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“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.
Damian resumes his place behind the desk, sinking into his large chair with a heavy sigh.
“Did you have a good chat?” Hale asks as he looks across the desk, and I’m surprised by the acidic tone of his voice. I’ve always gotten the impression that he and his father are close, and I know he respects Damian as a leader.
The older man nods. “We did. I just needed to be sure Grace and I were on the same page.” His gaze flicks to me. “And I believe we are.”
I reach out and rest my hand over Hale’s, hoping to calm him down and convince him everything really is okay. I wouldn’t have done it earlier, but now that my cards are all on the table, I don’t feel like I need to hide the fact that there’s something between Hale and me. Damian already knows.
Hale surprises me by flipping his hand over, catching mine in his strong grip and squeezing it. I squeeze back as Damian regards both of us seriously.
“We need to figure out who the mole is,” Hale’s father says. “This is the second attack on Grace, so whoever is going after her is either trying to get to us through her, or she has something they want. Either way, she’s under our protection, so an attack on her is as good as an attack on the Novak Syndicate.”
“They’re getting bolder.” Hale curses. “It’s a ballsy fucking move, dropping that dog off while we were all at home.”
“Agreed. We need to figure out who it is before they do something worse than just sending threats.” Damian runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve seen Hale do dozens of times. “And we need to get this Boston deal secured. The influx of money will position us well against other syndicates that are getting too big to continue unchecked.”
“The Rooks.” Hale says it like a statement, not a question. His father nods.
“We’re close. Myles and Frank are in Boston now, and with any luck, the negotiations will go well.” Damian drums his fingers on his desk. “If and when it goes through, I’ll have you and your team handle the logistics. I’m tightening up operations until we figure out where the fucking rat is.”
“Good. We’ll be ready.”
Damian leans back, nodding. “I’ll let you know if we pull anything useful from the dog or the tags.” He glances at the bloody bag on the desk, then back at me. “In the meantime, keep Grace safe. Whoever this is, whatever they want with her, I don’t want them to get it.”
A prickle of fear runs down my spine at the grim tone of his voice.
Yeah. That makes two of us.
16
Grace
Maybe nowhere is truly safe.
It’s a strange realization. Even when I was truly being held prisoner—hell, especially then—this house felt like a fortress. Impenetrable.
But it wasn’t, was it? I remind myself. I found a way out, which means someone else could find a way in.
Of course, if they do, they’ll have four mafia men with itchy trigger fingers to deal with. I keep reminding myself of that. Since the dinner last week that ended with the dead dog and my tense meeting with Damian, the men have been relentless. At least one of them is always hovering over me, watching me. Not because they don’t trust me, but because they don’t trust anyone else. Each of them seems driven by a renewed need to protect, aimed directly at me.
Ciro and Zaid combed through every bit of security from that day, but the cameras were expertly blacked out, leaving no evidence for us to trace. One of Damian’s men ran forensics on the dog’s body—a task I do not envy—but that didn’t yield anything either.
I’ve stopped hiding away in my room like I did at first. I think the guys feel better when they can keep an eye on me. And I’m not sure when it happened, but I’ve stopped feeling like I need to tiptoe around the house. I feel more comfortable here than I used to, as if it’s become my space too.
The five of us are gathered in the living room in the late afternoon when Hale’s phone rings. He stands from the couch as he pulls it out of his pocket, answering it briskly. His face is a stone wall of emotion, but I’m learning to read the smallest shifts in his features, the way the blue of his eyes seems to brighten when he’s happy.
Whatever news he just got, I’m pretty sure it was good.
