by Eva Ashwood
“Are you afraid?” Zaid’s brows pull together a little as he watches me.
I turn around to face him. “No.”
Lie.
His eyes say it, and my face betrays it. No one in their right mind wouldn’t be afraid of facing Damian Novak. He’s more powerful and dangerous than anyone else in this city. I would be a fool to assume he’ll deal with me kindly, especially considering how much Hale hated me at first. My father betrayed the Novaks, and Hale was certain I was part of that betrayal. I’m not sure part of him doesn’t still think that.
Doesn’t still blame me for my father’s sins.
I don’t know what Damian is going to do with me, but scarier than that is the fact that not even Hale, Zaid, Lucas, or Ciro seem to know what he’s going to do with me. They’re being held in just as much suspense as I am. I could be walking straight into a trap for all I know. For all they know.
They say they’re protecting me, but are they really?
“He could kill me,” I say quietly.
“No. Don’t think that, Grace.” Zaid takes another step forward, finally reaching me. He turns me around and lifts my chin up, forcing me to meet his serious gaze. “Listen to me. That. Will. Not. Happen. We’ll look out for you. I promise. Okay?”
My heart stutters in my chest, tripping over his words. I want to believe him. I want to believe the promise I hear in his voice, but I can’t. They can make all the promises they want, but I know that they still answer to the powers above them. No matter how much they say they’ll protect me, they have a duty to uphold. And no one is more loyal than a mafia soldier.
“I think I should…”
The words die on my lips as I watch his intense gaze drag to my mouth. The emotion in his eyes shifts from worry to hunger.
“Should what?” he asks, smirk playing at his lips. His words seem to brush up against my mouth.
His head lowers, and I tilt my chin up without considering the consequences. The fear bleeds out of my own body, replaced by the heat that spreads outward from every place Zaid’s skin touches mine.
Over and over and over, these men tear down my walls.
Faster than I can rebuild them.
“I won’t let anything hurt you, Grace,” he promises, his voice rough. “Ever.”
When his lips press against mine, I can feel the restraint in him. He wants more, wants to eat me alive. But this kiss isn’t a claiming. It’s a promise.
Lucas strides into the room, but Zaid doesn’t even flinch as his brother enters. He definitely doesn’t try to hide or make excuses for what we were just doing.
And why would he?
It’s not like Lucas hasn’t seen me kiss his twin before. I kissed both of them in the kitchen a few nights ago, pinned between their bodies in a way that lit my skin on fire. Once, when we were younger, we did much more than that. I’m pretty sure they know I fucked Hale, and maybe they know I’ve kissed Ciro too.
That’s another thing contributing to the riot of confusion swirling inside my chest.
I have feelings for all four of the men who captured me. And they all know it.
“You look incredible, princess.”
Lucas’s face, so similar to his twin’s, splits into a wide grin as Zaid and I separate. They both have bright green eyes, blond hair, and infectious smiles. Individually, they’re almost impossible to resist, but when they combine their charm, they’re absolutely devastating.
“Doesn’t she?” Zaid’s voice is filled with so much pride it almost hurts. “She looks like a fuckin’ queen.”
“Are you ready?” Lucas asks, dragging his gaze away from the dress and up to my face.
I try to nod, but the simple action seems to be lost in the stiffening of my body. It’s echoed in the nervous buzz of energy that blankets us, reminding me of what tonight is actually about. I know I’m not the only one who’s dreading this. As little as I want to face Hale’s father, I can tell by the twins’ stiff postures that they don’t want to put me in front of the wolf either.
“Everything will be okay, Grace,” Lucas promises, his face softening.
I want to believe them both. I do. I desperately want to let go and trust them. Feel safe.
“Let’s go,” I say, pushing away from them and striding toward the door. “I’d like to get this over with.”
Just as I’d like to believe them.
But I’m not sure I can.
3
Grace
None of us speak much on the drive over.
Hale and Ciro murmur a few words to each other in the front, and Zaid and Lucas each rest a hand on one of my knees, the gesture protective and possessive.
When we pull to a stop, we’re in a dark alleyway, muddy and dank from last night’s rain. It’s early evening, and the city is alive around us, illuminated by the setting sun and the lights of high-rise buildings that tower overhead.
I know enough about mafia business to know that we’re not meeting Damian in a trash filled alleyway, so it doesn’t surprise me when Hale leads us to a seemingly unimportant metal door set in the side of the large brick building, opening it up with a key he pulls from his pocket.
As we step inside, a faint pulse of music crawls over my skin, and I get an inkling of where we might be. The Onyx Cocktail Club is an upscale Chicago nightclub on the surface, but behind the scenes, it serves as a base of operations for the Novak Syndicate. The last time I was here was when my father proudly introduced me to the man he once called his boss.
Damian Novak.
Hale leads us down a hallway, and the music becomes more and more muted until it’s disappeared entirely, replaced by our quiet footsteps. Our surroundings are dimly lit and luxurious: stained cherry wood accents, expensive carpets, and sconces on the walls that illuminate the space with warm, low light. I know the front of the club is no less beautiful. There’s a reason why this place is popular amongst the wealthy and elite—it makes its clientele feel sophisticated and important, somehow above common society.
