by Eva Ashwood
All the men stiffen, and my immediate reaction is to glance toward Hale and try to read his expression, the war of emotions raging in his body. Anger and betrayal flash across his face, followed closely by sadness.
“Who is it?” I murmur.
Zaid catches my eye and shakes his head, jerking his chin lightly toward Keith.
Right. They won’t say the name in front of him. They won’t take even that small chance that their hacker could let the man behind Damian’s death know we’re on to him.
“That’s enough,” Hale says gruffly. “Zaid, go grab a flash drive. We’ll transfer everything to that, then listen through all of it.”
Zaid nods and leaves, and there’s a pause as everyone waits for Hale’s next order. I watch as he fights to pull his shit back together and push aside everything he’s feeling so that duty can take its place.
He recovers quickly. I’m not sure that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He’s soft with me, alone in my room or his at night—and although I know he has to be hard to survive this life, to lead the Novak Syndicate out of this dark time, I don’t want him to lose his heart.
Whatever walls were still up between the two of us before, they all crumbled the night his father died.
The night he chose to trust me.
As if drawn by my thoughts, Hale’s gaze shifts to mine. His dark blue irises warm slightly, and he draws in a breath as if calmed by my very presence.
“Thank you for your help,” he tells the hacker, who nods. “We’ll transfer the information you found, then you can go. You’ll be paid shortly.”
Zaid returns a moment later and hands Keith a small flash drive. The hacker plugs it into his laptop then taps out a few keystrokes. It takes less than a minute for everything to transfer, and he unplugs the drive and gives it to Hale. “Everything I got is on this.”
Hale takes it, and Keith gathers up his equipment before Zaid and Lucas lead him out of the living room. My heart is beating hard and fast, and I can barely keep myself from demanding answers as we wait for the twins to return.
As soon as they step back into the living room, I glance around at the four men. “So? Who—”
“Leland Bennett.”
Hale’s words fall like a hammer, heavy and dark.
My eyes widen, my heart stuttering in shock. Leland Bennett. One of my father’s old friends. One of Damian Novak’s captains. One of the most trusted men in the syndicate.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, even though I already know the answer.
Of course they’re sure. The look on each of their faces tells me that they aren’t operating on a suspicion or a wild hunch anymore. I may not know Leland well enough to recognize him by voice, but these men do. They’ve known him for years.
“We need to listen to all of it,” Ciro tells Hale, his voice low. “We need to find out as much as we can before we go after him. We need to know everything.”
Hale nods, a rough jerk of his head. Lucas’s laptop is sitting on one of the large chairs nearby, and he brings it over so Hale can plug the flash drive in. They start with the first message again, and now that I know what to listen for, I can pick out the cadence and tone that identifies this as Leland’s voice.
There are only about ten voicemails, but it’s more than enough. We listen to them one after the other, and as we do, several things become clear.
First, Leland was in league with Brian, coordinating with him the night Brian kidnapped me and tried to kill me.
Second, the two of them weren’t working alone.
And third, Leland was plotting against Damian.
There’s no mention of it in the voicemails since Brian died before the night of the drive-by, but it’s clear that Leland must’ve helped set up the attack at The Blind Pour. He was probably the one who called in the shooters, alerting them to the fact that Damian was outside and in position.
He betrayed the syndicate.
Worse than even my father did.
“Goddammit,” Hale mutters when the last recording ends. “Goddammit. The fucker was working with Brian. And he must’ve had other flunkies working for him too. He was at the bar the night of the shooting; he gave himself the perfect damn cover.”
His voice is hoarse, and I can tell he’s working hard not to fly off the handle. He looks like he’s about to lose it, and I can’t blame him.
Leland might as well have held the gun himself. He may not have fired the shot, but he called in the hit. He coordinated the whole thing.
“Fuck, that’s why he was still in the bar.” Lucas looks murderous. “You sent me to get him, remember? He was still inside because he wanted to make sure he didn’t get hit in the crossfire.”
The angry tension in the room pulses like a living thing. Hale’s jaw clenches, then he looks over at Ciro. “Keep that flash drive close. We’ll comb through the whole fucking thing later, but I think it’s about time we get answers from the man himself.”
Ciro nods, his expression serious. The two men were always close, but they’ve grown even closer since Damian’s death. The quiet, tatted man has stepped fully into his role as Hale’s second, and I have no doubt he’d step in front of a fucking bullet for Hale—and vice versa.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Hale taps the screen and then puts the phone to his ear. We all wait in silent suspense as the phone dials softly, and a muffled voice on the other end picks up.
“Leland,” Hale says, slipping into a perfectly normal tone of voice. “I need you at my house in half an hour.”
The change in him is almost scary. It doesn’t start and end with his voice—it takes over his entire body, like a costume. He’s not the Hale from seconds ago, the Hale from a week ago, but the business-like, cold Hale I knew when they first took me.
It sends a chill down my spine, although I know it’s necessary.
“Stanley and Frank are already on their way,” he says. “Something’s come up with the Boston deal that needs our attention, now.”
