"Did he say anything useful before you started redecorating? " I asked as I slipped out of my jacket, draping it carefully over the back of a chair well away from the splatter zone.
"Just that your balance sheet was messy." Gunnar turned, still smiling as he did a little dance in his black tracksuit. Thedance move ended with him reaching out to throw a playful jab at my chest.
I leaned just enough to avoid his bloody knuckles. "This is Tom Ford, asshole! "
Gunnar snorted, still keeping his dukes up. "Little Miss Right Said Fred is too sexy to get her hands dirty."
"What are you going to do? Drop a diss track in your Adidas?"
Gunnar stepped closer, chest out, the old familiar challenge lighting his eyes. "Say that again to my face. "
"Boys. "
Our mother’s voice cut through the room like a blade through silk. Gunnar froze. I straightened. We both turned as one.
Mei Ling Blackwood never raised her voice. She didn't have to. "If you’re going to fight, do it after our guest is no longer with us. And Gunnar—wash your hands. You’re dripping on my floor. "
"Yes, Ma."
"Vidar, I need you to take a look at the books before you leave."
"Yes, Ma."
"And you—" her gaze landed on my father. "Don't take too long. I just came back from a trip to Victoria's Secret."
"Jeez, Ma," groaned Magnus from over our father's shoulder.
"I'll be up to help you unwrap that package in a bit, sweet cheeks." Fenrir winked at his wife.
The move earned the elder Blackwood another chorus of groans from all three of his sons.
Fenrir Blackwood ignored his boys. He watched his wife slip out the door with another wink and a tug at his bottom lip with his upper canine. Then he turned his attention to the bloody male in the chair, studying Elias Vane like a man assessing a bad investment.
“You took a risk, and it backfired,” my father said evenly. “I respect the attempt. But you almost hurt my family. As a father, you must understand that my family is my most precious investment.”
At the tilt of my father’s chin, Gunnar's fist came down again. Elias’s head snapped forward, a dull crack followed by a wet groan.
"Where’s your father, Vane? A man should be present when his son makes a mistake like this."
No answer. Just labored breathing.
Fenrir sighed. Theatrical. Almost disappointed. "Parents these days. They don’t take pride in their progeny. Don’t teach them consequences. Don’t teach them restraint. "
My father's gaze shifted, sweeping the room, landing on each of us in turn. Pride softened his mouth.
Magnus straightened, chest puffing out as my father’s right hand and heir apparent. He wore that look like armor; confidence forged from years of proximity to power.
When my father's eyes met mine, there was a light there. Approval. Belonging. I lived for that light.
The Blackwood house had always been full—of noise, of laughter, of arguments shouted across the dinner table. And yes, of blood. I’d seen my first dead body before I ever did the science experiment where you dissected a frog.
I remembered the weight of that moment. The way everyone else flinched. I hadn’t. Not at the body. Not later at the frog. My father had clapped a hand on my shoulder afterward and told me how proud he was.
Fenrir and Mei Ling Blackwood raised us with love. Fierce, unquestionable love. But they made sure we were hard, too.
They didn’t solve our problems. Didn’t stop us from making stupid decisions. They let us scrape our knees, break bones, learn where the line was by crossing it. They were always thereon the sidelines. Watching. Safety off. Ready to cap someone in the ass if the opposition went too far. Like a safety net.
"I’ll pay you back,” Elias rasped. “Every cent. I’ll work it off. Whatever you want. "
