by Eva Ashwood
My entire body shakes with red hot rage aimed directly at the fucker who thought this was funny, who thought they could get away with this without signing the line and begging for their own death. They’re asking for a bullet in their brain. Worse. The same fate that this dog got, they’ll be getting.
By my own hands.
Get a grip, I tell myself, forcing a deep breath.
I can’t let my father see me in this state. He can’t know how much this is fucking with me. If he knew just how pissed I am right now, it would make him doubt my ability to lead—he’s always told me that emotions have no place in a syndicate leader’s decisions. He prides himself on staying calm and acting rationally, and normally, I can do the same thing.
But right now?
Jesus fucking Christ, I could spiral out of control and into a mad rage at this point. I’m almost there, but I know it’s just recklessness.
No one threatens Grace while she’s under my roof.
Fucking no one.
“Wrap up the dog,” I say, forcing down my blind rage and slipping back into the leader mindset I need to be in. “Find a sheet, something, I don’t care. We’ll take it with us. One of my father’s men can do an autopsy and check the body for forensic evidence. It’s a long shot and unlikely that we’ll find anything, but maybe we’ll get fucking lucky. Zaid, you sweep around the house to see if anyone is still around. Lucas, check the security cameras. This isn’t an amateur, so I doubt we’ll get anything there either, but I’m not leaving any stone unturned.”
Everyone nods, falling into their roles quickly. We don’t have any time to waste.
“Grace, I’m going to walk you upstairs to get shoes and a coat. Everyone, we’ll meet in the garage in five minutes.”
Ciro opens the door and slips outside to deal with the dog as Zaid and Lucas splinter off in different directions. Grace moves quickly up the stairs, not saying anything to me as she steps into her room and heads toward her closet. I wait as patiently as I can as she slips into shoes and pulls a sweater over her head, then nods to let me know she’s ready.
We head back down the hall, down the stairs, and into the main entrance. The door is open but the dog is already gone. Ciro’s pouring a chemical on the front step that will quickly remove the vicious red stain that mars the stone.
Grace looks away from the scene, still quiet. Her normally pale skin is even more pallid than usual, and it makes a fresh wave of rage surge through me. I want to reach out, to say something to her, but I don’t trust myself right now. If I let my emotions out, I’m afraid I’ll scare her even worse than she already is.
Zaid and Lucas meet us in the garage. Lucas catches my gaze and shakes his head. “Nothing on the security footage. They blacked out the cameras that cover the front of the house.”
“Fuck.” I expected that report, but I still hate it.
Ciro loads the dog, wrapped in a bloody sheet, into the trunk. He slipped its collar with the tag bearing Grace’s name into a small plastic bag, and he hands it to me as everyone piles into the car.
The sun sets fully as we make the drive to Onyx, the streets of Chicago growing dark as they rush by. My mind spins the entire way over, and before I realize it, I’m pulling into the underground garage we use for security purposes.
“Wait to take the dog inside until I’ve left with Grace,” I instruct my men, not wanting Grace to have to see it again.
It’s bad enough that she saw it fucking once.
Goddammit. She was supposed to be safe with me. With us.
I grit my teeth as I guide her over to the elevator, the doors sliding open as I press the button. We step in and they close, blocking out the parking garage and mutilated dog.
As the elevator starts to rise, the careful control I’ve been holding on to slips. Fear grips me for a heart-wrenching second, and I can’t stop myself as I reach for Grace, needing to feel her in my arms, needing to know that she’s safe and real and alive. Her heart thuds against my chest and as she clings to me with a quiet noise, like I’m her salvation.
Fuck, I wish that were true.
So why do I get the feeling I’m dragging her down to hell with me?
“Look at me,” I murmur softly. My hands come up to trace the lines of her neck, her chin, brushing her hair back as she lifts her head to meet my gaze. “Are you okay?”
Her arms tighten around my body, fingers entwining behind my back and gripping me closer, as if I’m her anchor and she’s not going to let go. Jesus, I hope she never does. It’s madness being with her, another storm within the already raging tempest of my life.
But I want her.
More than anything, I want to be her anchor. Not just when she’s reeling from a death threat, but always.
“I’m fine,” she says, her voice trembling only a little. Her hazel eyes shimmer, but her jaw is set resolutely. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? I’m still here.”
I can see it in her eyes that she’s trying to pull it together, trying to keep herself from breaking, and pride fills me. It takes a certain kind of person to be able to stay as calm as she is under this much stress, and she’s fucking strong.
Stronger than me. Stronger than any of us.
“That’s my girl,” I say, voice dropping and growing rougher.
Her breath catches at my words, and for once, I don’t fucking question the feelings churning between us. I don’t stop myself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips, palming the back of her head. Her fingers flex against my back with the contact as she rises up to meet me and kisses me back, melting against me.
I force myself to pull away just before the elevator door opens, heart thudding in my chest. Grace steps out of my arms and away from me, and I lead the way down the familiar corridor to my father’s office.
He looks up as we step inside, his expression sharp and alert. A threat against Grace may not concern him the same way it does me, but since she’s under the protection of the Novak Syndicate, any move against her is an attack on all of us. He’ll take this seriously.
