Page 133 of Finding Peace
As I stand there watching them all—watching the way the men begin talking strategy quietly while Joe drifts toward the kitchen like she’s already lived here for years—I wait for the sense of panic to come.
But it doesn’t.
I don’t know exactly what’s going on.
But I know my boys.
I know the looks they shared yesterday.
I know the quiet determination in Lincoln’s voice.
The promise in Lawson’s eyes.
Something is about to happen. Something big. Something final.
I also know that I trust them.
I trust that when the time comes, they’ll tell me what I need to know.
I trust that whatever they’re about to do, they’ll come back to me.
That what they’re going to do willfinallybring us all peace.
Chapter thirty-seven
Lincoln
Thelobbysmellslikemoney.
Polished marble floors stretch from the glass entrance to the elevators at the far end of the room. Light pours through the towering windows, bouncing off chrome fixtures and glossy stone until everything gleams. The sound of heels tapping against floors and mumbled conversations mix with the faded sound of a busy Billings afternoon happening outside.
It’s all so clean. Expensive. Untouchable. Or so they think.
It’s exactly the kind of palace a man like Miles Keller builds for himself.
Above the reception desk, brushed, ornate steel letters spell out the name of his empire.
HearthlandDevelopment.
The logo catches in the light like it’s something to be admired instead of admitting what it truly is. A symbol built on lies, manipulation, and threats.
Lawson leans back in the leather chair beside me, one ankle resting casually over his knee, his fingers drumming slowly against the armrest. If someone didn’t know him, they’d probably think he was bored. And despite the fact that he so clearly doesn’t belong here—at least not based on the way he’s dressed—he’s the very picture of cool, calm, and collected.
But I know my brother better than anyone.
The tension in his jaw says everything you need to know.
Across from us, Beau sits forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, hands loosely clasped together. His expression is blank—completely unreadable—but his eyes track every movement in the room.
The receptionist smiling at someone asking for directions.
The security guard near the door.
The group coming out of the elevator on the other side of the room.
Jasper sits beside him, baseball cap pulled low, elbows on his knees. The look of sheer determination in his eyes. He’s quiet. Calm. Ready for what’s about to happen.
Three days ago, Joe walked through the front door of our house with Dante, Luca, Enzo, and Sebastian in tow.
