The silence stretches. It screams. Erik’s jaw tightens. Then he nods.
“Why?” I whisper, the word barely making it past my lips.
“Your father worked for mine.”
The air leaves my lungs in one sharp, brutal rush. I have to grab the edge of the counter to stay upright.
“That’s why,” I say faintly, pieces clicking together whether I want them to or not. “That’s why Dad looked at me like that when I told him about Warren.” I laugh weakly. It sounds wrong. Broken. “He knew,” I murmur. “And that means Warren knew exactly who I was.”
“He had an affair, your dad,” he says quietly. “With my mother.”
I sink onto the nearest stool, my legs giving out beneath me, my skin buzzing like I’ve been flayed open. Everything makes sense now, like my mind is speeding up with truths.
Footsteps echo somewhere behind me, but they barely register. When I finally lift my head, Warren is standing there. Watching me with Anthony beside him.
Tears flood my eyes instantly, my chest seizing as I swallow back the scream clawing its way up my throat. My hands curl into fists in my lap, nails biting into my skin as I stare at the man who knew every secret, and kept it from me, yet my heart wants his comfort.
WARREN
I know before she looks at me.
I see it in the way her shoulders cave, as though something vital has been ripped out of her chest and she’s trying to stay upright through sheer will. I’ve seen bodies react to shock before. Men shot, stabbed, beaten senseless.
And yet, this is worse.
Leoni lifts her head slowly, and when our eyes meet, it feels like taking a blade straight through the ribs.
Fuck.
Anthony shifts beside me, tension coiled tight, but I don’t look at him. I don’t look at Erik either. I only see her.
Her tears spill over, silent and devastating, and I realise with a sick certainty that whatever Erik told her…it landed. Fully. Cleanly. No room for doubt. Exactly how he planned.
“Lee—”
The sound of her name on my tongue feels wrong now. Unearned. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. Just stares at me as if she’s seeing something she can’t unsee. And fuck do I want to take those images away and stop her pain.
I take a step forward. Then another. Slow. Careful. Scared she might bolt, or shatter, if I move too fast.
“Whatever he told you,” I start.
Her breath stutters. That’s my warning, so I stop, holding my hand between us, like a peace offering.
“I should’ve told you,” I say instead. My voice comes out rougher than I expect, choking with emotion. “Before any of this. Before it got this far.”
She lets out a broken laugh, the sound scraping raw. It guts me.
“Isaac,” is all she says, but the devastation on her face makes it clear.She knows everything.
“I didn’t order Isaac’s death,” I say, because I need her to hear that much at least. “But I knew my father wouldn’t stop. I told myself I could manage it. Contain it.”
“Did you know he was my brother?” Her voice is shaky, and I don’t know if she’s trying not to scream or hold back her emotions.
Anthony shifts, “Boss,” he murmurs, worried I’ll implicate myself. I give my head a shake. She needs to hear it all. It’s gone too far.
“Not at first. Not until I saw him on your couch.”
Her hands tremble in her lap. “Who killed him?”