I strain to hear what’s being said on the other end. I can’t pick up the exact words, but Leland doesn’t even seem to question Hale, thank fuck. Hale chose a good lie. These kinds of impromptu meetings are frequent and common in their line of work. My father was called in often by Damian Novak at all hours, summoned along with the other captains to deal with some new issue or problem that popped up. That kind of dedication is what allows mafia organizations to run so smoothly. No one gets to call in sick.
The Boston deal has consumed the Novak Syndicate for months. Any threat to the deal going through would be cause for immediate alarm and would require all hands on deck. So Leland should have no reason at all to suspect that something might be going on—no reason to suspect that his cover has just been blown.
Hale listens for a second, then nods. “Good.” He hangs up, his expression hardening. “We’ve got half an hour. I want everyone ready and armed.”
“Right.” Zaid runs a hand through his hair as we all stand and silently begin to exit the room. Lucas sticks close to me. With a hand on the small of my back, he starts to lead me toward the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, stopping in my tracks as a flash of panic floods me.
“Upstairs,” he explains, gesturing for me to resume walking. “Where it’s safe.”
“No. Hale never said I had to be upstairs.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine here.”
Twisting away from Lucas, I turn to look back at Hale, wanting his permission but not needing it. Regardless of what he says, I am going to be here with all of them; this is just as much my business now as it is any of theirs. I was engaged to the man who owned the phone Leland was calling, and if there is any way possible that I can help these four men, even if it’s with information that may not seem important to me, I want to do it.
Even if it’s dangerous.
Even if they don’t like it.
“Lucas is right.” Hale grimaces, looking suddenly exhausted. He slides his hands into h
is pockets. “You don’t want to get caught up in this mess, Grace. I hate that you’re this deep in it already.”
“No.” My brows pull together as I step toward him, directly disobeying his order. Hale raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, so I barrel on. “I already am caught up in this, and not because of my father or Brian. I’m caught up in it because I care about you. I want to be with you. By your side, helping you. All of you. I’m part of this. And you can’t change that now.”
There’s a bit of a challenge in my voice as I say the last words, and something almost like a smile tugs at Hale’s lips.
“No, I don’t think I can change it, can I?” Something warm and possessive passes through his expression, and he slides his hands from his pockets as he moves forward, closing the distance between us. “And maybe it makes me an asshole, but I don’t want to. I’ve fought against this as long as I can, Grace. I hope you don’t hate me for it one day, but I want you. I need you. If you’ll stand by our side, that’s exactly where I want you.”
He palms the back of my head and presses his lips to mine, and his kiss feels like a dark promise.
My heart flutters in my chest as I grab two fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him a little closer as I inhale his spicy scent.
When we finally break apart, he drags his hand around to slide down my jaw, his thumb brushing my lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
He steps back, and when he and Ciro fall into a quiet discussion of how to handle Leland’s arrival, Zaid and Lucas come to stand beside me. Zaid’s hand brushes mine, and when I turn to look at him, he surprises the fuck out of me by dipping his head and kissing me too.
I jolt in surprise, then recover quickly and kiss him back, loving the way his taste combines with Hale’s on my tongue.
“You’re good for him, kitten,” he says quietly as we break apart, and Lucas murmurs an agreement. “You’re good for all of us. I’m glad you’re here.”
My heart thumps in my chest at his words.
I am too. I hate the circumstances that brought us together, I hate that I’ve lost my father and don’t even know who he was anymore.
But despite the danger and chaos of the world I’ve found myself living in, I’m glad I have these four men in my life.
Since we don’t have long before Leland’s arrival, the men move quickly to secure the house, making sure there’s nowhere for him to go if he decides to run and stashing weapons they can use if things get hairy. Damian’s old captain shouldn’t have any idea we suspect him—the fact that it took us so long to track him down might work in our favor now. He’s had plenty of time to get cocky and complacent.
The minutes that tick by before Leland’s arrival feel like the longest of my life, and I’m practically crawling out of my skin by the time we hear a knock on the door.
Hale nods sharply to Ciro, Zaid, and Lucas, and they all arrange themselves in position in the living room. I stand to one side—the men might’ve agreed to let me be here for this, but there’s no fucking way they’d let me be involved in actually trying to take Leland down or restrain him should that become necessary.
I hold my breath as we listen to Hale cross the large foyer and open the door.
“Leland,” he says smoothly. “Good of you to come.”
26
Grace
As the footsteps grow closer and closer, my heart roars inside of my ears.
I take a few calming breaths and plant my feet, ready to face whatever is coming. None of what I told Hale earlier was a lie. I’ve been part of the search for the mole since the beginning, and I’m going to be here until the end.
Leland doesn’t respond to Hale’s welcome, breaking away from Ciro and Zaid with little more than a gruff grunt from the back of his throat. Unlike the rest of the men, his suit is unkempt, like he just threw it on or didn’t even change before rolling around in bed for a few hours.
“Where are Stanley and Frank?” he asks, glancing around.
