Chapter 23 THE GOLDEN GRAVE
"Even in death, the rich still find a way to separate themselves from the normals," I muttered, disgust thick in my tone as I stared up at the massive archway of the exclusive cemetery.
The iron gates of the cemetery didn't groan when I pushed them. They swung open with a smooth, silent precision that suggested they were oiled daily.
I stood there for a moment, the cool night air biting at my exposed neck. The moon was high, casting a silver sheen over the rows of the silent residents. I looked down at the burner phone in my hand. The coordinates Reid had sent were pointing toward the upper side of town. The high-rent district of the dead.
I walked past the rows of weathered stones, my boots crunching softly on the gravel path. Following the blue dot on the screen, I finally reached a massive, imposing structure. It was a fancy family mausoleum.
Most likely Reid’s family mausoleum, but weirdly enough, there was no nameplate on the gate. It stood on a raised platform of white granite, encircled by low marble pillars and iron chains. It was ostentatious without apology.
The stone was dark granite, polished to a mirror finish. It looked more like a fortress than a tomb. I circled the perimeter, my eyes searching for any sign of a loose stone or a hidden compartment.
"So this is where you hide your family hides stuff, uhn?" I whispered. "I wonder if your father even knows his son was a thief."
I stopped a few feet away, studying the structure. The stonework was flawless. The doors were sealed with engraved crests — old money. Political money. The kind of legacy that did not forgive the scandal.
If Reid had managed to steal something from inside his father’s safe box, then this crypt wasn’t just a burial site.
It was a vault.
I walked slowly around the perimeter, scanning the grounds for the broken angel stone he’d described. His instructions had been rushed. Vague.
Under the broken angel stone.
There were at least three angels within visible range.
I checked the first — intact. The second — chipped wing, but not broken. The third — missing half its face.
Nothing beneath them.
I exhaled sharply and moved I moved away from the Vane fortress, heading deeper into the cemetery. The further I walked, the more the landscape changed. The manicured grass gave way to tangled weeds and overgrown shrubs. The expensive marble markers were replaced by cracked, moss-covered slabs.
The trees grew closer together. This was where the forgotten were placed. The ones without maintenance contracts or family visits.
It took another ten minutes before I found it.
A cluster of older graves sat apart from the others, fenced off by rusted iron. No fresh flowers. No polish. Just quiet neglect.
And there, at the center, stood an angel statue with one wing completely snapped off at the base.
I stepped closer.
The headstone beneath it caught my attention first.
Cruz.
The name hit me like a physical blow.
I crouched slowly, brushing dirt away from the inscription.
ALBERTO CRUZ. 1970 to 2025.
My breath hitched. This was it. I moved my gaze to the next two. My mother. My sister. They were all here, huddled together in this forgotten corner of the woods like an embarrassing secret.
For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe, trying to choke back my tears.
They hadn’t been buried in the family crypt downtown, where generations of Cruzes were kept in marble chambers under cathedral ceilings. They hadn’t been placed beside my grandparents or my uncles.
They were here, tucked away like embarrassing secrets, just because my bastard ex-husband has probably used the land for something else.
“So this is what you did,” I whispered, bitterness burning up my throat. “You pushed them into the shadows.”
A bitter, cold lump formed in my throat. This was how Kanan had disposed of them. He hadn't just taken their lives and their money. He had buried them in the dirt where nobody would ever visit. He had pushed the once-mighty Cruz family into the shadows to rot.
I looked around frantically for my own name. There was only a small, unmarked block of grey stone at the end of the row. With no name or dates. Nothing but a blank face of granite.
"Is that all I was to you?" I hissed. The rage was a hot, liquid thing in my chest. "Not even a name? You killed me and left me as a blank space?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tears back. I couldn't afford to be Elena right now. I had to be Sienna. I had to get the key.
I reached beneath the broken angel and felt along the base until my fingers brushed metal wedged into a crack in the stone. I pulled it out. It was a heavy brass key with an old-fashioned bow, wrapped in a piece of oilcloth.
I pulled it free and stood slowly, staring at it resting in my palm.
This was what he had risked everything for.
What he had wanted to run with.
And whatever was inside that safe box had been worth killing for.
I tucked the key into my pocket and stood up. As I turned to leave, something caught my eye.
Beyond the iron fence was another gated area. But this one was different. The gate was made of polished silver, and the path inside was laid with white pebbles. The grass was a vibrant, perfect green, as if it were watered by hand every single hour.
The gate was slightly ajar.
Drawn by a curiosity I couldn't explain, I slipped through the opening. The air here felt different. It was warmer, scented with the heavy, sweet fragrance of fresh roses.
In the center of the plot stood a luxury marble crypt. It was a masterpiece of architecture, white and gleaming under the moonlight. There were vases of fresh, red roses at the entrance. They hadn't even started to wilt.
I walked up the steps, my hand reaching for the nameplate.
I froze.
ELENA MADDOX.
The name stared back at me in bold, gold lettering. Not Elena Cruz. He hadn't used my father's name. He had kept me as a Maddox. He had claimed me even in the grave.
My head spun. Why would he do this? Why bury my family in the weeds but build a palace for me? Was it guilt? Was he trying to buy his way out of the blood on his hands?
I reached for the heavy silver handle of the door. I wanted to see inside. I wanted to see what kind of cage he had built for my ghost.
"The crypt is off-limits to visitors."
The voice was cold and professional. I spun around, my hand flying to the knife tucked into my belt.
Two men stood at the edge of the pebble path. They were wearing high-end tactical gear, the kind of equipment that costs more than my bike. They weren't regular cemetery guards. These were professional security.
"I was just... looking," I said, my voice dropping into my raspy Siren tone. "It's a beautiful monument."
"It's a private memorial," the taller one said. He didn't move his hand from his holstered weapon. "Nobody is allowed inside this gated area without prior authorization."
I tilted my head, trying to look bored. "Who owns it? Must be someone with a lot of cash to burn."
"This property belongs to Mr. Kanan Maddox," the guard replied. "He is the only one permitted to visit." The man shifted on his feet as if preparing to throw me out. "I would ask you to leave now, as Mr Maddox would be here soon for his nightly visits."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. Every night?
I nodded and walked past them, my skin crawling as I felt their eyes on my back. I made it out of the gate and back to my bike, but the image of the fresh roses stayed burned into my mind.
I looked at the brass key in my pocket. I looked back at the glowing white crypt of Elena Maddox.
I didn't know which Kanan I was hunting anymore. Was it the monster who had ripped my family apart, or the man who was currently mourning a woman he had murdered?
"You're late, Si."
I jumped as a shadow stepped out from behind a nearby oak tree. It was Jax. He looked tired, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes filled with a suspicious intensity.
"What are you doing here, Jax?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I could ask you the same thing," he said. He walked closer, his eyes flicking toward the gated plot behind me. "Why are you at a cemetery at two in the morning, looking like you've just seen the devil himself?"
I looked at him, the weight of the secrets I was carrying feeling heavier than the marble stones around us.
"I was just checking on a debt," I said.
Jax didn't believe me. I could see it in the way his jaw flexed. He looked at the white crypt, then back at me. "Let's go," he sighed exasperatedly as we headed out of the cemetery. "I swear, ever since you woke up, I have started growing grey hairs."
I looked back at the cemetery one last time.
What the hell is that mausoleum? Was it guilt that made him build it? Or was it something far more calculated?