by Eva Ashwood
She would find out he’d been compromised eventually, but he’d be safe for now, and there’s a chance we could get more information out of him.
“Yeah. I agree with Ciro.” Zaid gives a short nod. “We need to know more about what Camilla is planning, so why not try to use the only contact we have who’s got access to the inside?”
“We know her moves have been more aggressive lately,” Ciro says, and I almost snort. I’ve overheard the men talking about their trouble with the Rook Syndicate often enough to know that he’s putting it mildly. “We send him in and we find out what she’s planning on doing. What does she want? If she wants to take over Chicago, how does she plan to overthrow the Novak Syndicate? And what does she want Grace for?”
His tone softens a little bit at that last part, and I can feel everyone’s gazes shift to me. I don’t have anything to add to the conversation—good or bad, insightful or a curse—so I keep my mouth shut.
“Grace?” Hale asks, his voice quiet. “What do you think?”
My gaze snaps up to meet his. “It’s not my decision.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he pushes. Again, not forcefully. But like he really wants to know.
“I’m thinking that I would love to see Leland Bennett dead,” I say. It’s the truth. More than anything, I’d like to see the person who killed Hale’s father and tried to kill me gone. He deserves it. “But that’s not the logical answer.”
I’ve learned that a lot of things are out of my control, this included. As much as I’d love to eliminate Leland and pretend that doing so would end this all, I know Ciro has a point—Damian’s old captain could still prove useful to us. The guys are leaving the decision up to Hale because he’s the head of their syndicate, and he put the question to me because he knows I’ve been hurt by this man just as much as he has.
Leland worked with Brian and tried to kill me.
He killed Damian.
Hale and I both want him dead.
And if I ask, I have no doubt that Hale will go downstairs right now and put a bullet through his head. For both of us.
But I can’t let him do that.
“If there’s a chance he can give us more information about the Rook Syndicate, about my mother… then it’s worth letting him live.”
Because as long as he’s useful in bringing down my mother, he lives. If the way we bring her down is by playing her at her own fucking game, leaving Leland alive long enough to betray her too, then so be it.
Hale holds my gaze for a moment, his dark blue irises shining in the warm lamplight. Then he nods.
“All right. As long as he can help root out the bigger problem, I’ll extend him an extra few hours of life.”
5
Hale
I’ve come to terms with the fact that working in my father’s office doesn’t feel pleasant. His favorite leather chair doesn’t feel like mine. Walking into this room always brings a surge of regret and sadness.
Maybe someday, it will feel different.
For now, all I can do is forge ahead and try to live up to the memory of a great fucking man.
It’s been several days since we released Leland from our hold, and I still don’t know if we made the right choice. I know Ciro was right—we can’t waste this opportunity. And I saw the regret in Leland’s eyes when I spoke of his betrayal of my father. He regrets what he did, I think. Don’t all cowards, after the dust settles and they have to face the consequences of their actions?
But I can’t help the gnawing fear that he’ll betray us to Camilla. The only thing that reassures me is the knowledge that he knows doing so would be suicide. If she found out he agreed to help us, she’d kill him on the spot just to make sure he couldn’t betray her again.
Like I should’ve done.
I quiet the thought, shoving it away. It took everything in me not to kill him with my bare fucking hands, and my fingers curl slightly even now as I imagine wrapping them around his throat. I would’ve taken pleasure in it, and I’m not generally a sadistic man.
Only Grace and my three most trusted friends know about Leland. They’re the only ones who have any idea we have a traitor in our midst, still playing the role of Camilla Weston’s little rat. Leland insisted he was working alone, but until all this is over, I don’t want to involve any of my father’s old captains. I won’t risk another betrayal like this.
So for now, things are proceeding as they would after a syndicate leader is killed. Endless legal meetings, going through papers, statements, his will—things I don’t want to have to see or think about yet, but that I can’t avoid.
After several more hours of work, I leave the desk full of contracts and reports and things to sort through tomorrow, shutting off the light and locking the door behind me. I could stay in that room for hours, swallowed up whole by duties and business, but the lack of sleep is catching up to me, and I want to go home.
Home.
My father always said this place was his home—his work, the Onyx Cocktail Club. As I head toward the door, I realize I don’t feel that way. Maybe my father didn’t either, when my mother was still alive.
Because my true home is a pair of hazel eyes. Soft skin and honey-blonde hair, and a face that’s both delicate and strong.
Grace.
The house I share with my three closest friends never felt as much like a home as it has since she joined us. Now, there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be. There, with her. With Zaid and Lucas. With Ciro.
As I step out of the elevator beneath the building and head for my car, I’m thankful as hell that out of the sea of people in this dark world, at least I have them.
Before I’m even two steps inside the house, I’m seeking out Grace. Restless, needing her. Her body. Her scent. Her mouth. It’s a different type of longing that I feel right now, not the lust I’ve felt and still feel for her, just a need. A need to be near her. With her.
