Page 209 of Lawless Sinners

“So…why am I really here?”

His eyebrows rise a fraction, and his expression changes as if I’ve asked a stupid question. “Why wouldn’t I invite my son for Sunday dinner? We always eat together as a family.”

There’s a knock against the study door, and a suited staff member comes inside. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrington… Dinner is served.”

Father rises, clamps his cigar in his teeth, and buttons his jacket. “Let’s eat, son. You’ll enjoy this meal.”

I watch as he juts out his elbow for mother to latch onto and then check my phone, something not sitting quite right in my chest.

Once I've eaten, I’ll hear what he has to say and leave. There’s nothing this man could offer me that would fill the void Graves’ murder left behind.

The dining room hasn’t changed since I was a boy.

The same twelve-seat mahogany table dominates the center of the room, the gold ceiling lights spreading warmth across silver cutlery and crystal glassware.

Portraits of Harrington ancestors watch from the walls as two members of staff skirt the room.

On ceremony, my father waits for my mother to take her seat before pulling out his own chair at the head of the table.

I sit opposite her, aware of the silence as she folds her napkin across her lap and reaches for a freshly poured wine.

There's only the clink of serving spoons on china and the two-way door swinging closed behind the staff.

My gaze drifts to the empty chairs along the table.

“Lorcan’s late.”

I glance toward the doorway, expecting him to stroll in any minute.

My father unfolds his napkin.

“He won’t be joining us this evening.”

I frown. “How come? He never misses dinner.”

“We had a rather interesting conversation this afternoon.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he just gathers a knife in his hand and spreads butter on the demi-baguette on his side plate.

“What about?”

“Family.”

Mother’s glass pauses halfway to her mouth before continuing to drink as though she hasn’t heard a thing.

“What about family?”

Father salts his venison before answering. “I decided it was time he heard a few things.”

“What sort of things?”

“The truth about his mother.”

The room settles into silence except for the tinkle of a serving spoon hitting a plate.

I sit straighter as he pops a piece of meat in his mouth with infuriating calmness.

“The truth?” A knot begins to tighten low in my stomach. “You know how she died?”