by Eva Ashwood
Damian resumes his place behind the desk, sinking into his large chair with a heavy sigh.
“Did you have a good chat?” Hale asks as he looks across the desk, and I’m surprised by the acidic tone of his voice. I’ve always gotten the impression that he and his father are close, and I know he respects Damian as a leader.
The older man nods. “We did. I just needed to be sure Grace and I were on the same page.” His gaze flicks to me. “And I believe we are.”
I reach out and rest my hand over Hale’s, hoping to calm him down and convince him everything really is okay. I wouldn’t have done it earlier, but now that my cards are all on the table, I don’t feel like I need to hide the fact that there’s something between Hale and me. Damian already knows.
Hale surprises me by flipping his hand over, catching mine in his strong grip and squeezing it. I squeeze back as Damian regards both of us seriously.
“We need to figure out who the mole is,” Hale’s father says. “This is the second attack on Grace, so whoever is going after her is either trying to get to us through her, or she has something they want. Either way, she’s under our protection, so an attack on her is as good as an attack on the Novak Syndicate.”
“They’re getting bolder.” Hale curses. “It’s a ballsy fucking move, dropping that dog off while we were all at home.”
“Agreed. We need to figure out who it is before they do something worse than just sending threats.” Damian runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve seen Hale do dozens of times. “And we need to get this Boston deal secured. The influx of money will position us well against other syndicates that are getting too big to continue unchecked.”
“The Rooks.” Hale says it like a statement, not a question. His father nods.
“We’re close. Myles and Frank are in Boston now, and with any luck, the negotiations will go well.” Damian drums his fingers on his desk. “If and when it goes through, I’ll have you and your team handle the logistics. I’m tightening up operations until we figure out where the fucking rat is.”
“Good. We’ll be ready.”
Damian leans back, nodding. “I’ll let you know if we pull anything useful from the dog or the tags.” He glances at the bloody bag on the desk, then back at me. “In the meantime, keep Grace safe. Whoever this is, whatever they want with her, I don’t want them to get it.”
A prickle of fear runs down my spine at the grim tone of his voice.
Yeah. That makes two of us.
16
Grace
Maybe nowhere is truly safe.
It’s a strange realization. Even when I was truly being held prisoner—hell, especially then—this house felt like a fortress. Impenetrable.
But it wasn’t, was it? I remind myself. I found a way out, which means someone else could find a way in.
Of course, if they do, they’ll have four mafia men with itchy trigger fingers to deal with. I keep reminding myself of that. Since the dinner last week that ended with the dead dog and my tense meeting with Damian, the men have been relentless. At least one of them is always hovering over me, watching me. Not because they don’t trust me, but because they don’t trust anyone else. Each of them seems driven by a renewed need to protect, aimed directly at me.
Ciro and Zaid combed through every bit of security from that day, but the cameras were expertly blacked out, leaving no evidence for us to trace. One of Damian’s men ran forensics on the dog’s body—a task I do not envy—but that didn’t yield anything either.
I’ve stopped hiding away in my room like I did at first. I think the guys feel better when they can keep an eye on me. And I’m not sure when it happened, but I’ve stopped feeling like I need to tiptoe around the house. I feel more comfortable here than I used to, as if it’s become my space too.
The five of us are gathered in the living room in the late afternoon when Hale’s phone rings. He stands from the couch as he pulls it out of his pocket, answering it briskly. His face is a stone wall of emotion, but I’m learning to read the smallest shifts in his features, the way the blue of his eyes seems to brighten when he’s happy.
Whatever news he just got, I’m pretty sure it was good.
“The deal has gone through with Boston,” he says, hanging up. His serious expression cracks as a broad smile spreads across his face.
“Fuck, yeah.” Zaid claps Lucas on the back, and his brother beams at him.
Ciro stays quiet, but in his own way, I can tell that he’s pleased too.
“That’s great.” I grin. From the conversations I’ve overheard, I’ve gathered that this is no small deal, and one they’ve been working relentlessly toward for months.
“There’s a celebration tonight at The Blind Pour,” Hale says, still grinning.
A strange sort of nostalgia rises up in me as he says the name, and my heart squeezes.
The Blind Pour is an old vintage bar owned by Damian. Unlike the sophistication of Onyx Cocktail Club, The Blind Pour is all dark wood and old-school furnishings. I have plenty of memories of going there as a younger girl, and even now, I could easily get lost in the dozens of memories I have from that place.
But this is their celebration, not mine. I’m sure one of them will stay behind to keep an eye on me, but I haven’t left the house except to meet with Damian since the night I tried to escape.
A sharp pain twists in my chest, and I stand up, trying to hide the way my smile falters. I don’t know why the idea of not being part of their celebration hurts, but it does.
“I’m gonna go upstairs for a bit. I’m glad the deal came through. You deserve a win,” I tell Hale, brightening my features as much as I can before slipping out of the room.
My bedroom feels too quiet and empty as I settle on the bed with one of the books Ciro brought me a few days ago. I find that I miss being downstairs with the men. Even when we’re not talking, it’s just nice to feel their presence around me. I’ve gotten used to it, and not just because I feel safer with them around.
