12. The Dinner
The Dinner
Nathan
The dining room smells like a funeral.
That's the first thing I notice when I walk in—the heavy scent of white roses, the same flowers my father orders every time he wants to pretend we're a normal family.
They're arranged in crystal vases along the center of the table, their petals already beginning to brown at the edges.
They remind me of Elena. Everything in this house reminds me of Elena.
My father sits at the head of the table, his grey eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my jaw tighten.
He's been waiting for this. I can see it in the way he holds himself—the rigid spine, the clenched hands, the thin line of his mouth.
He thinks he's going to corner me tonight.
He thinks he's going to make me confess.
He's wrong.
Gabriel is already seated, his hands folded in front of him, his face pale.
He won't look at me. He hasn't looked at me in weeks.
The guilt is eating him alive—I can smell it on him like cheap cologne.
He's been sneaking around with Monika, meeting her in the greenhouse, whispering secrets he thinks I can't hear.
I can hear everything. I always could.
And Monika.
Monika is sitting across from me, her hands in her lap, her face perfectly still. She's wearing a dark dress—navy, the color of deep water—and her hair is pulled back from her face in a way that makes her look older. More serious. More dangerous.
She won't look at me either. But that's different. She won't look at me because she's afraid of what she'll see. She won't look at me because she knows what I've become.
She's right to be afraid.
"I would like to revisit the expansion."
My father's voice cuts through the silence like a blade. He doesn't look at me when he speaks—he's looking at some point in the middle distance, somewhere between the candles and the shadows.
"The new territory. The children."
I set down my fork. I don't bother to hide my smile.
"It's profitable."
"Profit isn't everything."
"Profit is everything." I lean back in my chair, letting my gaze drift across the table. Gabriel is staring at his plate. Monika is staring at the wall. "You taught me that."
My father's jaw tightens. I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, the way his fingers curl into fists on the tablecloth.
"I taught you to build," he says. "Not to destroy."
"I'm building. I'm building something bigger than you ever dreamed." I pick up my glass and take a slow sip of wine. "Why should we stop at women and men when children are readily available?"
The words hang in the air like smoke.
Gabriel makes a sound—a sharp inhale, like he's been punched. He looks up, his eyes wide, his face pale.
"What did you say?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"You heard me."
"Children, Nathan? You think trafficking children is okay?"
"I'm meeting demand. The market wants what the market wants."
"These are people." Gabriel stands up so fast his chair scrapes against the marble floor. "These are children. Not products. Not inventory. Children."
"They're more profitable than adults. Smaller. Easier to transport. Easier to control."
"Shut up." Gabriel's voice breaks. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."
"Boys." My father's voice is sharp. "Sit down. Both of you."
Gabriel doesn't move. His hands are shaking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He looks like he's going to be sick. It's kinda cute, little bro finally growing a backbone.
I stay seated, watching him with something that might be amusement or might be pity. I can't tell the difference anymore.
"Father," Gabriel says, his voice trembling. "Father, you can't let him do this. You can't—"
"I said sit down."
Gabriel doesn't sit.
Instead, he turns to Monika. "Tell him. Tell him what Nathan's been doing. Tell him about the child. Tasha."
Monika's eyes widen. I see the fear flicker across her face—the brief, beautiful moment of panic before she schools her features into that mask she's learned to wear.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she says.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The girl Nathan brought to you in the middle of the night. The one you fixed. The one he sent back."
"Nathan didn't—"
"Don't lie for him." Gabriel's voice cracks. "Don't you dare lie for him."
"I'm not lying."
"You are." Gabriel steps toward her, his hands reaching for her. "You've been lying for him for a year. You've been lying for all of us. And I'm tired—"
"Gabriel." My father's voice is a whip crack. "Sit. Down."
Gabriel stops.
For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks. The candles flicker on the table, casting shadows that dance across the walls.
Then Gabriel sinks back into his chair, his shoulders slumping, his face crumbling into something that looks like defeat.
The rest of the meal passes in silence.