When the heavy mahogany door that I know leads to Damian’s office comes into view, my nerves spike. Because behind that door lies my fate, and whether I’m innocent or guilty has little bearing on how things will play out. My life is entirely in Damian’s control. Whatever he decides to do with me, his word is the final word.
Softer than a butterfly, a hand brushes against mine, startling me out of my panic. The tips of Ciro’s fingers curl against my palm for only a second before they’re gone. Though the touch is fleeting, it brings everything back into focus.
My heart squeezes a little.
Ciro doesn’t like to be touched. The scars of his past have made him shut himself off from the rest of the world, transforming the quiet, somewhat shy boy I once knew into an eerily blank man.
He’s not blank, though. There’s so much more inside him than he admits or even realizes.
And this is the second time he’s reached out to comfort me in the past few days.
I send him a silent thank you as the door opens and we step into Damian’s office.
The room is as luxurious as the rest of this place, but there’s something cold about it, almost like a mausoleum. I half expect to find shelves of bodies lining the walls, but all I find is the king of the Novak Syndicate, as Zaid called him, sitting behind a large desk in a wingback chair.
I pretend I don’t notice how the four men who escorted me into the room fall into position around me. Zaid and Lucas stand at either side while Ciro stays behind me, Hale’s body creating a temporary barrier of safety between myself and Damian.
“Father.” Hale dips his head, taking a single step forward.
While they exchange formalities, I peer around Hale to take in his father. It’s impossible not to pick up on how similar the two men look. Although much older than his son, Damian has the same deep blue eyes, strong brow, and straight nose. His dark brown hair is peppered with strands of gray, but his jaw and cheekbones are still sharp, his features darkl
y handsome.
He’s the exact picture of what Hale will probably look like thirty years from now, when he’s replaced his father, married, and had an heir of his own.
For some reason, the thought of Hale with a son and a wife strikes a strange chord inside of me. My stomach clenches, and I push the mental image away quickly.
Damian doesn’t give me any time to think about it anyway.
He turns his attention to me, standing from the chair. “Grace. It’s been a while.”
His eyes narrow a little as he watches me, gesturing for me to come a little closer.
Hale’s shoulders tense, then he takes a step to the side, allowing me to move forward to meet the beast in front of me.
I try not to drag my feet as I walk toward Damian’s desk, letting him take my hand in his. He watches me like a cat watching a mouse, his eyes filled with curiosity and eerie calm. Though his tone was light when he spoke, that doesn’t put me at ease.
No. It scares me more.
I know that violence is never far away in the mafia, and if I say or do something wrong, Damian won’t hesitate to give the order to one of his men.
Shoot her.
He probably wouldn’t even have to say the words. A signal and I’d be gone. I swallow, shoving that terrifying thought aside.
“Grace Weston.” Damian’s voice is almost a purr, a controlled calm that sends a chill down my spine. “You’ve changed very much since I last saw you. How long has it been?”
We both know he knows how long it’s been, but he wants me to answer.
“Six years. About.”
“The time has been good to you. Washington was good to you. You look lovely.” His gaze flickers down my body, although his eyes don’t fill with heat like Hale’s do when he looks at me. This gaze is assessing, not sexual, but it still makes goose bumps spring out across my skin. “You look much older.”
“Yeah. So do you.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Hale tenses next to me, and I fight the urge to cringe, but the low chuckle that falls from Damian’s lips relaxes my muscles a bit. He took my sassy response in stride, but that doesn’t mean he’ll tolerate it again. And I don’t dare look over at Hale, but I know if I did, his eyes would be telling me two words.
Be careful.
He’s right. I’m dealing with a predator here. A man who wields a kind of power I can barely comprehend. If someone steps too far out of line, he won’t hesitate to let them know they’ve taken things too far.
With a bullet. Or two.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to a chair in front of the desk, and I obey without question. Hale steps up to stand beside me as I sit.
The rest of the men fall into position behind us, a presence I can feel even though I can’t see them. I glance over at Hale nervously, then quickly avert my eyes. I don’t want Damian to think something is going on between us. It feels dangerous to give up that secret. Instead, I focus on the desk in front of me, hiding any outward signs of the storm inside of me.
Damian shifts his gaze to the three behind me. “Leave us.”
Hale stiffens next to me—clearly, he wasn’t anticipating having his men dismissed like this. He expected to have them as backup, and I don’t like this any more than he does. I don’t have to turn around to feel the way that Zaid, Lucas, and Ciro hesitate behind me. The temperature in the room seems to spike, and I clench my hands on my lap as my breath catches.
Then Hale gives his friends a sharp nod, telling them to follow the order.
The door shuts behind them. Nausea rolls through me like I’ve just been closed into that mental image of a mausoleum, quiet and still as the dead.
Damian wastes no time, turning to me with a smile.
“And how is Samuel?” His tone is laced with something wrong, something that sounds a whole lot like amusement.
