Page 100 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

I immediately recognized the subtext. Uncle Lakeland is always hungry—hungry for power, hungry for more.

Hungry for what should rightfully be mine.

Riale’s words from our kitchen conversation pop back into my mind, and I ask myself the question I’ve been struggling with since learning of my father’s alleged crimes.

Do I really want Stratos?

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” I grind out, looking at my father and then at Lakeland.

My father seems annoyed, his mouth downturned as if my persistent questions are more than a nuisance.

“Company business,” Lakeland announces, and the statement has me wanting to shove the fire poker past his clavicle.

“Last I checked, I am still part of Stratos, despite my father’s recent proclamations,” I say. While not full time, I have worked under my father for the last four years as a Stratos employee.

“Hm,” Lakeland says. “You sure about that?”

A muscle in my temple twitches.

What?

I take a step toward him, prepared to shove him into the hearth and be done with all this when my father shouts, causing all of us to freeze.

“Storm! Let it go. It’sover.”

I turn slowly, inch by inch, to face my father head-on. I look at him—really look at him. He stands tall; his face is severe, but his eyes look exhausted.

Heavy.

Resigned.

“Pops,” I start, but Lakeland makes a sound, almost like summoning a dog, and he and my father leave the room.

What the fuck is happening right now?

“Not now, Storm.” My mom’s voice causes me to look away from my father and Lakeland as they laugh down the hall, heading toward the waiting dinner.

My mother brushes her hand over my arm as I stand frozen in place.

“Come,” she says softly. “Chef made everything else, but the mac and cheese is still hot.”

I follow her down the hallway, my stomach twisting into knots that have nothing to do with hunger. The dining room table is already set—crystal glasses, fine china, linen napkins folded into elegant triangles. A familiar tableau. A family picturemeant to soothe among the roasted duck, green beans, and the lone dish of bubbly macaroni and cheese all served family style.

Nothing about the scene is soothing, especially not in the aftermath of what just happened outside the study.

There’s so much loaded into the short conversation I overheard, and my brain whirs like an old computer tower trying to sort through it all.

The FBI is now a non-factor for me and Dad. Why? Because Lakeland made it so?

Or have you forgotten about Rainn?

Dad takes his usual place at the head of the table, and Lakeland claims the opposite end like he owns the damn place. My mother sits to my father’s right. That leaves the seat across from her for me.

The seat that once belonged to my brother.

I sink into the chair and stare down the table at Lakeland, who’s swirling his wine like he’s contemplating the meaning of life.

My father ignores me; my mother smiles at me, but it’s more like a cringe.

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