Thank fuck.
“Hale. Grace. Come in.”
He gestures for us to enter, and I usher Grace across the room. She sits in the same chair as last time, her face impassive and her expression blank.
My girl. My brave fucking girl.
Another surge of pride fills my chest, but I focus on business.
“The dog was dead by the time I got there,” I explain, not sitting down. My father already knows the basics, but I fill him in on the rest. “Zaid, Lucas, and Ciro are bringing it in. We can run forensics, but it was in bad shape. I doubt we’ll find anything. We do know for certain it was a threat aimed at Grace.”
I pull a small, clear plastic bag out of my pocket and slam it down on the desk. The gesture is more forceful than I mean for it to be, but my self-control is fraying. Just seeing the engraved letters in the small metal disc makes my blood boil.
My father looks at the dog tag that reads Grace with narrowed eyes, but his face stays impassive.
“We scoped the property and surrounding area as well,” I add. “Nothing.”
For a long moment, my father just stares at the bloodstained dog tag in the plastic bag. Then he finally looks up at me. “I’d like to speak with Grace. Alone.”
I can feel Grace stiffen by my side. We’re not even physically touching, but I’m so aware of her that I can sense the change in her posture, hear the slight hitch in her breath.
My own breath stills in my lungs. I’ve never disobeyed a direct order from my father, but I’m seriously considering doing it right now. I trust this man and respect him, but when it comes to Grace, trust only goes so far.
A soft hand reaches for mine, wrapping around my fingers. The heavy thud of my heart slows as Grace looks up at me.
“I’ll be fine,” she murmurs.
I glance back at my father, my hand still gripping Grace’s tightly. He holds my gaze, not glancing down at our joined hands, but I know h
e’s aware of the gesture.
“She’s right,” he says. “She’ll be fine. I won’t hurt her, Hale. I just want to talk.”
I look back at the woman beside me, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to agree to this, but I know she’s strong. As much as I want her to trust me, I know I need to return that trust. I need to believe her when she says she can handle this.
“I’ll be right outside the door,” I say, squeezing her hand in one last reassurance.
I give a look to my father that says don’t do anything stupid before I turn and stride to the door, leaving them in the room.
Alone.
15
Grace
The door closes with a soft click, and it’s like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the space.
I’m alone with Damian Novak.
That thought sends my heart racing, my pulse thundering in my ears. I could tell by Hale’s hesitation that he didn’t want to leave any more than I wanted him to. But it was a direct order from his father, and as much as it terrifies me, I have to know what Damian wants to say to me without his son present.
I’m starting to realize how deeply entangled I am in all of this. I need to learn everything I can, to prepare myself for what might be coming. I can’t afford to live with my head in the sand just because this world sometimes scares the shit out of me.
I’m in it now. I have to do what it takes to survive.
And Hale wouldn’t leave me if he didn’t completely trust his father, I remind myself. He knows I’ll be safe, so I just need to have faith in his judgment.
Deep down, I know I do have faith in him. Hale saved my life, and that means something.
Still, it doesn’t make Damian any less terrifying. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to make decisions rashly or emotionally. I don’t think he’d initiate violence unless it was needed, but that doesn’t make me any more safe, because violence becomes necessary suddenly and unexpectedly in this world, no warning attached.
I straighten my spine, staring him in the eye, careful not to appear too defiant. There’s a fine line between respectful and arrogant, between self-preservation and meekness—I need to show him that I’m willing to stand up for myself without directly challenging his authority.
He looks at me thoughtfully, his handsome features unreadable. He looks so much like Hale that it almost hurts to look at him. It’s like peering into the future, seeing Hale as an older man leading a powerful mafia organization—and every time I think about the future, I wonder where I fit into that picture.
Do I still have a place here?
Am I even alive?
Damian considers me in silence for a moment, then finally lets out a sigh.
“All these years,” he begins, “I’ve always wondered why.”
Knowing that it’s not a question, I don’t say anything, just wait for his next thought. I’m not sure what exactly Damian hopes to draw out of me with this conversation, and it’s certainly not about the dog at this point.
“Samuel was one of my best men. He’d been with us practically since the beginning—years and years. Since before you were born, Grace. He was more loyal and dedicated than any other syndicate man I’d ever met.”
Damian’s description of my dad isn’t wrong. My dad was the most loyal man I ever knew. Loyal to a fault. When I was growing up, he somehow managed to be everything all at once: loyal to his work, but completely loyal to his family as well. I never felt like he neglected us for his mafia friends or business. He was always there, being the best father anyone could have asked for.
At least, that’s what I always thought. I honestly don’t know how many of my memories are even real anymore. Maybe it was all just a lie.
“I was thinking about promoting him to be my second,” Damian says, resting his elbows on his desk as he leans forward. “That’s how valued he was to me. And then he just threw it all away.” His eyes narrow. “He spit in the faces of the men who had been family to him. He betrayed them and me. He ratted out my brother and managed to get away with it. Ran into the night and just disappeared.”
