He’s dressed formally for him, black shirt and dark jeans, silver belt buckle catching the light. The same buckle his father wore. The same one his grandfather wore. A Bishop heirloom, passed down through generations like the violence and cruelty that comes with it. His boots ring on the hardwood with each step, the sound deliberate, measured. When he reaches the bottom, he pauses, surveying us all like we’re neatly lined up possessions.
“Family.” The word comes out flat. “Good of you to come.”
Like we had a choice.
“Let’s have dinner.” He gestures toward the dining room. “We gotta talk.”
The dining room sits at the back of the house, dominated by a table that could seat twenty. Tonight, it seats seven. Roman at the head, naturally, his back to the windows so it’s not displayed to any of us. Elena at the foot, quiet and watchful, hands folded in her lap like she’s praying. Sawyer and Kade on one side, shoulders nearly touching. Levi and me on the other, with Saint pressed close to my left, between us.
The house smells like warm cedar and leather scents that used to mean home but now just mean danger. Somewhere in the kitchen, staff move quietly, preparing plates we’ll barely touch. The clink of china, the soft shuffle of feet. Normal sounds that feel wrong tonight.
The table is set formally. White linens, crystal glasses, the good silver that only comes out for occasions. Candles flicker in iron holders, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Whatever Roman’s planning, he wants it to feel ceremonial. Important.
I wait until everyone’s seated before excusing myself to wash my hands. In the bathroom, door locked, I strip off my jacketand apply the wire to my chest. The adhesive is cold against my skin. The device is small enough to disappear under my shirt. I check twice, three times, making sure there’s no visible bulge. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror. Icy-blue eyes. My father’s eyes. The eyes of a man about to betray everything he was raised to be.
I put my jacket back on and return to the dining room.
Roman watches me sit. Something in his eyes tells me he noticed the delay. Filed it away. He misses nothing, my father. Never has.
The first course arrives. Some kind of soup that I can’t taste. I eat mechanically, watching Roman, watching my brothers, trying to read the room. Saint picks at her food, barely eating. Under the table, her hand finds my thigh, gripping hard enough I can feel it through my jeans.
Roman lets the silence stretch through the soup course. Through the salad. Doesn’t speak except to request salt, to comment on the wine, or to ask Elena something innocuous about the flower arrangement. The tension in the room builds with every minute, pressure increasing until the air itself feels heavy. Like the moments before a thunderstorm breaks.
I track every movement Roman makes. The way his knife and fork move with casual precision. The way his eyes drift around the table, cataloging reactions, filing information. He’s enjoying this. The anticipation. The fear he can smell on all of us. This is a game to him, and we’re all just pieces on his board.
Levi tries once to break the silence, something about the cattle count in the upper pasture. Roman shuts him down with a look. After that, no one attempts to have a conversation.
Saint continues to move food around her plate, the scrape of her fork against porcelain loud in the quiet. Her hand on my thigh hasn’t loosened. If anything, she’s gripping harder, fingernails digging in through the fabric of my pants. I can feelher pulse racing through her fingers. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay. Want to promise her we’ll walk out of here tonight, together, unharmed. But I can’t make promises I might not be able to keep.
Finally, as the main course is served, Roman sets down his fork.
The sound is soft. A small click of metal against porcelain. But somehow it silences the room.
“I’ve always believed in the importance of family.”
The words hang in the air. Everyone goes still. Even the candle flames seem to stop flickering.
“Family is everything. Loyalty. Honor. The willingness to do what’s necessary to protect what’s ours.” His eyes move around the table, touching each of us in turn. Sawyer. Kade. Levi. Elena. Saint. When they land on me, they stay. “Wouldn’t you agree, Calder?”
“Of course.”
“Of course.” He picks up his wineglass, swirls the dark liquid, and takes a slow sip. Takes his time. Letting the silence stretch. Letting the fear build. “So imagine my surprise when I learned that someone in this family has been keeping secrets.”
My heart stops. Restarts. Keeps beating somehow.
“Secrets that could destroy everything we’ve built. Everything your grandfather built. Everything I’ve spent thirty years protecting.” He sets the glass down with a soft click, the sound impossibly loud in the silence. “Secrets involving federal agents.”
The room goes absolutely silent.
Saint’s grip tightens on my leg. I feel Sawyer and Levi and Kade all turn to look at me, their confusion shifting to something else. Something colder. I feel the weight of the wire against my chest, suddenly obvious, burning like a brand.
Kade’s face darkens, betrayal twisting into rage. Sawyer goes carefully blank, but I can see the calculations running behind his eyes. Levi just stares, mouth slightly open, hurt flickering across his features before he can hide it.
Elena sits frozen at the end of the table, her hands still folded, her face the color of old bone. She won’t look at me. Won’t look at Roman. Just stares at some fixed point in the middle distance, like she’s trying to disappear.
Roman’s smile is cold as a Montana winter.
“Now.” He folds his hands on the table, mirroring his wife’s posture, a mockery of prayer. “Let’s talk about how you were going to hand me over to the FBI.”
