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The first course was served, and the men launched into a discussion of people and topics I knew nothing about. So I didn’t add much to the conversation, instead just observing and trying to guess how things were going based on the body language of the people around the table. I thought it was going well, and that assumption was confirmed when I caught Josephine’s gaze and she nodded slightly.
Good.
I didn’t understand the maneuverings of the Baltimore underground, but if this went well for Nathaniel, it would reflect well on my boys. And I wanted that. I wanted to see them succeed.
Our dishes were cleared before the second course was brought out, and as I glanced around the table once more, I hesitated. Claudio Vega was wearing a relaxed smile, but the intense energy that I’d sensed from him before had only increased.
My stomach tightened.
Fuck. Was this about to go bad? Had he come here not to negotiate, but to attack? He would be foolish to try anything in Nathaniel’s own house—he had to know there were other men stationed around the mansion, that this place was well protected.
But if he wasn’t planning something, why did Claudio seem so tense? Why did his gaze keep darting around?
A new realization struck me, and my heart pounded harder in my chest.
His gaze wasn’t moving around randomly. It kept flicking in the same direction.
Toward Misael.
The boy with dark hair and caramel skin was sitting on the same side of the table as me, with Bishop between us. He seemed to have noticed Claudio’s attention too, and I could tell he was on edge, ready to fight if need be.
The food I’d eaten, delicious as it was, turned into a lump of cement in my belly. I clutched my fork and knife tighter, as if I might use them in self-defense.
Should I say something? What should I say?
I didn’t know all the dynamics at play here, and I was terrified that opening my mouth would only make the tension I could feel bubbling in the air snap. But before I could decide whether to open my mouth, Claudio spoke.
The conversation around the table had lulled, and in the moment of quiet, the tattooed man turned toward Misael, staring at him openly for the first time all night.
“Are you from Baltimore?”
The question surprised me, and it must’ve surprised Misael too, because he answered automatically. “Yes.”
“Born here?”
Misael’s brows drew together. “Yes.”
I could see Nathaniel leaning forward a little. This line of questioning had surprised him too, and he obviously didn’t like seeing one of his own people interrogated by an outsider. He opened his mouth, but before he could put a stop to things, Claudio spoke again.
“Was your mother Maria Hernandez?”
Misael’s eyes flew wide. Everyone at the table turned to look at him, and I didn’t even need to hear his answer to know what it would be.
Yes.
“How do you know her name?” he asked quietly, instead of replying to Claudio’s question.
Claudio’s face had paled slightly, and he seemed frozen in place for a long moment, as if stunned by the answer. Silence reigned over the table as everyone exchanged glances. Even Claudio’s own men seemed unsure what their boss was after. They clearly hadn’t expected any of this either.
After several heartbeats, Claudio shook his head.
“I… knew your mother.”
My gaze swung back to Misael. Everything else seemed to have been forgotten for the moment. Whatever alliance Claudio had come here to discuss was hardly more than a distant memory now.
Because the way he spoke—the way he hesitated over the words—made me certain he had known Misael’s mother as much more than a passing acquaintance.
My jaw fell open slightly as I stared at Misael, whose face was a mask of shock. Holy fuck. No wonder Claudio had agreed to this dinner. No wonder he had requested the Lost Boys be present for it. Ever since the first day we’d met him at the club he owned, he must’ve been wanting to ask Misael these questions.
