip. “Bones are broken and occasionally realign differently, Merada.”

  “Would you like some company?” Alexei offered. “It’s the least I can do since you helped me tie up my loose ends.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’ll be fine. It’s time I put my foot up Otto’s ass and get him straightened out. Merada, you need a lift?”

  “I’ll ride with Romankov. My motorcycle is at his place.”

  As they walked off, Holt heard Cruz complaining.

  “How come you never offer me the use of your jet?”

  “Because your filthy mind makes a cesspool look inviting.”

  ***

  When Holt arrived home, he retraced Ras’ steps, searching for bugs and cameras. Finding none, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed upstairs. Holt grabbed the pile of laundry from his bed and rewashed it again, minus Kat’s bikini top. Next, he unlocked the drawer where his laptop was kept and retrieved it. He placed the bikini on the desk and researched the brand. After finding the website, Holt purchased a new set for Kat with expedited shipping and tossed the one that Ras pawed into the garbage. She was never going to wear anything that fucker or any other man, aside from him, had touched.

  After that task was completed, Holt texted Kat:

  Home. I wish our night hadn’t ended so soon. I love you, baby.

  Instantly, she responded:

  Good! Me either. I wish I was there to welcome you home. I love you more.

  And just like that, the last two and a half hours were forgotten, and Holt’s blue balls were back. The enticing image she created filled him with longing. What he wouldn’t give to come home to Katerina waiting for him in their bed to discuss their day and get lost in each other until dawn chased the night away. Holt wanted her face to be what he saw before falling asleep and waking up for the rest of his life.

  How are you feeling? Any soreness? Send me a pic of your beautiful face.

  Holt tossed the phone on the bed and went to turn the shower on while he waited. When he came back, Kat had sent him the requested picture. Eagerly, he opened it and promptly fell out laughing. Her face was slathered in a charcoal mask, and she had these white half-moon things under her crossed eyes and pink goop covering her lips. She was laying in the tub covered to her shoulders in bubbles.

  I’m your one-stop shop for sexiness, lol! Hate it or love it, you’re stuck with me. I feel James Brown good?? No soreness but soaking as a preventative measure.

  Fuck if she didn’t make him feel good in a million ways without even trying.

  Be still my beating heart. Like I’d have it any other way. I’m looking forward to a lifetime of this sexiness. Goodnight, love.

  Holt headed to the bathroom, eager to try and wash away the burden of responsibility and guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.

  Chapter Eleven

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Ivar leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile. Holton was coming home where he rightfully belonged. It was about damn time. Matty’s accident was unfortunate but timely. Ivar did what came naturally and used it to his advantage. Things were moving along better than expected. There was a knock on his door.

  “Come in!”

  The door opened, revealing Daniel Samuelsson, the Program Officer for the Madeline Falk Foundation. He was in charge of overseeing the program’s development and budget, project management, and ensuring the programs and organizations that received endowments aligned with the foundation’s goals and mission statement to provide for the disadvantaged. A Swedish-American, he’d moved from New York four years ago, and his sister was a former university classmate of Cleo’s. Cleo told Ivar about him, and he conducted an interview and thorough background check, which came back spotless. Matty, Cleo, Blaise, Julian, and Vera all approved of him, making his hire an effortless decision.

  An intense but enthusiastic young man, Daniel had done well for the foundation and had assumed Cleo’s tasks as well while she stepped away to care for Matty.

  “Hej, Mr. Falk.” He held up a stack of papers. “I have the latest numbers and propositions for the foundation. I was on my way home but decided to first confirm if you wanted to go over them.”

  “Daniel, as I’ve told you before, I have no interest in the foundation except that those running it make it look stellar. Review everything with Cleo and obtain her approval.”

  The younger, bald man nodded respectfully and pushed his glasses up. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t sure if I should bother her during this delicate time…”

  Ivar stared at him until Daniel fell silent. “A wise assumption. Use your best judgment then.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Daniel started to back out of the room. “Good night, sir.”