No one eats. No one speaks. The candles burn down, the wine sits untouched, the food goes cold on our plates. My father's eyes stay fixed on me—cold, calculating, the eyes of a man who is trying to decide how much he can afford to lose.
I meet his gaze and smile.
Let him look. Let him judge. Let him pretend he's any different from me.
He built this empire. He taught me how to run it. He showed me that the only thing that matters is power—the ability to take what you want and never apologize for it.
I'm just better at it than he is.
Monika leaves first.
She stands without excusing herself, her chair scraping against the floor, and walks out of the dining room. Her footsteps echo on the marble, growing fainter and fainter until they disappear entirely.
Gabriel leaves next. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't look at our father. He just walks out, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved into his pockets.
I stay seated, watching my father watch me.
"You need to stop," he says.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll stop you."
"How?" I lean back in my chair, letting my smile widen. "You can't control me anymore, Father. You lost that privilege years ago."
"I'm still the head of this family."
"You're the head of a family that's falling apart. You're a figurehead—a relic of a time when people actually feared you." I stand up, pushing my chair back. "I'm the future. And you're just... in the way."
His face goes pale. His hands clench into fists on the table.
"Is that a threat?"
"Take it however you want."
I turn and walk toward the door. I can feel his eyes on my back—a burning weight, a dying fire.
I don't look back.
I find her in the hallway.
She's standing by the window, looking out at the garden. The moonlight catches her face, illuminating the shadows under her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks. She looks tired. She always looks tired.
"Nathan." She doesn't turn around. "What do you want?"
"You."
"Not tonight."
"Not tonight," I repeat. "Not ever, is that it? You're done with me?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." I step closer. "I saw the way you looked at me at dinner. The way you looked at me when Gabriel mentioned the child. You're pulling away from me, Monika. I can feel it."
"You're imagining things."
"I'm not." I grab her arm. My grip is tight—tighter than I intended—and I feel her flinch beneath my fingers. "I'm not imagining the way you avoid me. The way you flinch when I touch you. The way you disappear into the greenhouse every night to whisper my business with my brother."
"I'm not—"
"Don't lie to me." I spin her around. Her back hits the wall, and I press against her, trapping her. "Don't you dare lie to me."
Her eyes are wide. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps. She's afraid—I can see it in her face, smell it on her skin—but she's not backing down.
"I'm not lying to you," she says. "I've never lied to you."
"You've been lying to me since the day we met."
"That's not true."
"It is true." I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "You've been lying about how you feel. About what you want. About who you belong to."
"I don't belong to anyone."
"You belong to me." I pull back just enough to look at her face. "You've always belonged to me. From the moment I saw you in that diner. From the moment I watched my father pull you into his world. From the moment I decided you were mine."
"I'm not a possession."
"You're whatever I say you are."
She tries to push me away. I don't let her.
"You're going to listen to me," I say. "You're going to listen, and you're going to remember."
"Nathan—"
"Remember that you're mine." I slide my hand up her thigh, pushing her dress up around her waist. "Remember that no matter what you do, no matter who you talk to, no matter what you think you can escape to—you belong to me.
There is nothing and no one that can stop me, including you.
And there is nothing that can stand in the way of me having you. "
"I don't—"
"Remember that I don't take betrayal well." My voice drops to a whisper. "Remember that I've killed people for less than what you've been doing."
She goes still.
"That's right," I say. "I know what you've been doing. I know about the meetings. The whispers. The plans you've been making with my brother. How Viktor has been supplying you with the information I give him, which is fake by the way."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't." I press my hand against her mouth, silencing her.
"Don't insult me. Don't pretend I'm stupid.
I've been watching you, Monika. I've been watching you for months.
I've been watching you for a year. I know when you shit.
I know every secret smile you give my brother.
I know what outfit you choose and what you write in your little diary. "
Her eyes are wide. Wet. But she's not crying. She's not begging. She's just... waiting.
"I should kill him," I say. "I should kill Gabriel for what he's been doing. For the way he looks at you. For the way he touches you. For the way he loves you. For the way he thinks he can save you from me."
I feel her try to speak against my hand. I press harder.