“They’re not here yet.” Hale’s voice isn’t as well controlled as it was on the phone half an hour ago. He straightens his jacket and stands directly in front of the man who was once his father’s trusted captain.
Leland’s gaze flickers to Hale’s unflinching one, then to Zaid and Lucas, who move to stand on either side of him, blocking the exits. He may be a mole, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t smart—his shoulders tense just slightly as he begins to realize that something is very wrong here. His expression remains totally relaxed, but his gaze darts around the room, checking for exits.
“Why did you do it, Leland?” Hale asks quietly. There’s rage simmering in his tone, but there’s something almost like a plea in it too. It’s the same question Damian asked about my father. The question that can eat a person up inside.
Why?
Leland turns sharply toward Hale, his jaw clenching. He has to know by now that he’s trapped, that Hale and the rest of us are on to him. He has to know it’s over.
But still, that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Leland makes a sharp move to the right, trying to duck between Zaid and Lucas. But they’re faster. Grabbing him by the arms, they hold his body tightly between them, pinning his arms behind his back as he grunts and struggles. Hale strides toward the three of them, his lips pressed into a thin line.
One, two, three.
His fist meets Leland’s face brutally, splitting the skin on his brow bone and on Hale’s knuckles, splattering them both with blood in a way that reminds me eerily of the night Damian died. Leland grunts in pain, and when Hale pauses for a moment, the older man struggles harder against Zaid and Lucas.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He’s breathing hard, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “If Damian were alive to see this—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll fucking kill you where you stand,” Hale says coldly, cutting him off. “If that’s what you want, keep talking. If you want to have a chance at living through this, don’t mention my father’s name again.”
Leland pales a little, but he glares at Hale. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I don’t know what you want.”
“Yes you do, you fucking traitor.” Hale jerks his chin toward the hallway. “Bring him downstairs.”
Ciro hands a key to Hale, then shifts to stand in front of me, shielding me with his body as the twins drag Leland down the hallway with Hale in the lead. He still usually avoids touching me, but as things have settled and solidified between me and Hale, I’ve sensed Ciro letting down his guard around me a little more.
“Do you want to stay up here?” he asks, gaze flickering down my body as if to assess whether I’m still okay. “It’s not gonna be pretty down there.”
I blink up at him, swallowing. I know he’s telling the truth. Whatever is about to happen downstairs is something no normal person would want to see. But what I’m beginning to understand is that I’m no longer a normal person. This has become my life, and these men can’t protect me from all of it, no matter how much they might want to.
They’re beautiful, dangerous, ruthless knights. All four of them have tried to protect me, to save me from the worst parts of the world.
But maybe I don’t need saving.
“I’ll come,” I say, keeping my voice steady and even.
“We need answers.” Ciro’s eyes narrow, the gray of his irises softening. “And Hale’s not going to stop until he gets them. You understand what that means.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. He knows I’m familiar enough with this world to understand what sometimes has to be done to enemies of the syndicate in dark, sound-proofed basements. He’s giving me one more chance to back away, one more chance to go back to the safety and the light.
But I’m not afraid of the darkness anymore.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, trying to slow my racing heart. I’m not trained for this kind of shit like they are, but I already know the importance of at least trying.
<
br /> To my surprise, Ciro offers a hand, and I slip mine into his without hesitating. His is warm and solid, his palm rough against mine as he leads me down the hallway. We’re walking so close together that our clasped hands brush against the side of his thigh and my thigh. The smallest flicker of awareness rushes through me as he shows me to the dark steps, knowing that he holds my hand just as much for my sake as he does his own sake.
He’s drawing strength from me just as much as he’s giving it.
Hale may be the one who gives the order to go or stop, but Ciro is the one who’ll do the dirty work.
The torture.
The Ciro I know, the one I’m falling in love with, is disappearing further and further into this other version of himself. The one that’s nothing but blank emptiness and cold efficiency. But the sweet, gentle man I know is still in there somewhere—a small squeeze of his hand reassures me of that.
“This way,” he murmurs, showing me to a door.
We go down the stairs together. By the time we get down to the basement and Ciro leads me into a large, cement-walled room, the other men already have Leland Bennett tied to a chair in the middle of the room.
I linger in the doorway for a second as Ciro steps farther into the room. My stomach churns, but I steel myself against any lingering squeamishness and walk forward, taking my place next to Hale’s side. I feel his attention flicker toward me briefly before it’s focused on Leland again.
Ciro doesn’t wait.
He doesn’t ease into it.
I thought Hale’s punches were brutal, but that’s nothing compared to the vicious strikes Ciro unleashes on the man in the chair. Leland’s already split lip turns bruised and swollen. His left eye swells shut. But still, Ciro doesn’t stop.
The only time the black-haired man even pauses is to let Hale question their prisoner, holding his punches back until he’s determined that Leland still refuses to answer. Then a new round of blows rains down, making Leland groan.
It goes on for minutes, but Damian’s old captain doesn’t give up anything. Dripping in sweat that mingles with his blood, he grunts with each blow as Ciro continues but never gives an answer to any of the questions Hale asks.