Lucas and Zaid are out on business, keeping track of Leland, and I know Ciro is downstairs, coping with the stress, so it’s just her in the living portion of the house. Just me and her, alone.
I move to cut through the kitchen on my way to the stairs and am surprised to find Grace already there. She’s frowning at a piece of paper that’s set out on the counter, a knife in one hand and veggies piled around her. Setting the knife aside, she picks up the piece of paper, staring at it intently.
She’s so lost in her own world that she hasn’t noticed me, and I hang back for a second, lingering in the arched doorway and taking her in.
“Cut into strips?” she mutters under her breath. “How the hell do I cut a carrot into strips? A pepper too? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. They’re messing with me. I swear they’re messing with me.”
My lips pull up into a smile. I step inside and round the corner of the kitchen island, striding toward her. When I wrap my arms around her from behind, she lets out a startled yelp and squirms against me. But I don’t let her go. I hold her in my embrace, burying my face in that place between her neck and shoulder that I love.
Fucking hell. I could spend my entire life trying to breathe her in, and I’d never be satisfied. I can never get enough of her. The softness of her hair, the sweetness of her scent.
“You smell fucking delicious,” I growl softly.
“You’re supposed to say that about the food,” she shoots back, melting against me. My cock twitches at her closeness, and I pull her a little tighter against me, letting her feel what she does to me.
“Grace, there isn’t a food on earth that will ever make me as hungry as you do.”
“Is that why you snuck up on a chef in her kitchen?” she jokes, grinding her ass against me a little.
I nip at her neck. “Just testing your reflexes.”
“Well, then, be glad I wasn’t still holding the knife.” She chuckles and swats at me. When she makes a move to get back to work, I stop her, taking her hands and threading our fingers together before wrapping my arms arou
nd her again.
Against her body, one exhale releases every ounce of stress and tension that lingers from my day. I want to stay here forever, wrapped up in the little cocoon of her essence.
How the hell does she do this to me? How did she manage to claim my entire fucking heart?
I don’t know. But I don’t ever want it back.
“I’m glad you're here,” I murmur into her neck. “I’m glad you’re with us.”
She goes still in my arms. I can feel her heart beating against my chest, the small movement of her chest as she inhales. Then she wriggles in my grip again, and this time, I loosen my hold. But instead of reaching for the cutlery, she turns around in my arms.
Grace doesn’t say anything, not for a long moment.
She doesn’t have to. Even though I can tell she wants to say it back, even though I can sense that she agrees, she doesn’t have to.
Having her here is enough. This minute—this second—is enough.
Cradling her chin in my hands, I lean in and press my lips to hers. She kisses me back, heat building between us as my hands slide down her back to grip her ass, pulling her tighter against me in a possessive, greedy motion.
She whimpers softly, and I chuckle, nipping at her lower lip. I meant every word I just said to her, and I hope she can feel it in this kiss.
Grace is ours now. She’s one of us.
And I’m never letting her go.
6
Lucas
Grace is sitting in a chair by the window in her bedroom when I knock and poke my head in. She looks up, a smile blooming on her face at the sight of me.
“Lucas!”
Fuck, I like this. I could get fucking addicted to this. To coming home and finding her here, to seeing her face light up when she sees me. It beats the hell out of the anger and suspicion that once lingered in her eyes when she looked at me. It’s almost hard to remember that time, but I won’t let myself forget. Grace came to us as a prisoner, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she never feels like that again.
That she never feels like anything but a princess.
A fucking queen.
I step inside the room as she sets her book down, and she meets me halfway, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I’m glad you’re back. It’s been quiet around here without you, and I hate all this fucking waiting.”
“Yeah.” I grimace. “Me too. But it’s worth it. We need to make sure that slimy fucker is keeping up his end of our deal.”
Hale put me and Zaid on babysitting duty for the past few days, watching and monitoring Leland’s movements. Obviously, we weren’t able to get near Rook territory without raising suspicion, but there’s no fucking way we were going to let the man go totally unwatched. If he tried to skip town or compromise the mission, we’d take him out.
“Is Zaid back too?”
“Yeah. Downstairs,” I explain. “So is Leland.”
“Oh.”
For some reason, that single word from Grace’s mouth sends a twist of hatred through my stomach—for her sake. I can tell that although she tries to hide it, she’s upset by the news that he’s back in this house. I don’t fucking blame her.
“He says he’s got information for us. We want you there,” I say, trying to push my own feelings aside. “You’re just as much a part of this as we are. You should be there when he reports what he’s found.”
She nods. “Okay.”
Unable to resist, I press a kiss to her lips then gesture to the hallway, motioning for her to follow me. She walks by my side comfortably, and I realize with no small amount of pride that everything I was wishing for a few weeks ago is slowly happening. She’s becoming more comfortable with us.
Becoming one of us.