Until now, I think. Until my wedding.
“He was a traitor and a coward.” Damian’s voice turns to steel.
That stings. I want to stand up for my father, I want to tell the man before me that he was no coward, but the truth is, I don’t know that. I have no idea who my father was anymore. I don’t know what he was thinking, what he was planning. Even the events that caused us to flee Chicago are a mystery.
And that’s what hurts most. That’s what makes it feel like someone’s stabbed me in the heart, twisting the knife and carving me out—my father didn’t trust me enough to tell me whatever the hell it was he was doing.
Because he was obviously doing something.
“Why?” Damian asks. He balls his hand into a fist, slamming it sharply against the desk. “Why did he do it?”
I hesitate to answer, my thoughts running a mile a minute. Damian could be trying to walk me into a trap with my own tongue—I don’t know what he’s trying to get from me or what his motivation is, and saying the wrong thing could end up with me dead.
I find myself shrugging, grasping for the right words.
“I’m not quite sure,” I say. “Honestly, I feel a bit betrayed by him too at this point. I’m not sure what to believe anymore. There’s so much that I’m only just now realizing I didn’t know about him. So many questions I might never get answers to now that he’s dead.”
And that makes me want to kick my feet against the desk in frustration, cry until I’m hoarse. It’s a swelling of bitterness and resentment that twists my stomach into knots, that catches me off guard and makes it hard to breathe.
“I’m mourning him and hating him at the same time for not trusting me with any of that,” I admit quietly.
Damian gives me a heavy look. “Perhaps it’s better that way, Grace. Knowing his secrets could have put you in more danger than you realize. Ignorance, in your case, may save your life.”
He’s right.
Knowing what my father was doing—if he was doing anything—would have put me up against the Novak syndicate as an enemy. I was already in that territory at first, just by being Samuel’s daughter. How much more would Hale and his men have hated me, tortured me, punished me, had I known what my father was doing?
For some reason, my mind flashes back to Ciro’s hands around my neck, locked in the night terror—being pinned beneath him with no way out.
And what about those early days of being tied to the bed, constantly monitored in everything I did?
I swallow.
I don’t want to know how things could have been, had I been part of whatever my father was involved in. Had I known anything more than I already know. Which is, frustratingly, nothing.
“The most terrible thing about trust, Grace,” Damian says, looking at me closely, “is that the more deeply it’s earned, the worse it is when it is broken.”
I hesitate to answer. I’m sure Damian is thinking about the mole in his organization, and my fingers curl around the armrest of the chair as I hold his gaze. Does he think I might have had something to do with this? Does he think I orchestrated this?
“Your father’s betrayal changed the way I run my business. It changed the way I view every person around me.” For a second, something like pain flashes in Damian’s eyes. “I vowed to myself that I would never let someone close to me betray me again. I would never let myself be blind to the signs right in front of me.”
His jaw tightens, and I hold my breath.
“And yet,” he continues, “despite the promise I made to myself, someone is working against my organization from the inside. Someone has betrayed me again.”
“I don’t know who it is.” I shake my head. “I don’t. But I want to, and if I can help you find this person, I will.”
He nods, acknowledging my words, but his expression doesn’t soften.
“My son cares for you,” he sa
ys slowly. “I can see it in the way he looks at you. He trusts you. So I am willing to extend some of my trust to you as well.”
Relief rushes through me at Damian’s words, but he holds up his hand, his expression hardening. “However, should you betray his trust, it won’t matter if Hale forgives you. I never will.”
My heart thuds in my chest, weighing his words.
I never will.
No one wants to have an enemy like Damian Novak, and I feel a little sick at the thought of what he would do to me if I betray his family. I know he’s just looking out for his son, but that doesn’t make his threat any less real. If anything, it’s more real.
The games have ended, and it’s life or death now.
“I owe Hale my life,” I find myself saying, my voice steady despite my racing pulse. “But how I feel about him… goes beyond that. He’s learned to trust me, and I’ve learned to trust him too. I would never betray him—not because of a debt owed, but because I care about him. Even if he hadn’t saved my life, I would never do anything to hurt your son.”
My chest constricts a little as I speak. That’s the closest I’ve come to admitting out loud how deep my feelings for Hale are becoming, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating to say it. My words hold nothing but truth, and I think Damian knows that. The corners of his mouth curve up in a surprisingly genuine smile, softening his features and giving him an almost comforting look.
“Thank you, Grace.”
He gives me a nod, and I’m surprised to find a small smile tug at my own lips. I realize I’m extremely lucky to be given the benefit of the doubt, to be dealt with as if I’m a part of the Novak Syndicate, even though it was my father’s actions that almost brought the whole organization down.
Because Hale cares about me.
And no matter how confusing things are between the two of us, his father can see that.
Damian stands from his chair, moving to the other side of the room. He opens the door and calls his son back in.
Hale’s gaze locks with mine the second he walks into the room. He’s as edgy as a caged animal as he stalks over to me, scanning my body for harm. I shake my head, letting him know I’m all right. Satisfied, he lets out the smallest huff of a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he sits in the chair next to mine.