A sharp pain goes through my chest at the sound of my father’s name, but I shove it away, as well as the bite of bitterness. I’m aware Damian’s trying to provoke me, but I won’t fucking let him.
I stare him dead in the eye. “He’s dead. As you know.”
“Which is exactly why you are here.” He leans forward in his chair, propping his forearms on the desk. “May I ask you a few questions?”
It may be posed as a request, but I don’t have any choice in the matter.
“Sure. Why not?” My jaw is locked tight, and it’s hard to keep the bite out of my voice.
“Why did you and your father flee Chicago?”
Proud that my voice is steadier than I feel, I say, “I was under the impression that he was grieving the death of my mother. He was heartbroken at her loss, and he didn’t want to risk losing me too.” Another sharp twang of frustration stabs at me. “But I’m not sure if that was the case anymore. I don’t know why he did what he did.”
“You and your father were close, is that true?” He gives me a penetrating look, crossing his hands on the desk.
I thought so, but I’m not even sure of that anymore. But I don’t say that out loud. Better to keep my answers short and simple. “We were.”
“Did he tell you anything, Grace? Either before you left Chicago or after? Mention any names, say anything strange?”
“No, he didn’t,” I say firmly. “I didn’t know that he had anything to do with Landon’s imprisonment. Not until very recently.”
It’s the truth. I’ve told Hale the same thing a thousand times. Either he didn’t brief his father on those earlier interrogations, or Damian thinks he can draw something out of me that Hale was unable to discover.
Does he think Hale went too easy on me? That he didn’t press me hard enough?
Thinking back to the first time Hale barged into the room where I was being kept prisoner, looming over the bed like a darkly handsome monster as he demanded answers, I can’t quite agree.
Then again, Damian knows me. He must remember how stubborn I am.
“Let’s talk about your wedding.” The older man leans back in his chair, relaxing. Damian is an expert at playing politics, so I know not to trust the exterior. He could be seething inside, and an outside observer would never know it. “You were marrying the young cop.”
“Brian.”
Bastard, I add in my head. I’m still not sure what else to think about him other than a string of obscenities in place of his name and a string of curses for my own stupidity.
“Yes, Brian.” Damian nods. “Tell me, how did the wedding go?”
You know exactly how the wedding went.
Calmly, I answer, “By my standards, not the best. You could say I dodged a bullet.”
“You’re clever.” Damian’s eyes crease with amusement but narrow in suspicion within half a second. The abrupt switch in his mood makes my stomach drop. “Who was the other group that ambushed the ceremony?”
“I don’t know.” As I’ve told Hale. A million times. I clench my jaw because I can’t clench my hands.
“Did you call them in?” Damian presses. I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as he is, and I’m sure he can tell I’m irritated. “Brian wasn’t working alone. From what I’ve gleaned, he’d been dirty for years. He cut deals with several gangs and mafia syndicates over the years, looking the other way or actively assisting them. Did you contact one of those organizations? Maybe someone he pissed off? Did you set him up?”
“What? No.”
“You didn’t orchestrate the attack on your wedding?”
“And why would I want to do that?” I snap.
My calm is fading as memories pour through my mind. Damian isn’t sloppy, which means he already knows every detail of what happened in that church. He’s questioning me like this, forcing me to relive it all, because he wants to watch me break.
He’s hoping some hidden truth will spill out when I do.
I feel Hale’s fingertips brush my shoulder, both a warning and a reassurance. His father’s eyes narrow on his son, hardening with suspicio
n, and I brush Hale’s hand away. I need to deal with this on my own. If he goes up against his father, I don’t know how it will end, but I’m scared to find out.
“Perhaps you wanted to kill your own father.” Damian focuses his attention on me again, a hard gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps the wedding was a setup for him all along.”
“No! I wouldn’t do that. I loved my father. I told you, I don’t know any—”
“It’s all right, Grace.” Damian shakes his head. “He’s dead now. You can tell me what you know.”
My heartbeat stutters.
I register the words a few seconds after he says them, my mind not wanting to wrap itself around the cruelty. I see a flash of red at the same moment Hale growls and strides forward, his body coming between me and Damian again as if to protect me. I thought the wound of my father’s death and the secrets that’ve been unearthed since then was starting to heal—but in the space of a few minutes, Damian has left me raw and bleeding. Exposed.
“She doesn’t know anything. I’ve asked her all of this already, and I’m satisfied with her answers.” Hale’s body seems to swell with anger. “So back the fuck off.”
I can only see part of Damian’s face with his son standing between us. A flare of his nostrils is the only betrayal of emotion on his face. Whether he’s feeling anger, shock, or regret, I have no idea.
As his words settle into my mind, I have a vivid memory of Hale once saying something eerily similar.
“It’s okay, Grace, he’s dead now. You can talk.”
Hale once questioned me with the same casual cruelty his father is demonstrating now. Deliberately poking at tender places in my heart, trying to unearth the information he wanted. But his posture now is angry and defensive, and I don’t know what to do with that. He stepped in front of me without hesitation, shielding me with his own body to protect me from his father’s words, as if he would take a bullet for me.