His to Love (Fireside #1)

by Stacey Lynn

  I walked away, leaving him with more sadness in his eyes, but with my point also made.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I looked down to the main floor and a small ache gripped my chest. Malik was still standing there, his eyes on me, but his gaze and thoughts were clearly far away. With a small nod of his head, he pushed off the railing and walked away, leaving me feeling as small as a mouse.

  When I was done in the bedroom, my limbs weighted with grief, I went to the entryway simply dressed in jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt. I had no idea how my father managed to get all my clothes from the hotel, but when I woke up in my childhood room that morning, everything was hanging nice and neat in my closet. I hadn’t even heard anyone enter my room, much less spend the time organizing three suitcases full of clothes and bath accessories.

  I fished through my purse, searching for my phone. Ignoring the several missed calls and text messages from Tyson, I quickly slid through my contacts and pressed “call” when I found Eleanor’s name.

  Tears were already falling down my cheeks, my voice barely audible, when she answered.

  “Gabriella?” she asked when I didn’t answer the first time she said my name.

  A choked sob ripped from my throat and I gripped the phone tighter. “Eleanor,” I said, my grief and sadness apparent.

  She gasped, and I closed my eyes, practically able to see the wretched expression on her face. “Oh no.” Several moments passed while I listened to her cry. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  My eyes snapped up and I saw my father come into the entryway. Claude hurried past my father and opened the front door. I followed reluctantly as Eleanor said, “I’ll be there by tonight. Just let me pack and get a flight.”

  “I need you,” I whispered, feeling selfish for admitting it to her.

  Her kind voice replied, “And I’ll be there for you. By tonight.”

  I nodded at her promise and ended the phone call, slipping my phone back into my purse.

  “Aunt Eleanor,” I muttered to my father once we were seated in the back of his town car. “I didn’t know if anyone had called her yet, but she’s on her way.”

  His gaze stayed fixed on the window, unwilling to spare me a glance. “Thank you for calling her,” he finally said.

  We spent the rest of the short drive to the funeral home in silence, lost in our own thoughts, our own memories of a woman who loved hugely but quietly.

  For the next several hours, my father and I sat next to each other at the funeral home, going through all of my mother’s final wishes to make sure everything for her viewing and funeral would be done according to her specifics. The fact that my mom had even planned her own funeral made me dig my nails into the palms of my hands so I wouldn’t lose it. My father was stone cold the entire time, a block of ice issuing demands and not taking no for an answer.

  By the time we returned to the house, I barely mustered up the energy to walk up the stairs and collapse onto my bed. Just as my eyes closed, the heaviness of the day pulling me toward sleep, my phone began buzzing in my purse. Half asleep, I dug it out of my purse and cried when I saw a text message from Tyson along with several more missed calls.

  Blackbird: We need to talk.

  My fingers flew across the keypad.

  Me: Never again.

  Blackbird: Let me explain.

  Me: Are you in the FBI?

  Blackbird: Yes. I need to see you.

  I laughed out loud and shook my head.

  Me: I will never see you again.

  Blackbird: There are things you need to know. Trust me, Blue. I’m looking out for you here.

  That was rich. I stared at the text message. As if I could trust him again.

  Me: Go to hell.

  Before he could reply, I turned off my ringer and dropped my phone back into my purse.

  And as I finally fell asleep, I did so with more tears wetting the pillow beneath my cheek.

  Chapter 20

  I curled my feet beneath me and draped a blanket over my lap. On the other side of the couch, Eleanor pressed her lips together and blew a breath across the top of her mug, cooling her tea.

  She’d been here for two days, making good on her promise to be in Detroit the night after I called her. But since her arrival, we had been busy with not only the visitation and funeral preparations, but the actual services themselves.

  In addition, there had been a steady stream of my father’s men coming in and out of the house. He was meeting with various members of his organization and palpable tension seemed to hover in the air. I didn’t think it was solely due to losing my mother.

  The reception at our house after the funeral had lasted hours due to the fact that everyone who was anyone wanted to show their support for my father, and, what felt like an afterthought, me.

  I had moved to Eleanor’s side, clutching her hand while the forever-long line of people offered their condolences. I figured about half of them were genuine. The ones who I knew were genuine were my, apparently, brand new friends from Fireside Grill. When I saw Paige walk toward me with her husband, I had begun shaking. When Suzanne followed with her husband, and then Chelsea and Camden, Eleanor had to wrap her arm around my waist to keep me from collapsing.

  They had swallowed me in hugs and warm kisses, whispering how sorry they were for my loss. Suzanne told me she and her husband had gone to Fireside for lunch, and when Declan was surprised to see her there, telling her my mom had passed and about the funeral and reception afterward, they had all rushed to my house.

  I had never had friends as amazing as these women, and I promised I would call them as soon as everything settled down after.

  At least the burial service earlier in the day had been a private affair with only me, my father, Eleanor, Clarissa, and Claude, along with my father’s most trusted men, in attendance. Malik had been absent, which I spent no further time thinking about after noticing.

