“That too.” I cross to her and cup her face in my hands. Her skin is cold despite the warmth of the house. “I need you to trust me tonight. Whatever happens, whatever he says, don’t react. Don’t give him anything he can use.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
“I’m telling you again.” I hold her gaze, willing her to understand how serious this is. “Roman’s dangerous when he’s in control. He’s worse when he thinks he’s losing it. And right now, I think he suspects he’s losing something.”
“The FBI?” Her voice drops to barely a whisper.
“Maybe. I don’t know what he knows.” The admission costs me. I’m supposed to have answers, supposed to be three steps ahead, supposed to protect her from exactly this kind of chaos. “But I’ll have the wire. Recording everything. If he says anything incriminating, we’ll have it documented.”
“And if he doesn’t? If this dinner is just dinner?”
“Then we eat, we smile, we go home.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “But it won’t be just dinner. Roman doesn’t do casual. There’s a reason he changed the plan.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then pulls back to look at me. “What if something goes wrong?”
“Then you stay behind me. No matter what.”
“Calder…”
“Promise me, Saint.”
She searches my face, and I see the moment she decides to trust me. Despite everything. Despite all the reasons she shouldn’t. “I promise.”
“Good.” I take her hand and lace our fingers together. Her skin is still cold, but her grip is firm. Stronger than it was weeks ago, when she was still learning how to survive in my world. “Let’s go.”
She stops me at the door, hand on my chest. “I love you,” she says. “Whatever happens tonight. Whatever he does. I need you to know that.”
The words hit me somewhere deep all over again. Somewhere I didn’t know could exist in someone like me.
“I love you too.” I press a kiss to her forehead, her hair, the corner of her mouth. “And I’m going to get us through this. Both of us. Together.”
She nods. Squares her shoulders. Lifts her chin like she’s preparing for battle.
Which, in a way, she is.
The drive to the main house takes ten minutes.
Ten minutes of silence, of Saint’s hand gripping mine across the seat, of the setting sun bleeding red across the mountains like a warning. I’ve made this drive a thousand times. Never dreaded it like this.
The main house rises against the evening sky like a fortress.
Three stories of timber and stone, built by my great-grandfather when he first claimed this land. Every generation since has added to it, expanding the legacy and ensuring the house dominates the landscape, just as the family dominates the town. I’ve walked through that front door thousands of times, but tonight, it feels different. Tonight, it feels like walking into an ambush.
Sawyer’s SUV is already here. Kade’s mud-splattered pickup. Levi’s Jeep. All the brothers, summoned just like us. Family dinner after all.
“Stay close to me,” I tell Saint as I kill the engine. “Don’t speak unless he asks you a direct question. If things go wrong, you get behind me and stay there. Understood?”
She nods, face pale but steady. Braver than she should have to be.
We walk up the stone path together, her hand cold in mine. The front door opens before we reach it, and for one terrible moment, I expect Roman himself. But it’s only Elena, my mother, dressed in expensive cream and pearls, looking fragile as spun glass.
“Calder.” She tries to smile but fails. Her hands flutter at her sides before clasping together, a nervous gesture I recognize from childhood. “Everyone’s in the sitting room. Cocktails before dinner.”
“Since when does Roman do cocktails?”
Elena’s eyes flick to Saint, then back to me. Something passes across her face. Warning, maybe. Fear. The same look she used to give me before one of Roman’s “lessons” when I was a boy. Be careful. That’s what her eyes say. Whatever’s coming, be careful.
“Since tonight,” she says. “He’s been planning this for a while.”
