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"Maybe," Tristan replies. "And maybe I shouldn't have been such a stubborn asshole. Maybe I shouldn't have let things with Vivian go down the way they did. All the time I spent dancing around my feelings for her… I wasted it. And now she’s…"
"Don't say it," Theo tells him. "She'salive.We'll see her again." He looks between his friends, his resolve obvious. "But I'll need you to help me. Both of you. I can't do this alone, and if the two of you feel the same way about Vivian as I do, then you're the only ones whocan.That's why I need you to keep your heads. Are we clear?”
"Of course," Tristan says, and when he meets his boss' eyes, he doesn't look away.
"You know I am," Liam adds. "What do you need us to do?”
A grim smile appears on Theo's face. "For starters," he says, "I need you two to pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Dalton.”
* * *
Years ago,long before Vivian Dalton became Vivian Emmerico in an effort to unite London's two biggest crime families, there was nothing to distinguish the sprawling estate outside the city center from any other mansion. Now, though, with their daughter ostensibly kidnapped by her husband's "maniac brother" and all of the city on high alert—made men or not—her parents have dialed their security measures up to a hundred. Snipers pace back and forth on the outside balconies, the gate at the base of the drive has been reinforced, and a cranky-looking guard is waiting in the security booth when Liam and Tristan approach. Theo isn't with them.
"How do you want to do this?" Tristan asks.
"Ijust figured we could say please," Liam says. "Maybeprettyplease, if that doesn't work.”
"Be serious," Tristan gripes. "We can't just waltz in there and demand to talk to them.”
"Why not?" Liam asks. "Theo's the persona non grata here, not us.”
"Everyone on the scene has been shitting bricks after what happened to Vivian," Tristan retorts. "They're going to be on high alert.”
"Look," Liam says, turning to him, "I say we tell them the truth.”
"Are you fucking—"
"Not thewholetruth, obviously," Liam interrupts. "But… enough of the truth to get them invested. You catch more flies with honey, and all that.”
"I don't think that's what that saying's about, man.”
"You say that like you've got a better idea," Liam quips, and Tristan concedes his point. They're flying blind, and if there's one thing Tristan Archer doesn't like, it's flying blind.
Together they clamber out of the car, Tristan gritting his teeth as he does his best to favor his injured side. They make their way up to the guard station, where the angry-looking man demands to know what their business is on Dalton property. Liam glances at Tristan and says, "My name's Liam Walker. This is Tristan Archer. We're here as representatives of Theo Emmerico."
The guard stiffens, and Tristan interjects, "This is strictly diplomatic. We…”
"We want to keep this clusterfuck from getting any bigger," Liam supplies, glancing at his friend. "To put it delicately." He gestures down at himself. "We're unarmed. Frisk us, if you want. Not my favorite way to start a business relationship, but—"
Tristan elbows him and Liam quiets, half-expecting the Daltons to bring the hammer down on principle alone. But to both their surprise, the guard just grunts, presses a button on his console, and the gate rattles open.
"That's it?" Tristan asks.
"Someone will check you at the door," the guard replies. "We were told to expect you.”
The guys turn to each other, eyebrows raised. It occurs to them as they're heading up the walkway that this could be a trap, but they're in too deep to back out now. After a rough pat-down to check for any holdout weapons, they're ushered into the estate by a pair of burly security guards and promptly directed to the dining room. It's strange to see the place where Vivian spent so many of her formative years, and despite the circumstances, they still notice bits of her everywhere: the framed pictures on the shelves, her school certificate, the old family photo albums… So much sentiment surrounding someone they've known for such a short time.
Andrew and Melissa Dalton are seated near the head of the dining room table, flanked by security on both sides. Melissa is the spitting image of her daughter, with a head of chestnut curls and bright, inquisitive eyes. Andrew, meanwhile, is a solidly-built, gray-haired man whose face shows signs of all the shit he's done to get to where he is. Next to them is a slim young blonde woman who can only be Vivian's older sister, Violet.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had been expecting us," Liam says, crossing his arms.
"You would think right," Andrew says, gesturing to the other end of the table. "Sit down, both of you. We need to talk.”
The guys settle in a little uncomfortably, each grappling with their reception. For a moment, neither of them speaks, but then Tristan takes the lead, launching into the same spiel he gave the guard. "This is Liam Walker. My name is Tristan Archer. We—"
"We know who you are," Andrew Dalton says, looking at Liam. "You think I wouldn't recognize the Emmerico family's personal grim reaper? And you," he adds, glancing at Tristan, "Tristan Archer... I remember the McManus business from a while back. My condolences about your parents.”
"I... thank you," Tristan says, his script momentarily forgotten.