  Now Eleanor and I had chucked our funeral wear and were lounging in the living room in sweats, with Clarissa hovering nearby to ensure we ate.

  “We haven’t had much time to speak,” Eleanor said and took another sip of her tea.

  I clung to my coffee and pressed my lips together. “There hasn’t been much else to say.”

  I had already told her all about Tyson. Even to her it seemed like déjà vu. She had let me cry on her shoulder, both of us crying over my mom’s death, which we expected, and me also crying over Tyson’s betrayal, which I hadn’t expected at all.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. I have the week off work and I was supposed to move into my apartment last weekend but I postponed that.”

  Unfortunately I wasn’t able to postpone all of the furniture deliveries, so my non-lived-in apartment was filled with furniture. I was debating about what to do with the furniture and the place. How could I live in Latham Hills now?

  “Maybe I should stay here for a while,” I told Eleanor and watched the expression on her face. To her credit, it stayed perfectly blank.

  “I feel bad leaving him now,” I said, in reference to my father. Although why I should was a mystery even to me.

  But the fact was, he and Eleanor were the only family I had, and she was leaving tomorrow. A part of me wanted to jump on the plane with her and go back to Colorado, where everything was simpler. My heart surely never felt like it was being pounced on and pecked into a thousand jagged pieces when I was living among goats and chickens.

  “Have you spoken to him yet?” she asked, her voice soft.

  She didn’t have to say his name. I already knew. She already knew that he wasn’t far from my mind. Sometimes when I cried myself to sleep at night, I imagined Tyson’s arm around me, comforting me and holding me close.

  Other times, all I could hear were his whispered promises and lies that dripped from his lips.

  “We have nothing to say to each other.”

  She arched a brow. “
I think you should see him. At least to give you closure this time.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that would go over well with my father or Malik.”

  I knew it wouldn’t. On the few occasions I’d left the house since Malik told my father who I had been seeing, who I had given family secrets to, a black car followed closely behind me. I now had a shadow twenty-four seven. I couldn’t even summon any emotion to care that a man trailed my every move.

  “Perhaps.” She took another sip and leaned forward, setting her mug on the coffee table. “But it’s also not Malik or Jimmy who I’m concerned about.”

  I shrugged and matched her smile. “I’ll be fine. At least in a while. I’ll start over like I just did and move on.”

  “Moving on isn’t the same as living.”

  No. It wasn’t.

  I opened my mouth to tell her that when Malik appeared in the doorway to the living room. His gaze locked on mine immediately and he barely spared Eleanor a nod of acknowledgment.

  “Your father wishes to see you. It’s important.”

  Tossing the blanket off my legs, I unfurled from the couch and tossed Eleanor a look. “I’ll be back.”

  She snorted into her teacup. Being around my father for two days, listening to his constant demands and seeing his bossy ways, hadn’t endeared the two to each other anymore than previously.

  “What’s this about?” I asked Malik as we walked through the kitchen.

  “Due to everything going on, we’ve spent the last several days scrambling to fix the damage your mistake has done to your father’s organization.”

  I bristled at the statement. “You know, had I known your takeover was so secret, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact you’ve put us at risk.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, knowing his patience with me was hanging on by a very small thread, when someone pounded at the front door, vibrating the heavy wood against the frame.

  “Fuck,” Malik cursed and grabbed my hand. “Whatever you do…do not answer that door.”

  My eyes widened as he hustled down the hallway. “What’s going on?” I called out, hissing so as not to yell.

  He pierced me with a glare before turning the corner. “Don’t answer that door.”

  Claude and Clarissa, along with Eleanor, who I figured had heard the noise, rushed into the hallway and met me in the entryway.

  “FBI. Open the door.” Another round of pounding vibrated the door and all four of us stared at one another, our gazes flickering between each other and the door we were only a few feet from.

  My heart sunk to my toes. FBI.

  Tyson.

  I swayed on my feet. “Holy crap,” I said as a firm hand clasped down on my forearm.

  “Steady there, Ella,” Eleanor whispered into my ear. Her hand left my arm and wrapped around my back.

  “Perhaps we should go back to the living room.”

  My head snapped to her. “Like hell.”

  The doorbell rang wildly and made all of us jump.

  Firm footsteps echoed off the tiled floor and all of us looked toward the noise.

  My father walked toward us, glaring at me while he did so, ignoring everyone else. “You have done this to your family,” he stated simply as he walked passed me.

  I looked back down the hallway. “Where’s Malik?”

  He looked at me over his shoulder. “Gone.”

  Then he turned toward the door and opened it with little fanfare and little regard to the fact that men had begun pounding on it again.

  “You rang?” he asked, his lips curling into a sneer at the men in the doorway.

  My hand flew to my chest and my mouth gaped open.

  A handful of men stood on the other side, three dressed in black pants and black shirts with FBI printed in bright yellow, block letters. Others were in DPD uniforms.

  In front of them all was Tyson, wearing a black suit, black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

  No tie.

  It was amazing the details you remembered when you felt your life coming to a screeching halt.

  Because as Tyson raised a sheet of paper and held it out toward my father, stating the words, “Mr. Galecki, this is a warrant for your arrest…” and continued talking…I saw everything.

