⇚ 22 ⇛

❚ ❙ The Brother In Black ❙ ❚

Frederick arrived before dawn.

Of course he did.

Dramatic men always preferred dramatic entrances.

The sound came first.

Engines.

Deep and expensive enough to vibrate through the wet London street before the cars themselves appeared beneath the fog.

I stood at the upstairs apartment window watching black vehicles glide one after another into Shoreditch like funeral processions. Rain slid down the glass in silver streaks while headlights cut through the early morning haze below The Noodle Barn's ugly yellow sign.

London was still asleep.

We weren't.

Not anymore.

Victor stood behind me adjusting his tie while balancing coffee in one hand, still somehow preparing for work despite the fact armed French syndicates were now circling his pub.

Psychopath.

"You don't have to meet him," I muttered.

Victor glanced toward me.

"Your brother crossed Europe with armed men at five in the morning," he replied calmly. "Avoiding him now feels rude."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

I turned from the window.

"You don't know Frederick."

"No," Victor admitted. "But he knows about me."

That alone made my stomach tighten.

Victor adjusted the sleeve of his white shirt slowly before adding:

"I'd also rather not hide upstairs like a frightened mistress."

I stared at him.

"Mistress?"

"That was the wrong word."

"It was a terrible word."

"I'm tired."

"You're also ridiculous."

"And yet," he said softly, "you still kissed me."

Dangerous man.

Before I could answer, the front door downstairs opened.

Everything in the building seemed to stop breathing.

Even Archie stopped talking.

Which honestly felt medically alarming.

Victor and I exchanged one final look before heading downstairs together.

The atmosphere inside the pub had transformed overnight.

Curtains drawn.
Lights dimmed.
Kitchen knives hidden strategically beneath the bar courtesy of Granny Kim.

Amy smoked beside the stairs despite the NO SMOKING signs while Archie clutched a mug full of cereal like it emotionally supported him.

Demi looked exhausted.

Xavier looked terrified.

And near the entrance-

Frederick Beaumont stood beneath the yellow Noodle Barn sign looking like death dressed itself carefully before leaving the house.

Black wool coat fitted sharply across broad shoulders.
Black leather gloves.
Dark charcoal suit beneath.
Silver watch glinting once beneath the low pub lights.

Frederick had always been beautiful in the kind of way that made people instinctively nervous.

Tall.
Dark-haired.
Elegant.

His face carried the sharp cruelty of old statues carved too perfectly to feel human. Strong jaw. Severe cheekbones. Cold grey eyes identical to mine except his looked emptier somehow.

Or maybe just more tired.

There were faint shadows beneath them now.

He had lost weight too.

Interesting.

Behind him stood four armed men in tailored suits.

And Bernie.

Naturally Bernie looked delighted to exist.

Frederick's eyes moved slowly across the room.

The exits.
The windows.
The staircases.
The people.

Calculating.

Always calculating.

Then his gaze landed on me.

And for one terrible second-

Everything else disappeared.

Because despite the anger...
Despite the betrayal...
Despite the months apart...

That was still my brother.

His eyes moved over my face once.

Too quickly for anyone else to notice.

But I knew what he was counting.

Sleep.
Weight.
Bruises.
Whether I'd been crying.
Whether London had damaged me yet.

The realization hit me unexpectedly hard.

He had been worried.

Not politically.

Personally.

"Camille."

His voice sounded rougher than I remembered.

"Frederick."

Neither of us moved.

Victor stepped quietly beside me.

And suddenly I became hyperaware of the distance between them.

Frederick noticed too.

Of course he did.

His gaze slid toward Victor slowly.

The room cooled several degrees.

"So," Frederick said flatly. "This is him."

I opened my mouth.

Victor beat me to it.

"Victor Hart."

He stepped forward and held out his hand.

Mon Dieu.

The pub collectively stopped breathing.

Archie whispered:
"Oh he brave."

Amy smacked his arm without looking away.

Frederick stared at Victor's hand for so long I genuinely considered planning a funeral.

Then finally-

He shook it.

Firmly.

Too firmly.

Victor's jaw tightened slightly but he didn't pull away.

Interesting.

My brother respected backbone.

"You're the lawyer," Frederick said.

"You're the brother."

Still calm.
Still polite.

Either Victor was brave or deeply suicidal.

Possibly both.

Frederick released his hand slowly.

"You've been keeping my sister here."

Victor answered immediately.

"She chose to stay."

The silence afterward felt sharp.

Frederick's expression changed slightly.

Not anger.

Something uglier.

Something wounded.

Victor noticed.

I saw it happen in real time.

His attention shifted quietly between us, sharp and observant.

Not jealousy.

Not yet.

More like he had suddenly realized there was a language being spoken in the room that no one had taught him.

Frederick looked back at me.

"You told him everything?"

"Enough."

"Enough," he repeated softly. "How generous."

I crossed my arms.

"You have five seconds before I regret letting you inside."

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"There she is."

That hurt more than it should have.

Because for one brief second he sounded like before.

Before Stella died.
Before Valerie.
Before grief hollowed our family into something sharp and poisonous.

Bernie leaned beside Amy casually.

"They've always communicated through threats," he informed her pleasantly.

Amy blinked.

"That's deeply unhealthy."

"You should hear family dinners."

"I absolutely should not."

Frederick ignored them.

Mostly.

"Valerie knows where you are," he said.

"I gathered that when she threatened a child."

His expression darkened instantly.

"What child?"

"Allison," Victor answered before I could.

Frederick slowly looked toward him again.

Victor did not look away.

Good.

My brother respected protectiveness nearly as much as violence.

