Page 43 of The Silent Hour

"Relax, big bro. You know damn well you wanted everyone to hear that. Lighten up and let's go." Her voice dropped into a theatrical whisper. "Knox and Toya are waiting in Conference Room B. Eric's there too. Poor guy was trying to bring you coffee. Didn't even look surprised when he figured out why he wouldn't be making his delivery. Imagine that."

"Since you've invited yourself, as you tend to do, why don't you lead the way?" Ethan suggested monotonously.

"Don't act like you aren't screeching internally like a fangirl now that I'm coming along."

"Yes, Serena. That's exactly what I'm doing. How did you know? It isn't as though we see each other almost every day."

I laughed softly. He could act annoyed all he wanted. Ethan adored his sister. The two of them continued exchanging thinly veiled affectionate jabs all the way to the conference room.

THE BISTRO'S PATIO hummed with late-lunch chatter, silverware clinking against porcelain beneath bursts of laughter. The rhythmic hush of the ocean carried across Ocean Drive on a salt-tinged breeze.

We'd commandeered a long mahogany table in the farthest corner, shaded beneath wide cream umbrellas whose edges fluttered whenever the wind picked up. Toya and Knox sat shoulder to shoulder.

Serena had claimed the seat beside me, sunglasses covering her eyes as she sipped her drink. Eric leaned back across from us, his navy suit jacket draped over the empty chair beside him and his burgundy tie loosened enough to reveal the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. His blue eyes cataloged everything around us.

The waitstaff.

Neighboring tables.

Even the tourist couple taking selfies near the railing.

All while his long fingers remained wrapped around what was probably his sixth double espresso of the day. The man was going to drop dead. Cause of death: caffeine overdose.

Ethan sat on my other side, his warm hand brushing my bare knee beneath the table every so often. Rafa arrived twenty minutes after we did, weaving between the tables with the same confident precision he carried into a courtroom. Tall, Native, and built like a whole damn tree, his dark curls were slightly damp at the edges from Miami's relentless humidity. He moved with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to commanding attention without asking for it.

His familiar smile appeared when he reached us, revealing a single dimple.

"About damn time," Serena greeted him as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "What did you do, lock the judge in chambers until he ruled your way?"

Rafa dropped into the empty chair across from me. "If I'd done that, querida, we'd be drinking Dom Pérignon and celebrating instead of whatever that is."

"Lemonade?" I asked, raising my glass slightly.

Knox chuckled and passed Rafa a menu. Conversation spilled easily across the table after that. Animated debates over case precedent. Proud updates about our children. Inside jokes carrying the comfortable patina of years spent knowing one another. Through it all, Ethan continued touching me.

A hand against my knee.

Fingers brushing mine.

His palm briefly settling at the small of my back whenever a server passed behind me. Tiny gestures so habitual neither of us probably thought much about them anymore, By one forty-five, the men began peeling away one by one.

Ethan went first. A potential new client had contacted him shortly before I'd arrived at the firm, and they were meeting at two-fifteen. Before leaving, he bent over me, his familiar cologne surrounding me as one hand slid to the nape of my neck.

His lips pressed against mine, a familiar weight that tasted of mint and the lingering warmth of his coffee. The kiss wasn’t hurried or performative—just Ethan, steady and sure. When he pulled back, his cologne still clung to the air between us. "I'll call you after," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear it over the patio’s chatter.

"You better."

His thumb brushed my jaw, calloused but gentle. "Love you. Always."

Then he straightened, all six-foot-two of him cutting an easy path through the scattered tables. Naturally, Eric fell into step beside him, fingers already flying across his tablet screen. Knox wasn’t far behind; he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Toya’s temple that made her smile soften before he followed the others.

Rafa pushed his chair back with a quiet scrape against the stone tiles. "I should prepare for tomorrow’s hearing," he said, already halfway to standing. He shot Serena a look. "See you back at the office." Then he, too, was gone.

These men never stopped moving. It was how they’d become kings in their field—kings of leverage, reputation, and the particular kind of power that knew exactly how far rules could bend before they broke.

Serena more than held her own among them.

And from everything I’d heard—including the résumé Toya had practically recited to me earlier—even that bitch Lila could wheel and deal in a courtroom.