Page 74 of Boardroom Mask

My father has arrived.

He fills the doorframe the way he always does—all six-foot-four of him, huge in every direction, thick silver beard, dark suit, eyes that give you absolutely nothing. “Out,” Lukas barks.

Nobody moves. They all look to me, because these aremypeople.Myteam.

That displeases Lukas. “Now,” he adds.

I give the faintest nod. That’s all they need. Laptops slam shut, chairs scrape, and four grown men flee the room.

When the door clicks shut behind them, Lukas and I are alone.

I lean back in my chair and let the mask settle into place, the one I’ve been perfecting since I was twelve years old. Bored. Untouchable. The son he made me into. “Father,” I drawl. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

He doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He storms across the room and slaps a copy ofThe New York Timeson my desk. His finger stabs at a byline. I can read it the merest flick of my eyes.

BY JILLIAN PIERCE

“I gave you one job,” he growls. “Onefuckingjob. Was that too much for you, son?”

He came for blood this morning, I see. But I’m so pent-up with a million fucking feelings that I’m ready to give as good as I get. So, keeping my voice insolent because that will maximize his rage, I say, “Oh, you mean the murder you delegated to me because you’re too busy fucking my assistant to do it yourself?”

Boom. Direct hit. His teeth grind so hard I can hear them from across the desk.

“Go ahead,” I goad him. “Hit me again. That’s always been your solution to everything, hasn’t it? Can’t win with your words, so you win with your fists instead.”

“Shut your mouth, boy.”

“Testy this morning, are we? I never thought I’d see the day. The legendary Lukas Lazarev, losing his composure. Over a girl.” I shake my head sadly. “You know, Father, all these years watching you operate, and I never once saw you rattled. You didn’t even look this upset when Mother died.”

“Watch your mouth,” he warns again through gritted teeth.

“I’ll watch whatever I please.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” I push harder. “The trips, the doting? It’s pathetic.You’repathetic.”

“Careful.”

“Or what?” I stand, matching his height even if I’ll never match his breadth. He’s a wall. He’s always been a wall. But walls can crack if you know where to prod. “You’ll do to me what you did to Mother?”

His face freezes. A mask over a mask.

“You killed her,” I spit. “Everyone knows it. The whole fucking city knows it.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about?”

I round my desk to square up with him. “I was twelve years old, Father.Twelve.One day, my mother was there, and the next day, she was gone, and you never shed a single fucking tear.Never explained a goddamn thing. Just told me she was dead and that was that.”

He’s breathing hard now, chest heaving with the effort.

“She loved you,” I remind him. “She loved you more than anything in the world. And you?—”

“Enough.”

“—you buried her somewhere nobody would ever find her, and then you went right back to work like nothing happened. Did you ever even love her? Are you even capable of?—”

Lukas’s hand closes around my throat and he shoves back against my office window. His eyes are pure murder. “I could kill you right now,” he says, as if that weren’t abundantly clear.

“But you won’t,” I manage, squeezing the words past the vice of his palm. “Because I’m the only heir you’ve got.”