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“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.