"She sent photographs," Victor continued. "Of my family."

Something dangerous moved behind Frederick's eyes then.

Not rage.

Something colder.

"Show me."

Victor handed over the phone.

Frederick stared silently at the images.

Allison leaving school.
Demi outside the bakery.
The pub entrance.

The longer he looked, the quieter the room became.

Then finally:

"She crossed a line."

I laughed bitterly.

"She crossed several."

"No," Frederick replied quietly. "This one matters."

Even now he still operated through old rules.

Threatening civilians.
Threatening children.

That was unacceptable in André Beaumont's world.

Victor folded his arms.

"Maybe explain why your wife is terrorizing innocent people."

Frederick's eyes snapped toward him.

"My wife," he said coldly, "is no longer my concern."

Silence.

That was new.

Very new.

I stared at him carefully.

"What happened?"

Frederick removed his gloves slowly.

Bad sign.

"She disappeared from the estate yesterday morning."

"I know."

"No," he said quietly. "You don't."

Something in his voice made me straighten instinctively.

"She emptied accounts. Took loyalists. Burned safehouses."

Even Bernie's expression tightened slightly.

"She planned this for months," Frederick continued. "Possibly longer."

The betrayal beneath his calm voice sounded almost unbearable.

And suddenly-

I stopped seeing the heir.

Stopped seeing the strategist.

I only saw my brother.

Exhausted.
Humiliated.
Heartbroken.

Because he had loved her.

Like an idiot.
Like a man raised to confuse devotion with survival.

Victor noticed too.

Unfortunately Victor noticed everything.

"What's she doing with Hawthorne?" he asked carefully.

Frederick's expression hardened again.

Instead of answering immediately, he reached inside his coat and removed several folded papers.

Shipping manifests.
Property transfers.
Photographs.

Victor stepped closer beside me while Frederick spread everything across the table.

"Hawthorne properties," Frederick said quietly. "Empty developments. Temporary accommodation sites. Buildings awaiting renovation."

Victor frowned.

"Those addresses match some of my eviction cases."

"Yes."

Adriana stepped forward slowly.

"And the shipping routes?"

Frederick's jaw tightened.

"Changed six months ago."

He pointed toward highlighted documents.

"Unregistered transport vehicles. Missing tenants. Women disappearing from temporary housing."

Victor's face slowly emptied.

No jokes now.
No warmth.

Only understanding.

"It isn't only weapons anymore," Frederick said quietly.

Silence.

Then finally:

"People."

The word landed like a body hitting water.

Demi covered her mouth instantly.

Victor went pale.

Mine went cold.

No.

Human trafficking had always been one of the few things Papa genuinely despised.

Drugs?
Fine.
Weapons?
Expected.

But trafficking?

Children?

Women?

Papa used to call those men animals pretending to be businessmen.

Victor suddenly spoke.

"My client."

Everyone looked at him.

"Lira."

Understanding hit instantly.

Oh no.

Victor ran a hand through his hair.

"If Hawthorne is connected then trafficking survivors- asylum applicants- witnesses-"

"They become liabilities," Adriana finished calmly.

Victor grabbed for his coat immediately.

"I need to call her charity worker."

Frederick stepped directly into his path.

"Do not act emotionally."

Victor looked up slowly.

Dangerous.

"I'm sorry," Victor said evenly, "did you just tell me not to protect a trafficking victim?"

"I told you not to run blindly into something you do not understand."

Victor stepped closer.

"And you do?"

"Yes."

The room tightened instantly.

Bernie muttered:
"Oh this is getting interesting."

"Bernie," I warned.

"What? I enjoy tension."

Victor looked seconds away from punching Frederick.

Frederick looked seconds away from allowing it simply to see what happened.

I stepped between them immediately.

"Enough."

Neither moved.

I pointed toward Victor first.

"You call Lira from a clean phone. No names. No locations."

Then Frederick.

"And you stop speaking to him like he works for you."

Frederick's gaze shifted toward me slowly.

"He is going to get himself killed."

"Probably," I replied. "But that's my problem."

Victor looked at me.

"You refer to me very romantically."

"Silence."

Archie slowly lifted his cereal mug again.

"They definitely in love."

Amy smacked it downward.

"For once in your life shut up."

Too late.

Frederick stared at me suddenly.

Not amused.

Not mocking.

Devastated.

"Oh," he said softly.

The room quieted instinctively.

Oh no.

"You love him."

The words didn't sound teasing.

They sounded wounded.

Victor noticed immediately.

I saw the exact second it happened.

Something shifted behind his eyes.

Not understanding.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough to realize this reaction was wrong for a brother.

My pulse spiked.

"Say another word," I warned coldly, "and I'll shoot you."

Frederick looked horrified.

"You do."

Victor rubbed his face slowly.

"This feels hostile toward my profession."

"You're a civilian," Frederick snapped instantly.

"You married Valerie," I shot back.

That shut him up immediately.

Catastrophic silence followed.

Victor looked carefully between us.

"...I'm sensing unresolved issues."

"Don't," I warned.

"Fair."

Frederick finally sat heavily at the table.

And for the first time since entering the pub-

He looked tired.

Not dangerous.
Not powerful.

Just exhausted.

Bernie quietly placed an espresso in front of him.

Frederick drank it immediately.

Victor noticed.

So did I.

Frederick only drank espresso when he had not slept.

Which meant things in France were far worse than he was admitting.

Victor sat opposite him carefully now, earlier hostility easing slightly.

"What exactly are we dealing with?"

Frederick looked at him for a long moment.

Evaluating.

Then finally answered:

"War."

And this time-

No one laughed.