I squeezed her hand. The rain hadn’t started yet, but the cathedral whined under the pressure of the wind, and I inhaled the earth and water the farther we descended under the ground, chills spreading up my arms.

Silence charged the air, the uncertainty and concerns over the past month all coming down to tonight. We would be celebrating later, but first…some business.

“If you’d rather sit this out…” Michael leaned into Micah as we veered into the great hall, everyone taking their seats, side by side, at the long table.

But I interjected. “He’s fine,” I assured Michael.

I gave Micah’s shoulder a squeeze, feeling his tight muscles underneath. He was nervous, and he shouldn’t be. Micah and Rory were a part of this family. He wasn’t alone, and he wouldn’t hide. He’d sit on this side of the table with pride.

Michael took his seat in the center, his suit, shirt, and tie entirely black like Damon’s, while Kai and I opted for a little color in our attire. Rika took her place next to Michael, a fancy, red strapless top paired with tight, black pants and sneakers on the bottom. Normally, the women dressed way up for conclave, but there might be running tonight.

Athos sat at her father’s other side, with Kai next to her and then Banks, followed by Aydin and Alex’s empty seats. They still weren’t here.

I took my seat next to Rika, with Emmy next to me, then Damon and Winter and Micah and Rory.

The cold scent of the rock walls and the glimmer of the chandelier on the long, wooden table always made me feel like we were those cool vampires in Underworld, but Emmy said it was more like we were the Volturi.

“Where are Alex and Aydin?” I whispered over to Michael.

He shook his head. “Call them.”

It was past seven. They were supposed to be here hours ago. They didn’t have any children, so it wasn’t that slowing them down.

I took out my phone, about to call Aydin, but just then Alex charged in, rain drops dotting her bare back in her black top, with strands of her hair sticking to her face. She wore the necklace around her neck that all the women wore, featuring the same crest that matched our rings, as the ghost of a smile played across her lips.

She sat down at the other end of the table, chin up and breathing shallow as Aydin strolled in behind her, a scratch on his cheek and an eyebrow cocked.

“Where were you?” Banks whispered to her.

She just shook her head as Aydin took his seat between her and Banks.

“I had to fucking haul her off the speed boat because she wanted to go spy without you all.”

“Alex,” Kai chided.

But I just laughed under my breath. Owning her own investment firm, sitting on the boards of the two banks Kai’s father retired from, being a partner in the resort, a partner in Damon and Em’s design firm, helping with Winter’s humanitarian organization to feed hungry kids, and running around to campaign for Banks and Rika when needed, hadn’t dulled Palmer’s childlike drive to get into mischief. She was still a lost boy, ready to kill pirates.

I was glad Aydin got to her, though. I didn’t want to have to chase her to that island tonight with the storm coming.

We sat, staring off down the hallway and waiting for our guests to arrive.

I leaned back in my chair, asking Micah on the other side of Emmy, “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

He glanced at me. “I have five brothers and you were my best man. Does that answer your question?”

Yeah. The Moreaus were loyal to their name, not to each other. Those weren’t his brothers. We were.

The echo of a door slamming down the pitch-black corridor made us all still, and I faced forward again as everyone rose from their seats.

“Don’t try to shake their hands, Michael,” Micah said in a low voice. “They have to earn our respect. Don’t make it easy.”

“I know.”

“And they’re not here to maintain the status quo,” Micah pointed out, giving Michael tips on dealing with his family. “There’s been a changing of the guard. They’ll try to establish an identity outside of my father. Be ready.”

“Already am.” Michael buttoned his suit jacket as what sounded like an army marching down the hall got closer and closer.

“I almost wish we’d sent you home for your father to groom,” I grumbled to Micah. “I guess he had to pass on the business to the oldest, though.”

We kept Micah and Rory, they happily moved between Emmy’s old house that they now owned, and Meridian City, but we knew his father was going to pass someday and we’d have to deal with his siblings.

“My father wouldn’t pass on his business to someone just because they were the oldest,” Micah pointed out. “He’d pass it on to the one who could keep it.”

A shiver suddenly ran down my spine, not liking the sound of that.

The steady taps against the hardwood floor grew closer and closer, and I steeled my spine, seeing Damon’s man, Crane, lead our guests in.

“Here they come,” Micah said.

Crane drifted off to stand behind our table as Micah’s six siblings—five brothers and one sister—stepped into the room, immediately spreading out into a V.

I shot a quick glance over at Athos, her breathing and posture steady for her eighteen years and for being in a room full of terrorists for the first time.

Fuck.

Emil Moreau led the pack, continuing forward to the single chair facing us, while the rest flanked him.

He wasn’t the oldest. I’d studied the dossier extensively and knew each one by heart. Kaiser was born first. He stood farthest to the right, his dark hair thick and rising a couple of inches off his skull, while Valentin and Victor came next, followed by Hadrien, the second youngest son next to Micah, and then Eslem, the only girl off to the far left. They were all in order by age behind Emil, their hands clasped behind them like drones.

Except for the daughter. Hers were in front of her.

“Welcome,” Michael said, gesturing to the chair. “Please.”

Emil took the seat, crossing one leg over the other, his russet hair parted on the right and slicked back, the hollows of his pale cheeks making him look elven. He cast his eyes to Micah, taking note of his youngest brother on the other side of the table. The tension in the air thickened.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you.” Michael took his seat, and so did the rest of us. “You sculled for Oxford before competing in the Olympics.”

“And finishing sixth,” Emil offered, his accent unplaceable.

Their father was French and Syrian, but they were from a variety of mothers. Only Micah and Eslem were from the same Serbian girl.

And I say girl, because she was sixteen when Micah was born. Eighteen when Eslem was born and died in childbirth.

“But in the Olympics,” Michael pressed. “Your father must’ve been proud.”

“He was.” Emil nodded, leaning back in the chair. “My father approved of failure. It meant only our best was ahead of us.”

“I hope that still rings true,” Michael told him. “We’ve had pleasure doing business with him the past ten years.”

Emil smiled tightly, and my stomach sank, knowing already it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Micah owned part of the resort, but we all knew where the money came from. We justified it, because Stalinz Moreau didn’t run drugs and he didn’t run women. Over the years we got comfortable, because he had no interest in complicating the arrangement. He collected his twelve percent, his name was on nothing, and we got to keep Micah—and by extension, Rory—free and clear. Everyone won.