Chapter 227
Felix
I caught the shift in Lance's expression—the way his jaw tightened, the muscle jumping near his temple. Serena's hand found his under the table, a gesture of solidarity that would have been touching if it weren't so pathetically transparent.
They were afraid. Not of me, exactly. But of what I represented. The chaos they couldn't quite contain, the variable they couldn't predict or control.
Good.
A servant materialized with fresh silverware and a plate. I accepted both with a gracious nod, settling in like I'd been here all along. The filet mignon looked excellent. I cut into it slowly, deliberately, letting the knife scrape against porcelain.
"Actually," I said, as if the thought had just occurred to me, "there's another reason I came tonight. I heard about Serena's little... incident. The car accident?" I looked up, all concern and curiosity. "You seem completely fine, thank God. But I was wondering—did they ever catch the driver? The one who ran you off the road?"
The silence that fell over the table was so complete I could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hall.
Thomas's fork paused midway to his mouth. His eyes found mine, confusion bleeding into something sharper. Something that recognized a trap being set but couldn't quite see its shape yet.
Arthur leaned forward, all grandfatherly worry. "Serena, you were in an accident? Today? Why didn't anyone tell me? Are you hurt? Should we have Dr. Morrison come by?"
"No, Arthur, I'm fine—" Serena started, but I could see the panic flickering behind her composure. The desperate glance she shot Lance, looking for guidance.
Lance's expression had gone arctic. When he spoke, his voice could have frozen blood.
"She's perfectly fine, Grandfather. A minor incident, barely worth mentioning. That's why we didn't bring it up."
"Yes," Serena added quickly, her smile so forced it was almost painful to watch. "Really, it was nothing. We can talk about it later if you want, but honestly, there's not much to tell—"
"That's odd." I took another bite of steak, chewing slowly. Savoring. "Because from what I heard, it was serious enough that the scene had to be... cleaned. Thoroughly. Which makes me wonder—was that Lance's people handling the cleanup? Or did Wesley take care of it himself?"
The look Lance gave me then was pure murder. If we'd been alone, I have no doubt his hands would already be around my throat.
"Felix." His voice was soft. Deadly. "You seem remarkably well-informed about an incident you claim to have only 'heard about.' Want to explain that?"
I shrugged, all innocence. "I make it my business to stay informed about family matters. Especially when they involve people I care about." I raised my glass toward Serena. "Your safety is important to me. To all of us."
"Wait, wait." Arthur held up a hand, his confusion morphing into concern. "What cleanup? What scene? And where is Wesley? I haven't seen him in days. Thomas, have you—"
"Wesley's fine," I said smoothly, leaning back in my chair with a casual smile. "In fact, he's having the time of his life right now. Best friends, best company—" I paused, letting my gaze drift meaningfully toward Lance. "He's actually right—"
"FELIX!"
Thomas's roar was so sudden, so violent, it actually rattled the crystal. He surged to his feet, chair scraping back with enough force to nearly topple it.
"That is ENOUGH! We are in the middle of dinner! Your grandfather has already been worried sick about Serena's accident—do you have any idea how upsetting this is for him? At his age?" His voice shook with fury, but underneath it I could hear the desperation. "This is not the time or place for your—your wild speculations!"
He slammed his palm on the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. "One more word. One more insinuation. And you will leave this house immediately. Do you understand me?"
I studied him for a long moment. The fury in his face—some of it real, most of it performance. The desperation underneath, the plea I could read as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud: Stop. Don't drag me into this. I'm trying to stay out of it.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? He couldn't stay out of it. Not anymore.
Because I had nothing left to lose, and he had everything to protect. And in that equation, there was only one possible outcome.
I stood slowly, moving to his side with exaggerated concern. "Jesus, Dad. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." I placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under my touch. "Please. Sit down. I'll drop it."
He let me guide him back into his chair, but his eyes stayed locked on mine. Warning me. Begging me.
I returned to my seat, picked up my wine glass, and smiled.
"You're right, Dad. I apologize." I took a sip, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel uncomfortable. "I shouldn't have brought up Wesley at dinner. Or the accident. Or anything that might... upset the family."
I swirled the wine, watching the light catch in the dark liquid.
"It's just—sometimes when you care about people, when you see them in danger, it's hard to stay quiet. Even when everyone's telling you to shut up and mind your own business." I looked up, meeting Thomas's eyes. "Sometimes a man gets backed into a corner, and he realizes he has no choice but to fight his way out. Even if it means burning everything down."
Serena's face went pale. Thomas's jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding.
"Felix." His voice was barely above a whisper. Shaking with rage. "If you say one more word—just one—you will leave this table. No. You will leave this city. You will come with me to Europe tonight, and we will never speak of any of this again. Do you understand me?"
Arthur looked between us, completely lost. "Thomas, what on earth—"
But I wasn't done. I couldn't be done. Because if I left now, if I let Thomas drag me back to Florence like a scolded child, I would spend the rest of my life as the family embarrassment. The cautionary tale. The one who tried to play in the big leagues and got destroyed.
No.
If I was going down, I was taking everyone with me.
"Of course, Dad." I nodded slowly. "You're right. I should leave New York soon. There's nothing keeping me here, really. Just... memories. The skyline. The parks." I paused, letting my gaze drift to the window, to the darkening horizon beyond. "Though I have to say, the thing I'll miss most—the thing you always told me was the soul of this city..."
Thomas had gone very still. He knew. God help me, he knew what was coming.
"...is the tides at Saint's Cove."
The name fell into the silence like a stone into still water.