  Ivar grunted and returned to his work. He was disrupted thirty minutes later.

  “Will he come?”

  Ivar lifted his head to find Cleo standing in the doorway of his study, wringing her hands.

  “You should be sleeping. ‘Rest while the babe does’ is what Madeline used to tell the women in the family.”

  “I believe you. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about her. I hate that I don’t remember her.”

  Ivar stiffened automatically. He always did whenever someone mentioned Madeline. Even after all these years, Ivar missed her. Intensely. She was the love of his life, and Ivar recalled everything about her, including what he deemed her ultimate betrayal. He believed that if given the time, they would have found a way to work through their differences.

  “How long do you intend to stand there? Come in or leave,” he dictated.

  Hesitantly, she entered his domain, moving until she stood directly in front of his desk. Tucking a few hair strands behind her ears, Cleo professed, “I can’t sleep knowing my husband’s fate is undecided and his attacker is roaming the streets, possibly plotting how to fulfill his quest. I need a guarantee of safety. Is there a plan of action?”

  She looked sleep-deprived with the bags under her worried eyes, and she was at least ten pounds thinner. It didn’t detract from her good looks, Ivar observed.

  “Daniel Samuelsson came by.”

  Cleo was surprised then worried. “He did? I’m sorry if he bothered you. I should see what he wants.”

  “Nonsense. In light of what’s happened, he didn’t want to impose. I think it’s best that you temporarily step back from your foundation work and put him in charge until you feel ready to return.”

  She wavered. “I love my work. It’s immeasurably rewarding knowing that I make a difference. Regrettably, I’m also running on empty. Having Samuelsson step up and assume a few of my duties would help the foundation and Vera out greatly.”

  “Consider it done. I’ll have my assistant put things in motion.” He grabbed a glass from the tray and poured two fingers worth of brandy in and pushed it toward Cleo.

  “Drink. The threat will be eliminated soon.”

  Instantly, she looked relieved. Accepting the glass, she sat down across from him and supported the drink in her hands. “I’ll let my father know. He’s been insisting that I come and stay with my family.”

  Ivar felt a burst of irritation at the interference from the man he’d known since boyhood. “This is your home. Does he need reminding that you are also a Falk now? Perhaps, I’ll give him a call in the morning.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ve made my position clear to him. My place is here and by Matty’s side.”

  Relieved by her loyalty, Ivar picked up the report
and stared blindly at it. “Where’s Jules?”

  “Sleeping with Vera.” Cleo rose and offered Ivar a grateful smile. “Thank you for easing my mind.” She sniffed the tumbler delicately, and her eyes lit up. “Rémy Martin Black Pearl Louis XIII?”

  Ivar smiled his approval. “Very good. How did you know?”

  “Grandfather used to say you only drink the best.” Her eyes were full of nostalgia. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I loved the stories he shared with me.”

  Ivar, too, felt a pang of fondness for Ebbe, who’d died twenty years ago from Alzheimer’s disease. He deeply regretted the split Elin created between them. Toward the end, Ebbe did not remember him and whenever he saw Ivar, he was full of rambling tangents that made no sense.

  “It’s why he drank it, too.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was...” Cleo paused and Ivar internally sighed at the pain he saw in her sad eyes and the creased lines bracketing her mouth. “Has the woman with…my husband been identified?”

  “Cleo—”

  “I told myself that I wouldn’t ask,” she rushed in, lips trembling. “That Matty wouldn’t betray me, but the evidence haunts me. Did he love her?”

  “She’s dead now. That’s all that matters and the only thing you need to remember.”

  Cleo looked askance at Ivar’s bluntness. “Yes, of course. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this with me and savor it along with my memories.”

  “Not at all. It’s how it should be drunk.” Ivar poured himself another shot and raised it to her. “To Ebbe!”

