Chapter 24 Twenty-Three
The timer chimed in Algerone's kitchen, and I crossed the marble floor to silence it before the sound could carry through the house.
Reid's team had deployed six hours ago. Our own flight to Macau left at midnight.
Between now and then, we had this single window, one evening to gather Algerone's family before everything changed.
Eight minutes until the bread needed to come out. Twelve until optimal serving temperature. Twenty-seven until guests arrived.
My hands trembled as I arranged the appetizers. I noted the tremor with detachment, the same physiological response I'd experienced before hostile takeovers, before congressional hearings, before the morning I'd walked into the penthouse knowing Algerone had learned the truth about his sons.
Pathetic that a dinner party could reduce me to this.
"You're going to wear out my marble if you keep pacing like that."
Algerone stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane.
He'd chosen casual clothes for tonight, dark jeans that pulled across his thighs when he shifted weight off his damaged hip, a button-down with sleeves rolled to expose forearms I'd memorized during eighteen months of massage therapy.
His silver hair fell across his forehead instead of being slicked back.
"Everything's on schedule," I said.
A lie. The sauce needed another four minutes, but the bread needed attention now. If I left the sauce, it would over-reduce. If I ignored the bread, it would burn.
"So that's why you've been standing over that plate for seven minutes?"
"The presentation matters." I turned back to the stove, adjusting the flame. "First impressions establish psychological frameworks that persist throughout interpersonal encounters."
His cane tapped against the marble as he crossed toward me. He was favoring the left side more than this morning. The barometric pressure was dropping. He'd need additional anti-inflammatories before the flight.
"It's dinner with my kids, not a Pentagon briefing."
"Your children already have substantial reasons to despise me." I opened the oven to check the bread. "Xander rearranged my face last week. This meal needs to be perfect."
"Perfect?" He stopped behind me, close enough that his scent reached me, Tom Ford Oud Wood, the cologne he'd switched to after the explosion. I'd ordered three bottles last month when I noticed his supply running low. "Like everything you do?"
"Strategic." I closed the oven and turned to face him, wooden spoon held between us like a barrier. "Anthropological studies confirm communal eating establishes trust pathways across existing conflicts—"
"You're manipulating my children with meat pie."
"Facilitating, not manipulating."
His mouth curved, something smaller and more private than the boardroom smile. "Would you prefer to send PowerPoint slides instead?"
I laughed, and his expression warmed.
"Need any help?" He put a hand on my hip.
"No." I struggled to keep my voice even as his thumb stroked me gently. "I have everything under control."
"Clearly." His hand slid beneath my shirt, palm flat against bare skin. He pulled me back against his chest, his erection pressing against the base of my spine. "That's why your heart's racing like you're facing a firing squad."
"This matters." I gripped the counter edge as his fingers traced my waistband. "Your sons deserve—"
"What about what I deserve?" His teeth found my earlobe.
The wooden spoon clattered against the stovetop. His other hand found my nipple through the shirt fabric, pinching until I gasped. The sauce. I needed to check the sauce.
His mouth moved to my throat, teeth scraping where bruises from last week had finally faded.
"Algerone." It was half plea, half protest. "I need to focus."
"You're very attractive when you're domestic." His lips traced the spot behind my ear that made my knees threaten to buckle.
A timer shrieked.
The bread. I'd lost track of the bread.
Smoke wisped from the oven door. I wrenched free, yanking the door open. The loaf had transformed from golden to charcoal. Fifteen minutes of proofing and shaping, destroyed because I couldn't maintain focus while his hand was on my cock.
I slammed the burnt remains onto the counter. "You sabotaged my bread. Deliberately."
"I wanted to see what would happen." He leaned against the counter, eyes dark. "Seeing you flustered is enticing."
"This is not a game, Algerone." I heard the sharpness in my own words and didn't care. "I've spent hours on this meal."
"My sons won't judge you on bread."
"They judge everything else. My loyalty. My competence. Whether I have any right to stand beside you after what I did."
"You've earned your place," he said.
I forced myself to swallow. "I kept them from you for twenty years."
"And you think meat pie will fix that?" His thumb traced my jawline. "You can't repair the past with dinner, Maxime."
"I don't know what else to offer them."
"The truth is all anyone can offer." His forehead pressed against mine.
We stood there for a moment, his hand on my jaw, my hands fisted in his shirt. Then he pulled back.
"There's something else we need to discuss before they arrive. After Shaw, after Macau, I've been considering Lucky Losers' future."
"The recovery strategy is sound," I said automatically. "Stock will rebound."
"I'm stepping down as CEO."
I stared at him, failing to process.
"What?"
"It's time. The company needs fresh leadership after Oklahoma."
"You can't." The protest emerged before I could calculate whether it was wise. "Lucky Losers is you."
"Without me, it evolves. As it needs to."
"What about us?" I gestured between us. "Where does that leave me?"
He took my hand in his. "With me. If that's what you want."
A life without Lucky Losers. The concept refused to resolve into a coherent shape. My identity had been so thoroughly fused with the company, with my function in his life, that I couldn't imagine existing outside those parameters.
And yet, beneath the professional vertigo, something else stirred. Was that…relief?
The doorbell rang.
Seventeen minutes early.
"I'll get it." His lips brushed mine. "Breathe, Maxime. We'll figure it out together."
He left me standing amid the wreckage of my preparations, burnt bread and over-reduced sauce and a revelation I hadn't begun to process.
Voices carried from the entryway. Xander, Xavier, and a voice I didn’t recognize immediately.
I gathered what remained of the appetizer platter and moved toward the dining room.
