Page 49 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“You’ve lived with the man for thirty years,” I say as I lean back against the counter and study her. “If you think something’s off, it’s probably off.”

She hesitates.

Then she shakes her head.

“No. I’m overthinking it.”

I let it drop. If she says it’s nothing, then for now I’ll take her at her word. Besides, the kitchen has already shifted back into its quiet rhythm. The oven clicks as it heats and Mum wipes flour from the counter with slow, absent strokes of the towel. We move around each other the way we always have, a familiar dance that doesn’t need instructions. I rinse the bowl whilst she lines the cake tin, tapping it lightly against the counter to settle the batter. The smell of lemon zest sharpens the air when she slices into one.

“How long are you staying?” she asks finally.

“Not long.”

“You have work?”

“Something like that.”

She studies me carefully as her eyes moves across my face. I’ve never liked that look. Not because it’s judgmental, my mum has never judged me a day in my life, but because it always feels like she can see far deeper than I want her to. She’s too good for this world. Too kind and bright. People like her shouldn’t have to exist anywhere near the kind of thoughts that run through my head when I’m working. I keep my expression steady and give her the same calm look I’ve practised for years, hoping it’s enough to convince her that whatever I’m about to walk into tonight isn’t the undoing of me.

“Be careful,” she finally says, and I frown.

“With what?”

“Whatever it is you’re about to do.”

“I always am.” I glance down at my phone sitting on the counter beside me and then back at her as she smiles faintly.

“Good.”

“I’ll come by this weekend,” I promise as I pull her into a hug.

“You’d better.”

I step outside into the cool evening air and let the door close behind me. The warmth of the kitchen disappears and is replaced by the sharper bite of the early night settling across the garden. I pause beside the car as the quiet stretches out around the estate before cracking my neck and pulling out my phone. The screen lights up and I open the group chat.

My thumbs move quickly across the keyboard whilst the gravel grinds beneath my feet.

Roman:

It’s go time.

Ackworth is finally ours.

CHAPTER 15

ROMAN

The road leading out toward Ackworth’s estate winds through open countryside; narrow hedgerows press in on either side of the tarmac and the last of the evening light bleeds slowly out of the sky. My headlights carve a pale tunnel through the growing dark as the engine hums steadily beneath me. My phone sits on the centre console with the call already connected.

“Victor tracked him,” Felix says, and my hands tighten slightly on the wheel.

“Where?”

“He’s at home.”

A dangerous kind of hope settles over me.If Victor is right and Ackworth is actually sitting in his own house, then for the first time in days the path ahead feels simple. No more theories. No more chasing shadows. Just a door, a man on the other side of it, and the answers we’ve been trying to drag into the light since this whole mess began.

“Finally,” I mutter.