I just feel… better with them around.
Refusing to let myself dwell on that little bubble of pain in my chest, I focus on the pages in front of me, getting lost in my book for the next couple of hours.
“What are you doing?” Hale’s deep voice comes from the doorway, making me start. “Hiding up here like this?”
I set down the book, irritation spiking when I see him casually leaning up against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. His warm, lazy eyes make me think of things I shouldn’t think of. His posture and expression make him look like a lion warming itself in the sun.
Watching its prey.
Waiting to pounce.
“Well,” I say, punctuating the word, embarrassed by how irritated it comes out. “I don’t have anything better to do tonight than have a quiet evening in, so I figured I wouldn’t waste time getting started.”
He takes an easy step into the room, watching me. “Who says you’re not coming with us?”
“Well—”
“Did I ever say you weren’t invited?” He lifts an eyebrow, stopping a few feet away from the bed. “Or did you just assume we wouldn’t want you there?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s exactly what I assumed, actually.”
The irritation is still simmering under my skin, and I don’t bother hiding it anymore. Why would I assume I was invited when I’m still technically a prisoner here?
Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like that at all anymore inside these walls. But outside? Among the other members of the Novak Syndicate? In front of Damian?
To anyone but the four men who’ve gotten under my skin and inside my heart, all I am is a pawn of the syndicate. I’m a piece on a chess board, not an actual part of their organization. Not someone to be welcomed with open arms.
Hale’s face softens, the teasing expression leaving his eyes. “I’m sorry. Of course you assumed that.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand coming to rest on my thigh as he looks at me. “Grace. Do y
ou want to come with us?”
He’s asking. Truly asking. And I have a feeling that whatever answer I give, he’ll honor it.
I take a second to consider, weighing everything my answer means. Then I nod. “Yes. I do.”
Hale’s face splits into a wide grin, and he gives my leg a little squeeze before he stands up. “I’ll be right back.”
Before I can say anything or question where he’s going, he strides out of the room. A few moments later, he walks back through the door with a black garment bag slung over his shoulder. He has a large box in one hand, and he sets it down on the end of the bed before pulling something from his pocket and placing it on the vanity. He drapes the garment bag over the chair, then turns to find me watching him.
He shrugs, looking almost bashful. “I was hoping you’d want to come. So I got you a dress just in case.”
I blink, a little stunned. I sort of assumed that his decision to come up here and invite me to the celebration tonight was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it obviously wasn’t. And even though he left the decision up to me, he’s made it beyond obvious that he truly does want me there.
“Thank you, Hale,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He smiles. “I wanted to. I think it’ll look amazing on you. Take your time getting ready. We’ll be downstairs.”
There’s something easy about his expression as he moves toward the bed again, like he’s finally letting go a little bit. We’re still no closer to finding the mole, but I can tell that having this deal go through is one less weight on his back, one less problem nagging at him.
“Don’t think you’re not one of us now, Grace,” he murmurs. “Because you are.”
His fingers capture my chin, and he presses a soft kiss to my lips before leaving me behind in the room, shutting the door behind him.
As soon as he’s gone, I carefully set the bag on the bed and unzip it, revealing a short black dress. It’s somewhere between elegant and sexy, and the feel of the fabric alone tells me it’s insanely expensive.
I tug at my clothes, but stop, glancing up at the door and half expecting one of the men to barge in and demand to search me in case I’m hiding something.
My heart does a little flutter inside my chest, half fear and half arousal. So much has changed since the day I stripped for Lucas to show him I wasn’t hiding anything—and to distract him from the phone I had hidden in the bathroom.
But it’s all changed so fast that it’s hard for my heart and mind to catch up. Hard for me to trust that the way things are now will last, that the men won’t go back to distrusting me and tying me up any second.
Things are different now, but that doesn’t mean I can be any less careful.
When no one bursts through the door, I slip out of my jeans, sweater, and bra and pull the dress over my head. The soft, slightly stretchy fabric slides down my body, fitting me like a second skin. The dress is off the shoulder on one side, highlighting my collarbones and long neck, and a slit running up the thigh exposes just a tease of skin when I take a step.
The pair of black Louis Vuitton heels match the dress perfectly, adding a few inches to my height when I slip them on. I shouldn’t be surprised the outfit is so well put together. All of these men know how to dress, and in the mafia, appearances matter.
The bruises and scrapes from my fight with Brian have all disappeared, and even the gunshot wound in my side has healed nicely. The evidence of the battles I’ve fought are nothing more than tiny scars as I examine myself in the mirror. My ensemble makes me feel sophisticated and sexy, like a woman who demands the attention of the room.
An almost giddy feeling fills me as I sit down at the vanity, applying a quick touch of makeup, darkening my eyes a little to match the dress and the scene we’re about to walk into. I’m not sure why I suddenly feel so excited to be included, but there’s something about getting ready like this that reminds me of the old days.