  His black hair.

  His hard jaw.

  His blue eyes that hadn’t once looked in my direction.

  It didn’t matter. I already knew I would never see those eyes again.

  Before Tyson was done speaking to my father, who hadn’t bothered looking at the paper in his hands, the three other FBI agents pushed their way into the house and spread out. Behind them, even more men entered, ushering those of us gawking at the scene in front of us into the kitchen, telling us to stay where we were until they told us otherwise. Eleanor’s hand wrapped around mine as she tugged me toward the counter but my feet refused to move.

  I watched in horror as Tyson spun my father around, instructing him to put his hands on the wall. Blood drained from my face as Tyson then slapped a pair of handcuffs on my father’s wrists, pulling them none too gently into position. I followed them, not caring if any of the other men searching my house for who-knows-what tried to stop me. I ran after them as Tyson led him into an unmarked black car.

  Jesus. This was straight out of a movie, except the reel in front of me wasn’t fiction.

  This was my life.

  My nightmare.

  Once the door slammed shut on my father, I finally found my voice.

  “Tyson!” I shouted, and rushed down the steps.

  He twisted toward me and braced himself as if he expected me to rush into him. “Blue,” he said, and my feet stopped.

  I froze, a few feet from him, seething, scared, and so mad at him, but more so, myself.

  “I trusted you,” I hissed, leaning forward.

  He raised a hand as if to silence me, but I continued, wiping away tears that were already falling. I was frantic and crazed and I couldn’t control it.

  “And I loved you.”

  The slightest flinch, the slightest tightening of his jaw, was the only sign he had heard me.

  “And I was just a game to you. A fucking case.”

  “You weren’t,” he whispered harshly. “But I had a job to do, too.”

  Anger boiled my blood. Or I was going insane. That was the only explanation for why my hand suddenly raised and my palm hit him directly on the cheek. Pain vibrated along my palm and up my arm, straight to my heart.

  Tyson’s head snapped to his left. He rubbed the area I had just slapped and looked back at me. “I know you think I deserve that,” he started, but I interrupted him.

  “Think? You just arrested my dad. On the same day we buried my mom!”

  He nodded once. “I’ll allow the hit, Blue, but there are things going on that you don’t know or understand. Things I’ve tried to tell you, and I held off the team as long as I could.”

  “Well,” I leaned back and sneered. “How noble of you.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply just as men began trailing out of my house. Their hands were filled with files and paperwork from my father’s office. Two men were carrying boxes filled to the brim with what I assumed were other files.

  Fury continued rolling off me.

  “I hate you.” My teeth ground together as I stared at him. “I loved you, and you betrayed me. I never want to see you again.”

  I spun on my heels, rushing back toward the house, only stopping briefly when I heard Tyson shout from the driveway, “We are not done!”

  “We sure as hell are,” I spit, and entered the house, slamming the door behind me.

  Fuck him.

  Eleanor met me at the doorway to the kitchen, her arms open wide, and a pained expression on her face. I imagined it mirrored mine.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as I collapsed into her hold. Her hand brushed down my hair in a futile attempt to soothe me. “I�
��m so, so sorry.”

  Chapter 21

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  When you feel like you’ve lost everything, it’s a miracle that life still goes on.

  Twenty-four hours after the FBI infiltrated my childhood home and arrested my father, Malik Rilotti was arrested at his home, the Palace.

  Three days later, Claude, Clarissa, and I were essentially evicted from the house when the FBI and other government officials froze all of my father’s assets, including his property. Eleanor had stayed as long as she could but it was only a few days after that when I finally sent her home. At the same time, my father had an initial hearing followed by a detention hearing where a judge declared he would be detained in Wayne County Jail until his trial.

  Since I’d lost my home, I ended up moving into the apartment in Latham Hills, after agreeing to a month-to-month lease stipulation. I planned on moving out soon, but since my furniture had all been delivered by that point, it didn’t make sense to immediately pack it up and store it until I found another place. I was now looking for a new place south of Detroit. Or west. I didn’t plan on staying in Latham Hills and I had at least been fortunate to not run into Tyson again.

  Two weeks ago at my father’s preliminary hearing, I learned of all of the charges against my father.

  Racketeering and money laundering along with obstruction of justice.

  Drug trafficking—and not just marijuana and cocaine, but heroin and crack. An entire warehouse was seized. Thousands of pounds of drugs intended for distribution would ensure my father and Malik wouldn’t see a life outside bars for a long time.

  But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

  Sex trafficking charges were filed against both of them and five other men connected to the Galecki family.

  Those women whose disappearances had made Tyson tense during our breakfast months ago? They had presumably been taken under orders from Malik…that surely came from my father.

  My eyes widened each time a new charge was read until I couldn’t stand the sight of my own father. My gut churned at the mention of the last one. I had always known my father did despicable things. I had assumed drugs and murder would have been included in his charges. But to hear he’d been a part of sex trafficking? I had to choke down my vomit. When that final charge was brought up in the courtroom, Tyson glanced at me with one eyebrow arched.