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“Good.”
Oz arched his brow. “Waiting on you?”
Trey nodded.
“Then I’ll make this quick.” Oz gestured to Nash, who stepped closer.
“About a week ago, our tech guy came to me about a potential risk in the systems. Not the first time they’ve come to me. It’s usually nothing of concern.” Nash stared back at Trey.
“This time?”
Nash spread out his hands. “Got further into our systems than I’m comfortable with.”
Fuck! Trey cupped his mouth, peering over at Oz. “Any way to track it?”
“Untraceable.” Oz clasped his hands. He appeared completely calm, but Trey knew better. If he was personally bringing it to Trey, then it was a valid concern. “Need you to update your security. Going to have our guy come through here tomorrow to check out everyone’s computers and phones. That includes security.”
Trey nodded. “Any idea what they’re looking for?”
Oz arched his brow and lifted his chin to Nash.
“As far as I can tell, they’re looking to shut down our security cameras. This is a problem if they succeed, as you can imagine. Not to mention gaining access to the location of our properties.”
Trey saw the potential dangers and straightened in his seat. “What do you need from me?”
Oz stared back at him. “Be aware. Pass it along to Rogue, and contact Nash immediately if you suspect anything. We didn’t build this fucking empire just so anyone could take it down.”
No, we didn’t.
Oz stood and walked toward the door. “Go home to your woman, Trey.”
He smirked. “Sunday dinner, Oz.”
Trey had mentioned it a few days ago and gotten the same reaction from Rogue and Oz. It was as if he spoke in a foreign tongue. Neither one seemed to understand the concept of a Sunday night family dinner. But Sal did. He embraced it and made it known he expected all the boys to show up. Even though he’d retired from power for more than a decade, they still followed his orders.
Oz glanced back, hardened his gaze, and sent a glare Trey knew all too well. “I remember.”
Trey stifled his laugh and looked over at Nash as he followed behind Oz.
“Dahlia extended the invitation to you as well, Nash.”
Nash halted, glancing back. This was new territory for all the men of the Underground. Nash, while not as close as Trey, Rogue, and Oz, did have his place among them. He gave a subtle nod. He’d be there too. It seemed Dahlia had managed to leave her mark on all of the Underground.
Trey rounded his desk, gathered his things, and walked out. His twenty-minute estimate was now pushing forty-five by the time he stepped out of the elevator onto his floor. Even in the hallway, he could smell the food. He was still getting used to this new side of his life. She didn’t cook every night. In fact, they ate dinner at the club most nights. But on her days off, this was what she loved doing for him. For us.
It was a small gesture and wouldn’t mean much to most people, but for Trey, it was something he’d never had. He couldn’t remember the last home-cooked meal he’d had before Dahlia. Trey never asked; Dahlia always insisted, and he wouldn’t argue with her. However, he’d be cursing Oz if he walked in to find her fully clothed.
He unlocked the door and walked inside. The apartment was quiet, with soft music playing in the background. Her favorite band. Trey wasn’t big on music, but there was something about the current song that resonated with him, and she played it often.
He dropped his keys on the table and stilled, staring down at the picture frame. It was new to the apartment. He grabbed it, taking a closer look. He’d been honest with her when he’d said she was to make his place her home. It meant all her things. The corner of his mouth curled, looking down at a photo taken years ago. It was slightly out of focus, and the quality wasn’t great. It didn’t take away from the photo. It was a couple. A tall, burly man with a beard and belly towering over a slight woman curled into his side with familiar brown eyes smiling at the camera. Between them, curved into his arm, was a girl no more than four, grinning with her mouth open. Maybe laughing. He'd know that face anywhere. Trey placed the frame down, took another look at Dahlia with her parents, then walked into the open living room.
It took him a minute to register it all.
Trey had told her to bring everything, but somehow he hadn’t quite pictured all her possessions in his space. He scanned the room. His once sleek black and white theme had been overshadowed with reds, pinks, and blues. And lots of fucking purple. He slowly walked toward the living room, taking in the end table near his black leather chair. It had been painted many times, and obviously, Dahlia had not been the first owner. Or the second or the third or… Trey drew in a breath, looking at the room as a whole. It was a designer’s nightmare. Mismatched, misplaced, with no style or elegance. Trey smiled, looking at the bizarre lamp on his overpriced end table.
Fucking perfect.
Dahlia’s stamp was all over the apartment, and surprisingly, he found comfort in that. In her.