  Her smile was wide as she returned the gesture. “To Ebbe! Goodnight, Ivar.”

  “Sleep well, my dear.”

  Cleo shut the door behind her. Ivar smiled as an idea began to form. One that was going to drive his middle grandson delirious with anger. He pressed the intercom to Julian and Vera’s apartment.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “I’d like to see you and Vera in my office immediately.” Ivar disconnected the call as the door reopened, bringing a hurricane with it as the door was slammed against the wall.

  “He’s coming, isn’t he?!” A furious Otto barged in, practically frothing at the mouth and a prominent vein throbbing in his forehead. “You shouldn’t have contacted him! I can take care of Bojku! Call him back and tell him he’s not needed or wanted here!”

  With lips pressed tight at the intrusion, Ivar studied his grandson dispassionately. Otto resembled Ivar and Tage with his height, elongated face, and blue eyes, but he’d inherited his black wavy hair, hawkish nose, and full lips from Ziva. The cruel lines around his mouth and eyes were strictly Ivar, as was his temperament.

  “You dare to give me orders?” Imperiously, Ivar rose to his full six-foot-two-inch height, managing to look down on his taller grandson. His hard eyes held none of the fondness that they normally did for this particular grandchild that he’d practically raised.

  After Ziva’s death, Tage was of no use to anyone in the family. He sank into a deep depression that only alcohol could treat. Ivar tried to pull him together, sending him off to discreet rehab centers in Australia, Spain, and even several in the dreadful United States. None of them were successful. Otto was three and practically an orphan because he looked so much like his mother that it hurt Tage to even look at his only child. He’d once confessed to Ivar that the pain was so great, at times, he wanted to die to escape it.

  The first time he attempted suicide was on the one-year anniversary of Ziva’s death. His housekeeper found him in the tub with his wrists recently slit and an open jar of sleeping pills on the edge of the tub. She acted quickly and help arrived in time to save him. Ivar could still hear Madeline’s hysterical screams and would never forget the way his second oldest son looked through him with dead eyes from his bed.

  ***

  Past

  “I won’t stop trying until Ziva and I are finally reunited.”

  His defeatist attitude triggered Ivar’s defense mechanism—rage. It served as his go-to in guarding his vulnerabilities. White-hot, it sizzled through his body. He raced to the bed and struck Tage.

  “You’re not worthy to be a Falk! I hope the next time your useless, pathetic ass succeeds!” Ivar hissed, shaking his son like a rag doll.

  When he got no response, he viciously struck again repeatedly, and Tage took it with a ghost of a smile, confident that his father’s predictable reaction would literally kill him. The doctor and nurses tried to interfere, but Ivar pushed them away, determined to get a reaction out of his second born.

  “Fight back, you fucking coward! Hit me, Tage!”

  As a servant entered the room with a tray of soup and hot tea, she was followed by Madeline. The tray clattered to the floor as the lady of the house took in the scene before her and shoved her out of the way. She threw herself onto Ivar’s back and began beating at the back of his head. “Leave him be! You’ve done enough!”

  Her uncharacteristic actions had the desired effect, and Ivar immediately released their son. “Madeline—”

  His head jerked sideways from her slap. Swiftly and instinctively, his hand rose in retaliation. Until Ivar got the full measure of Madeline’s reaction to him. The veil of illusion had been lifted from his wife’s eyes. His partner, lover, trusted confidante, and advisor for over three decades was staring at him with utter revulsion and hatred.

  The doctors and nurses rushed to aid Tage, and Ivar paid them no mind. His arm fell to his side.

  “Madeline, it’s late. Go to bed,” he tersely instructed her.

  She stood her ground and shoved him out of her way, placing her body between Ivar and Tage’s bed. “I think not! Your choices have ruined this family, Ivar! Because of them, we have lost our daughters and now, a son! You’re hell-bent on punishing Julian for doing what comes naturally for siblings! They should confide in each other. No more! Get him and Vera back here and restore him to his rightful position!”

