The Voss family dining room had always been too large for four people. Tonight it felt like a courtroom.
Crystal chandelier light glittered off the silverware nobody touched. The long mahogany table stretched between them like a no-man's-land. Laken sat at one end, arms crossed, frost creeping across the white tablecloth from where her wrists rested. Luca sat opposite, phoenix-gold hand hidden beneath a black glove, eyes fixed on the untouched roast.
Their father, Henrik Voss, stood at the head, face carved from the same ice that now laced his daughter's hair. Their mother, Katerina, hovered beside him, wringing a linen napkin into knots.
Reed had not been invited. Harold waited outside in the van. Wade had been turned away at the gate by security who still answered to Henrik's old code