We make it down to the first floor and take another hallway that leads toward the back of the house. A door near the end leads to the basement, which is where Ciro handles any necessary interrogations. Normally, we keep that stuff out of our personal living space, but this is a special case. Hale still hasn’t told his other captains about Leland’s betrayal. If he did, it would blow Leland’s cover for sure. We need as many people as possible to believe that he’s still loyal to the Novaks, or Camilla will get suspicious.
Grace’s footsteps slow a little as we near the basement door. “Are they… torturing him again?”
I glance down at her, watching her bite her lip. She surprised me the first time we interrogated Leland by showing up in the basement with Ciro, hand in hand. She didn’t have to be there, she chose to be there, and I’m still not sure how I feel about that. There’s still a part of me that wants to protect her from the uglier side of our world, but I have to remind myself that she’s already seen and experienced enough to know it exists.
No matter how much I want to, I can’t hide her from the monsters.
All I can do is stand by her side as she faces them.
I want to ask her why she decided to watch Leland’s interrogation that night, but I don’t. She’s starting to voluntarily include herself in more and more of our lives, embracing our world, and I get the feeling that she understands she can’t just pick and choose what aspects of it she wants.
Mafia life is all or nothing, and she knows it.
Smart girl.
“If you consider sitting alone in a room with Ciro torture, then yes,” I say, giving her a shrug. “Zaid and I left the two of them alone while we went to get you and Hale.”
She huffs a soft laugh, but we both know I’m only partly joking.
I can picture the scene downstairs easily. Ciro’s probably sitting still as a statue, completely silent. Just watching Leland.
I know everything Ciro is capable of, and even though Leland only knows half of it, I can only imagine the psychological terror of anticipating what my friend might do. Even though Ciro is just sitting there, maybe not even looking at Leland, Damian’s old captain fears him.
Ciro is so good at his job that it never has to be about a show of tools or weapons or torture instruments—because he has become the living representation of torture.
“I’m more than willing to beat a guy up,” I say quietly as I push open the door that leads to the basement, “but I’ve never envied Ciro’s job.”
“I don’t think anyone would.” Grace’s face softens, and she pauses to look at me. “Sometimes I hate that he’s so good at it. I hate that he learned how to be so good at it.”
“Yeah.” I grimace. “Me too. Honestly, I think in a way it helps sometimes. It’s like a fucked up form of therapy, letting him work through the shit that happened to him while he was in captivity. But whenever he goes back to that place in his head, I always worry a little that he won’t come back.”
She nods, concern darkening her hazel eyes. “I wish there was more I could do.”
Bracing the door open with my body, I reach up to cup her face, angling her chin up a little.
“Princess, you’ve done so much. I know you might not see it, but that’s because you don’t have any idea what Ciro was like before you got here. He’s changed so much. It’s fucking mind-blowing. And it’s because of you. Maybe not even because of anything you did, but just… because of you. You make him want to be better, I think. You make all of us want to be better.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, and she looks a little overwhelmed. I hope I didn’t freak her out by saying too much, but it’s the damn truth, and I’m done pretending otherwise. She may not see it, but she’s changed all of us. We’re not the same men we were when we pulled her from that church all those weeks ago.
“Speaking of being better, we shouldn’t keep our guest waiting. Wouldn’t want to be rude,” I joke, breaking the moment and drawing a small laugh from Grace.
I like that I can make her laugh. With all the shit going in on her life right now, it seems necessary.
We head down the steps together. The door to the interrogation room is unlocked, and we step inside the large, cement-walled space.
&nb
sp; Ciro and Leland are both in the room, sitting almost exactly how I imagined. A vein bulges on the side of Leland’s head, a single bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Ciro watches him like a lion, lazy and sleepy in the sun, ready to pounce in a heartbeat.
Despite the tension in the room and the smell of blood that still lingers from last time Leland was here, Grace doesn’t look afraid. She even gives my brother a small smile as he and Hale enter the room a few moments later.
Hale steps forward, and Ciro rises smoothly from his chair. As a single unit, the five of us approach Leland, coming to stand before him.
I wonder what he has for us. It better be fucking good.
“You will take care to make this detailed, but not long winded,” Hale says, staring at Leland. He nods. “I want to hear everything, but you’re not here to waste any of our time. Got it?”
The physical stress is beginning to take a toll on the older man. I can see it in him. Fading bruises mar his face, and I hope like hell that Camilla bought his cover story explaining his fucked up appearance. Mafia life is violent, but even so, he looks like shit. He’s paler than he was last time he was here, his eyes glassy. He fidgets endlessly—with his tie, his sleeves, his fingers. The actions are so rapid and jerky that they irritate me, putting me on edge just like he is.
But his whole body stills when Hale speaks next.
“Tell us what you found.”
“Camilla has something big coming up.” The words burst from Leland’s mouth like he can’t wait to say his piece and get the fuck out of here. He’s lost weight too, his suit a little looser around the waist, hanging on his shoulders. “She’s working on a major deal right now.”
“A deal with who?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head rapidly. “I really don’t. I’m not that high up in her ranks, just a—”