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The nightmare I had the night I slept with Ciro has come back over and over again, haunting me, making me not want to sleep. I know Brian is dead, that he can’t hurt me anymore. But that’s not what scares me about the dream.
What scares me is that I don’t know what the fuck Brian was doing, or who he was working for.
If he was working for someone, whoever it was, they still want me dead.
Thoughts and questions tumble around in my head like clothes in a dryer, and after several days of self-imposed isolation, I can’t take it anymore. If I keep sitting around in my room thinking any longer, I’ll go crazy.
It’s a few hours past dinner, and I don’t know where the guys are. Usually, I head straight back upstairs after we eat, so I don’t know how they spend their evenings. They could be out taking care of mafia business, for all I know—although I somehow doubt they’d leave me entirely alone in the house, no matter what they tell me about not seeing me as a prisoner anymore.
Boredom gives me boldness. I’ve avoided snooping around the house until now, but if I’m truly going to be here for months or even years, I can’t spend the whole time in my fucking bedroom. So I head downstairs, turning left instead of right when I reach the bottom and heading deeper into the house.
As I make my way down a wide hallway, my footsteps slow at the sound of low voices. Up ahead, a large open door leads to a warmly lit room, and the voices are coming from inside it. Biting my lip, I shrink back against the wall, debating.
The men have never explicitly told me no in regards to going anywhere in the house, but I’m not sure creeping around eavesdropping on conversations would be considered acceptable behavior for a prisoner.
Or… whatever I am.
Although we have dinner together most nights and I see them around the house fairly often, I’m aware that the men don’t discuss mafia business in front of me. I’ve been paying close attention, as desperate as they are to find out who the mole in the Novak Syndicate is. It concerns me too, considering whoever it is wanted me dead.
So instead of turning around and heading back up to my room, I tiptoe toward the open door silently, staying close to the wall to remain out of sight.
“My father is going to be at our throats until we figure out who this mole is.” Hale’s deep voice carries down the hallway, slightly muffled.
“I still can’t believe we have a fucking mole,” one of the twins says. From this distance, I can’t tell who. “That one of our own betrayed us.”
“Whoever it is, they signed their own fucking death warrant,” Hale growls. “I’ll kill the motherfucker myself once we find them.”
The controlled fury in his voice makes goose bumps prickle over my skin. He means it.
“Damian’s sent me and Lucas on a few undercover ops in the lower ranks,” Zaid says, “but we haven’t found anyone. They know who to fear and who to stay loyal to.”
“Makes things worse if it’s someone higher up,” Lucas interjects. “Someone in a high power role with access to privileged information.”
Hale mutters something under his breath that I can’t make out, but continues, “Have you made any headway with the organization in Boston?”
“If you could call it that.” I can hear the grimace in Zaid’s voice. “We got a meeting set up with one of the captains, which is more than we’ve been able to do in months.”
“He knows the deal would be beneficial to both of us,” Hale mutters. “I’m not sure why he’s hesitating.”
“Not sure. Could be they’re afraid of spreading themselves too thin,” Lucas says. “Their forces are smaller than ours, and—”
He cuts off mid-sentence, and I freeze. I can almost imagine Hale holding up a hand, silencing him. My heart beats so loudly that I’m sure they can hear it from inside the room.
“Grace,” Hale calls, almost lazily.
Fuck.
How the hell does he do that? Even that night in his office, when he was drunk on half a bottle of whiskey, he seemed to have a sixth sense for my presence.
“Come in here,” he adds when I don’t respond. There’s a hint of amusement in his voice, underlying the commanding tone.
Knowing I can’t disobey a direct order, I step into the room, my pulse racing. I could just pretend that I got lost in the big house and haven’t been in the hallway long, but I have a feeling Hale knows exactly what I was doing outside the door.
Snooping.
The room is occupied by three out of the four men. Ciro is absent, and I feel bad that I’m almost thankful he isn’t here. I’m not sure if I’m ready to face that awful self-loathing in his eyes again. It’s hard to be around him, knowing that he won’t let me shoulder some of the burden for him, that he doesn’t trust himself around me.
A large leather couch and several large chairs dominate the space. I get the feeling this is the heart of the house, and I’ve just stepped into a den of hungry wolves, waiting to eat me alive. Lounging with suit jackets off and ties untied, they’re the picture of elegant leisure. Each of them is dangerously attractive, watching me through hooded eyes.