The chandelier cast a warm light across mahogany and crystal. I'd arranged everything this morning—lilies and hydrangeas in careful symmetry, wine glasses at exact intervals.
They'd already taken their seats. Algerone sat at the head, Xavier to his right, accompanied by his boyfriend, Leo. Xavier's partner was brilliant, anxious, and utterly devoted to Xavier with an intensity I recognized.
Xander sat to Algerone's left in a bright yellow sweater. Beside him, Ash Valentine scanned the room like the former FBI agent he was.
But the far end of the table held the true surprise.
Xion. The son who had refused all contact with his father and had built an entirely separate life. He sat with shoulders hunched, posture defensive, beside Boone, a red-headed, bearded man I had mixed opinions on.
I stopped in the doorway. The question must have shown on my face.
"Xion reached out yesterday," Algerone said. "We’re glad he and Boone could make it."
Xion's jaw tightened. "Figured if everyone else was risking their necks for this family bullshit, the least I could do was show up for dinner."
Boone's hand covered Xion's on the table.
Six pairs of eyes tracked me as I set down the appetizer platter.
"Hope everyone brought appetites. Main course shortly."
"Smells amazing," Leo offered. "I've been looking forward to this all day."
"I didn't know you cooked," Xander remarked. "Hidden talents, huh?"
"Maxime has many talents," Algerone replied. "Some more surprising than others."
Heat crawled up my neck. Xander smirked.
Xavier studied his water glass. "Gross. We're about to eat."
I retreated to the kitchen. The sauce had thickened past optimal, but I whisked in stock to recover it. The duck sliced cleanly. Not everything had failed.
When I returned with wine, the conversation had shifted to operational matters.
"Reid's team should be in position by now," Xavier was saying.
I circled the table, filling glasses. Red for Algerone and Xavier. White for Xander and Ash. Coffee for Xion, because I'd researched his preferences. Sparkling water for Boone.
As I reached Xander, they leaned toward me. "How’re the bruises?"
I touched my jaw reflexively. "You have your father's right hook."
"Damn right. Fair warning. Hurt him, and next time I won't stop at your face."
"Understood."
I retrieved the main course. The tourtière steamed properly, its crust golden and flaky.
"Impressive," Xavier observed. "Not casual cooking."
"Maxime doesn't do casual anything," Algerone said.
I took my seat beside him. His hand found my knee beneath the table, and warmth spread through my chest. Not arousal this time. The simple reassurance of his touch.
"The tourtière is traditional Québécois," I explained while serving. "My grandmother's recipe."
"Looks like a fancy pot pie," Xander observed.
"Essentially correct."
Boone's eyes widened as he took his first bite. Xion chewed, swallowed, and something in his posture shifted.
"Holy shit," Boone said. "This is incredible."
"It tastes like home," Xion added quietly. "I've never had Québécois food before, but there's something familiar about it."
"You know they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach." Xion glanced down at his plate, jaw tight. "If you keep cooking like this, it might actually work."
"So." Xander pointed their fork at me. "Should we call you stepdad now? Dad's trophy husband?"
Wine splashed over my glass rim.
"Xander," Algerone warned.
"What? We all know why we're here. The big relationship reveal."
"Which isn't exactly news," Xavier added. "Some of us have seen things we can never unsee."
"Perhaps we could discuss this like adults," Algerone suggested.
"Fine." Xander set down their fork. "We're listening."
"Our relationship has evolved beyond something professional. Maxime and I are together."
"Evolved," Xander repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"What? Dad's sleeping with the guy who kept us from him for twenty years. It's objectively weird."
"You helped kill our mother." Xion's voice sliced through the noise.
Silence crashed over the table.
"I've spent years pulling apart engines," Xion continued, eyes locked on mine. "Learning how systems fail. How one component breaking destroys everything downstream. You were the broken component. You threatened our mother when she was already fragile. Pushed her past what she could handle."
Boone's hand moved toward Xion's arm, then stopped.
"You didn't pull the trigger. But you loaded the gun. Put it in her hand. And now you're sitting here making meat pie like that fixes something."
"He's not wrong," Xavier added quietly. "Facts are facts."
"Enough." Algerone's voice cut through. "Maxime has acknowledged his mistakes."
"With pot pie?" Xander's laugh held no humor.
"Nothing fixes it." I met Xion's eyes directly. "Nothing excuses what I did. The meal isn't atonement. It's an acknowledgment. I know what I am. I know what I did."
Xavier studied me. "Then why are we here?"
"Because you're important to Algerone. He loves you. And because you deserve honesty instead of more manipulation,” I said. "I'm not asking you to like me. I'm asking for the chance to coexist. For his sake."
"A blood truce," Xion stated. "Not peace."
"Yes." My shoulders loosened. "A truce."
Xander exchanged glances with their brothers.
"We'll consider your terms," they said finally. "But understand that we're a package deal. Hurt one of us, deal with all three."
"Understood."
Leo took a sip of wine. "At least the food's good."
"There's another reason I called you here tonight." Algerone's hand tightened on my knee.
Xavier's fingers stilled. Xion leaned forward. Xander glanced at Ash.
"The Oklahoma attack has changed everything. Lucky Losers can't continue as it has been,” Algerone said.
I kept my expression neutral. I knew what was coming.
"The company will survive," Xavier stated. "The recovery strategy is solid."
"The company will survive," Algerone agreed. "But not unchanged. Not under the same leadership." He paused. "After Macau, after Shaw is dealt with, I'm stepping down as CEO."
The silence that followed was absolute.
"And Xavier." Algerone's eyes found his eldest son. "I want you to take my place."