I apply a bold red lipstick and add the simple diamond earrings Hale left on the vanity, finishing the look. When I stand up to give myself one last look in the mirror, my eyes widen a little as I take in my reflection, surprised by what I see.
I look… happy.
There’s a glow on my cheeks that isn’t from makeup, and my hazel eyes are shining. The bruises on my neck have faded completely, and the dress flatters my figure. I look confident and elegant.
I feel like myself.
But what does that say about who I am?
I glance away from the mirror quickly, as if not looking at my reflection will make the question go away. Luckily, there’s a gentle rap on the door before Ciro presses it open, and I don’t have to linger in those thoughts long.
He looks at me, eyebrows lifting as he not-so-subtly gives me a once-over, from the top of my head to my feet. He swallows as his gaze snaps back up to my eyes, his fingers twitching at his side.
“Ready?” he asks gruffly.
The tone of his voice almost hurts—there’s anger in it, although it’s not directed at me. It’s all directed inward. I can see him holding himself back, still afraid of what lives inside him and what he could do to me.
I hate it.
I know I can’t fix it or battle his demons for him, but I still wish he didn’t feel like he was going to hurt me all the time.
Walking toward him slowly, I offer him a small smile. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners, his lips twitching as if he wants to return the smile but doesn’t quite know how. Or doesn’t think he should.
Refusing to let that crush me, I tentatively slip my arm through his, hoping the small gesture doesn’t do more harm than good.
“I’m ready.”
I still have to look up to meet his gaze, despite the heels.
His body stiffens at my touch, and I half expect him to push me away or step back. But although his jaw stays clenched, he rests his hand over mine in the crook of his elbow and leads me from the room. There’s something so formal and gentlemanly about the gesture, so completely at odds with Ciro’s dark, tattooed appearance, that it makes my chest squeeze. Even though he doesn’t relax as we make our way down the stairs, he maintains the contact between us, and I count it as a win.
Lucas, Zaid, and Hale wait at the bottom of the steps. Just like Ciro, they’re each dressed in perfectly tailored suits, looking better than any three men have a right to. But something looks different about them tonight—they’re more relaxed, less on-edge. They all turn around when they hear us, three sets of eyes widening as their gazes rove over my body. None of them bother to hide their appreciation, and my skin flushes hot.
“Damn,” Lucas mutters, walking over to me. His green eyes burn with possessive awe as Ciro releases me and steps away. “You’re gorgeous, Grace.”
Zaid lets out a soft whistle. “Holy shit. I know Lucas calls you princess, but he’s got it wrong. You look like a fucking queen.”
“Shut up, Zaid.” I roll my eyes, my blush deepening.
He grins, his palm splaying across my lower back as he drops his head to press a small kiss to my cheek. When we break apart, I find myself looking toward Hale, who’s been silent this entire time. Even as I meet his gaze, he doesn’t say anything, but the heated look he gives me from across the foyer says enough on its own. My whole body is feverish under the touch of his eyes, but we don’t linger.
“Time to celebrate,” Lucas says, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. “At least one fuckin’ thing went right for once. I think that calls for a drink or two.”
17
Grace
As we step into the crowded bar, the men stay close by my side, leading me through the press of bodies.
This must really be a big night for the syndicate, because I see a lot of people I recognize from my previous life as a mafia man’s daughter. A group of older men are deep in conversation in one corner of the bar—Damian’s captains, the men he trusts most to help him run his organization. I don’t know them well, but they were good
friends of my father’s, so their faces are familiar.
When their gazes shift toward me, it’s clear they know who I am too, although the hard looks on their faces make me blanch a little. It makes sense. They were close to my dad, so his betrayal probably hit them almost as hard as it hit Damian. And although Damian’s decided to give me the benefit of the doubt for Hale’s sake, these men have no such reason to trust me.
Other eyes track our movement as we walk deeper into the bar. As the boss’s son, Hale is a fixture at these kinds of things, I’m sure. So it’s not him that’s drawing people’s attention and sparking the whispered conversations.
It’s me.
It’s us.
Traditionally, you attend events like these with your family. The people you most want by your side.
The fact that I’ve shown up with four men, one on each side of me? No one comments on it, but I know we make a statement. It’s as if I don’t belong to just one of them, but to all of them.
A warm feeling grows in my stomach at the thought, an addictive little thrill zapping down my spine. The little voice of warning inside me rises up again, reminding me not to believe this, not to get too comfortable.
But that voice is growing quieter and quieter.
We linger around the bar for a moment before Ciro breaks away, disappearing into the shadows at the edge of the room. Zaid and Lucas share a concerned look, but no one says anything. I don’t think Ciro’s that comfortable with crowds, so no one gives him shit for bailing.
“I need to find Myles,” Hale says absently, looking around the room. He taps the bar top. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” His gaze snags mine. “Will you be okay?”
I’m touched that he even thought to ask. Parties like these always involve more work than actual celebration for the higher-ups in the syndicate, so I’m not surprised he needs to speak to one of Damian’s captains. But the fact that he wants to make sure I’m taken care of only reinforces the words he said earlier.