  “The minute Elin confided in Julian, he should have come to me and apprised me of her plans!” Ivar disputed, thrusting his finger in her face.

  She knocked it away defiantly. “For what purpose? We both know the outcome would have been very similar. You were never going to accept Rudii. I don’t blame Elin for her defiance! She mourns Ziva as we all do, and the past cannot be undone! We must now learn from it and move forward as a family!”

  Madeline tucked the covers around Tage and lowered her voice. “Presently, there is a little boy who’s lost his mother, and his father is hanging on by a thread! He needs our help! I will not let you deprive our family one minute longer! Our grandchildren should grow up to be the best of friends, not just cousins. If you do not fix things and change the course you are on, you will have no one to blame for the repercussions. Leave. Now. It’s time for you to leave my son and me alone.”

  Ivar waited for her to acknowledge him with a look or smile. Madeline did neither. She left him that night. She still shared their marriage bed and accompanied Ivar on business and social functions and remained an impeccable hostess for appearances’ sake. But she no longer interacted with Ivar on a personal level. Whenever he tried to initiate intimacy, Madeline shifted away and flung his hands away in disgust.

  “Get a mistress. You’ve earned it,” she told Ivar the first time he tried to touch her.

  Madeline chose to instead focus on rebuilding the bonds amongst her children and grandchildren. Tage was fragile and Otto was angry. He only spoke with Matty. Elin returned to the States with her family, and it was painfully awkward no matter how hard Madeline tried to rebuild their burned bridge. She adored baby Holton and grew to like Rudii. To his credit, he warmed slightly with the effort she put in. A year later, Madeline developed pneumonia. It came fast and fatal, and her last wish was for her daughter.

  “Elin, I was born into money. I’ve never lacked for anything nor had the misfortune to struggle as your father did in his youth,” Madeline coughed. She waved away the g
lass of water her daughter poured for her. “I don’t mean to be crude, but I’m filthy rich in my own right, my dear!”

  “I’m very much aware of your wealth. I’m also surprised we are discussing it as you’ve always insisted that it is an unseemly topic,” Elin bluntly pointed out.

  Madeline’s laugh was more of a hack that morphed into a wheeze as she struggled to catch her breath and reply. It went on for several moments, and Elin rubbed her back comfortingly and smoothed her mother’s hair away from her red face.

  “Take your time.”

  “No…no! This is important,” Madeline asserted, clasping Elin’s hand. “My point is for all of my riches and prosperity, never have I felt poorer. Regrettably, I left no room for nurturing in my life. I’ve missed out on loving and supporting my children the way they needed me to until it was too late. I don’t expect you to understand my point of view. I come from a different era and was raising you in the same manner that I was— affection was reserved for your spouse. Children were a mere by-product of that affection and were to be groomed to elevate the next generation. For that, I cannot forgive myself. I should have taken up for you that night, and I am sorry that I didn’t, Elin.”

  “Let’s not speak of this anymore. You need your rest, Mother.”

  Madeline took her daughter’s hand in hers, and their eyes met. “I’ve no right to, but I will ask a favor of you. My time here is coming to an end, but there is still work to be done. Du är min utvalda (You are my chosen one). If anyone can lead and restore this family, it is you. Do not let them go astray.”

  Tears pricked Elin’s eyelids, and a profound sorrow settled into her bones as she attempted to give her mother some peace.

  “I will try my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  ***

  Elin’s best, however, wasn’t good enough. Ivar saw a chance at redemption in his young grandson and obstructed her attempts to care for her nephew. Tage was a disappointing failure, and Julian would always be a placating asshole. Otto would be the one to lift the dark cloud from House Falk’s bleak future. Ivar knew the day would come when Otto put two and two together and lay the blame for his mother’s death at his feet. He decided to get ahead of the foregone conclusion by spoiling Otto rotten and setting in motion a decades’ old feud between his two grandsons and creating a monster in the process.