CHAPTER FOUR

LENA’S POV

The moment the SUV rolled into the gates I had a rethink about my decision.

The mansion was built by something meant to keep the world out. The gate was raw iron and gigantic, framed in floodlights that turned the surrounding forest white.

Armed men stood at every post with cameras following the convoy from three different angles and I started planning my escape.

I stayed in the Blackthorn estate for six hours and it felt like a prison with better curtains. Men guarded me outside my bedroom door and others were stationed at the bottom of the stairs. There were guards at every exit and there were iron bars on my windows.

Escape was impossible. Cameras lined the corridors, spikes lined the gates and there were wolves in the tree line that I could hear but never quite see.

My mother had spent twenty years running from this place and everything in it. I understand why now.

Dante knocked on my door at seven. "It's time for dinner," he said through the wood. "Come down."

I stared at the ceiling. "I'm not hungry."

"You said that at lunch."

"I meant it at lunch too."

There was a pause. "Lena. Please."

I hated that he said please like it cost him something and I hated that it almost worked.

I hated him most of all for standing outside my door like a man trying to do the right thing when he was already twenty years too late, like showing up to my mother's funeral and feeding me dinner cancelled out the fact that I grew up without a father while he was here building fortresses and raising armies.

"Fine," I said. "Give me ten minutes."

***

The dining room was already full when I came down.

Vivienne was at the far end of the table, with a wine glass in her hand smiling warmly. Two men that I didn't recognize were standing near the window and Dante was at the head, watching me come down the stairs with an expression that I couldn't read.

And then I saw him.

My feet stopped moving before my brain caught up.

He was standing at the opposite end of the room with his back partially turned to me. He was saying something low to one of the men by the window.

I swallowed as I looked at the tattoos crawling up his neck. I knew the scar above his left brow before he even turned around.

He turned around and his eyes widened in shock. My hand found the back of the chair closest to me before I even decided to reach for it.

He recovered from the shock and his eyes turned cold almost immediately. Everything that moved across his face in that first second locked down behind something flat and cold, and by the time Vivienne was speaking he was already looking at me like I was a problem someone else had created and left for him to manage.

Like he had never seen me before in his life. Like we did not spend an entire night in a room above a bar without even knowing our names.

"Lena," Vivienne said warmly. "Come and sit. I want to properly introduce you to my son."

I walked to the table because my legs were still working even if the rest of me was questioning my every life choice. I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

I comported myself and took the glass of water in front of me because I needed something to do with my hands.

"This is Jax," Vivienne continued. "Dante's heir, his enforcer, the right hand of everything you see here." She said, smiling at us both like she was showing me something she was very proud of. "And your new stepbrother."

The word landed between us and sat there. I kept my eyes on my water glass and Jax said nothing.

The table settled into an eerie silence while everyone sitted waited to see what happened next. Dante unfolded his napkin and Vivienne sipped her wine.

I breathed steadily and told myself that I would survive this. I had survived worse, I just needed to get through one dinner without saying anything I couldn't take back.

Then Jax spoke.

"Gold diggers usually aim older." He reached for the bread in the center of the table without looking at me. "But I suppose grief makes people ambitious."

The quiet deepened.

I slowly set the glass of water down and looked up at him across the table to see him watching me with those flat, cold eyes like he was waiting for me to flinch, cry or excuse myself from the table.

"Interesting," I said. "Tell me something. Is this cruelty genetic or did you have to train professionally for it?"

Silence.

Amusement flickered across his face. It was gone in under a second, but I caught it, and I knew right there and then that I had said something that surprised him despite how hard he tried to be unsurprisable.

He looked away.

"Lena." Dante's voice was careful. "There's food. Eat something."

"I am eating something." I picked up my fork. "I'm also having a conversation. I can do both."

"That wasn't a conversation," Jax said.

"No," I agreed. "A conversation requires two people willing to be honest. So you're right. It wasn't."

His jaw moved and the flicker was gone. He was back to ice, but the coldness was different now.

Vivienne watched us with her wine glass halfway to her mouth and said nothing.

My mother's last words flashed across my mind and I decided that this was the best time to talk about it.

I turned to Dante.

"Who is Callum Reyes?" I asked and the whole room went very still, including the guards stationed around the room.

Dante's fork froze mid air. "Where did you hear that name?"

"My mother said it before she died." I said, watching him carefully. "She told me to be afraid of two men. You, and him."

He said nothing for a long time and just ate his food quietly.

"Who is he?" I asked again.

"Someone you will never have to meet," Dante said. "Not while I'm alive."

That should have been reassuring, but it wasn't.

I didn't look at Jax again, I didn't need to because I could feel him looking at me.

After dinner Dante walked me back to my corridor.

"I know this is hard," he said outside my door.

"It's fine."

"Lena."

"Goodnight, Dante."

I went inside and closed the door. I stood in the dark and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and tried to steady my breathing.

One hour later, a knock sounded on my door.