Page 154 of Crave

I’d never seen my father freeze like that.

Never seen his fingers tighten around a pen like he wanted to break it in half. The silence stretched too long. Long enough for dread to settle deep in my bones.

Then, suddenly—movement.

He slammed the ledger shut. Hard. The sound ricocheted off the walls like a gunshot. Before I could react, before I could breathe, he was grabbing me.

One second, I was standing. The next—my back hit the bookshelves. Pain exploded up my spine. The breath punched out of my lungs as books toppled to the floor beside me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my ribs aching. “Dad?—”

“Where the fuck did you hear that?”

His voice was razor-sharp, all steel and rage.

I stared up at him, wide-eyes, my thirteen-year-old brain trying to catch up. Trying to understand why the man who’d taught me how to shoot, how to fight, how to survive—was looking at me like I was already dead.

I didn’t answer fast enough. His fingers tightened around the collar of my shirt, twisting the fabric against my throat.

“You don’t speak those words.” His voice was low, cutting. Final. “You don’t ask. You don’t fucking know.”

I forced myself to swallow past the fear clawing up my throat.

And that’s when I saw it.

Not just the rage. Not just the fury.

Fear.

It was buried deep in his eyes, but it was there.

Dante Ares didn’t fear anything.

But this?

This scared the shit out of him.

I should’ve backed down. Should’ve dropped it, let it go. But I was a kid, and I was too damn stubborn to know when to shut up.

“I just heard you say it.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I didn’t know it was a?—”

“Forget it, Silas.”

His grip tightened one last time. Then just as suddenly, he let go.

I hit the floor with a sharp inhale, sucking in air like I’d been drowning. My father turned away, adjusting his tie like nothing had fucking happened. Like he hadn’t just slammed his son against a bookshelf for asking the wrong question.

He sat down at his desk, picked up his drink, and took a slow sip.

Like the conversation had never happened.

Like I’d never heard the name at all.

But I had.

And I never forgot it.

The memory of that moment ripped through me, clawing at my ribs, leaving something raw and uncontrollable in its wake.