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“Serena was too far away to hear or notice anything,” I mumble, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Regardless,” Dad slams his fist on the table, his face inches from mine, “If those people find out the truth, they could bringus down. Is that what you want? To destroy everything we’ve built?”
I force myself to meet his gaze, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“It’s been fifteen years, Dad. How long does it take for the ink to dry on that contract?”
Dad’s eyes narrow, and his voice drops several octanes, denoting that he is now squarely in the danger zone.
“This is not a game, Liam. Your reckless actions can unravel everything we’ve worked for. You are jeopardizing our reputation; our alliances, everything!”
“Reputation? Alliances?” I scoff. “Do you know what that means to me? Nothing. I live my life on my terms—”
“Your terms?” James interrupts, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re not an island, Liam. Your actions affect us all.”
“I bought dinner, not a nuclear warhead,” I retort, my arrogance fueling the fire. “And if our reputation is so fragile, maybe it’s time we reevaluate what we stand for.”
Noah, usually the calm one, shakes his head.
“You always must push everything to the limit, Liam. Can’t you see the bigger picture . . . or are you trying to punish us all for what happened to you in prison?”
“The bigger picture, huh?” I sneer. “The Ricardos are not the enemy. Everyone in this room knows exactly what happened. They have a good reason to hold a vendetta against us. Where isyourrage and derision coming from? I don’t understand.”
Dad’s face is inches from mine once again, having stood up from his chair like there were fire ants in his pants.How I wish there were.
“You, of all people, know why. A lot of people’s silence was bought to take care of this matter. You flashing out a million dollars to spend time with a Ricardo, only to be seen in public with all of them . . . what do you think that will do? It willget people talking. You have opened a can of worms, Liam, and who knows what will crawl out? You’re a selfish bastard and a disgrace. You’ve lost sight of what’s important. You’ve opened floodgates now. People will start talking . . . you’ve done this.”
“And what might that be, Father?” I challenge, my obstinance unwavering. “We did them wrong. Have any of you lost a single night’s sleep over this? I have. Many, many nights.”
Dad’s eyes blaze with fury. “Your selfish actions will have consequences. You think you’re invincible, but you’re playing with fire. There are people out there who would do us harm . . . in case you’ve forgotten this tiny detail. One of the “you know who” is still alive, and God knows who else might know . . .”
“Let them bring us down, Dad; let it all burn if that is the price of taking a life,” I declare, my arrogance reaching its peak.
“Noah, you have a son. How would you feel if someone killed him? How long would it take for the pain to go away? How long would it take you to forget so you can forgive?”
The room is charged with tension, each word a bullet in our verbal battlefield. I stand my ground, refusing to be cowed by their anger. The storm has arrived, and I’m in the eye of it, unyielding and unapologetic.Let it rain.
Chapter six
PLEASANTVILLE NOT SO PLEASANT.
TONY
I step out of my car to grab a coffee and immediately feel the weight of a dozen eyes staring at me . . . or is it my imagination?
The town is abuzz with gossip about the recent auction and the dinner with Liam—the man who killed our father. I don’t know what they want from me. Maybe they expect an explanation, some grand revelation that makes it all make sense in their vacant minds. What does it matter to them? What did they lose? What pain did they suffer?
They are not the ones who lamented a father’s embrace whenever something good happened in their lives, reaching out for a father’s touch only to grasp at emptiness.
It wasn’t their nights filled with the echoes of silence where a father’s soft, reassuring voice should be.
Did they ever experience the ache of every significant milestone reached, lamenting the presence of the one person who should have been there to celebrate but wasn’t?
We owe this town nothing. Their tears haven’t stained the pages of family photo albums, each image a painful reminder of what can never be.
We went to dinner with the devil. What we do—how we spend our time is our business. We don’t owe this town an explanation . . . we don’t owe them a thing.
I still don’t know why Liam did what he did and what his intentions were, but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is this is between the Dexters and the Ricardos, whateverthisis.How I wish they would leave me alone.
