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“I’m coming with you,” I say quickly.
There’s a momentary silence as all three men freeze. I can feel their need to protect me, to shield me from all of this, warring with their knowledge that I’m no longer on the outside of any part of their lives. They let me in, just like I let them into mine.
I’m part of this, whether they like it or not.
Marcus’s jaw tightens as he looks over my head at Ryland, communicating something silently. Then he nods, and I feel Ryland let out a heavy breath. I turn to kiss the broad-shouldered man before climbing off his lap, and he grips me so tight I’m sure I’ll find bruises later.
He doesn’t try to stop me from coming though. Even Ryland, who fought the hardest against the pull between all of us, has finally seemed to realize it was always a battle we were doomed to lose.
We’ll live together or die together, but nothing will ever tear us apart.
The four of us pile into Theo’s car and head out. It’s a cool late fall day, but the sky is clear and the sun shines brightly, glinting off the cars we pass as we head out of the city. It all seems too bright, too vibrant, to fit the mood inside the car.
The guys talk quietly among themselves as we drive, agreeing on what they’ll tell Luca. They decide against lying almost immediately—if he’s called them in to speak to them, it’s because he knows about Jordan’s murder, or at least, he’s confident enough in what he does know not to believe a lie.
My stomach twists around itself as if I’ve swallowed a live snake, turning over and over until bile rises up my throat. I force it back down, and when Theo reaches over from the driver’s seat, I grip his hand tightly in mine.
I have no real idea what we’re walking into, but I cling to the belief that if the men expected Luca to kill them outright, they would never have allowed me to come—not that I wouldn’t have fought to come with them anyway.
The large house looks different in the light of day than it did when we arrived in the evening for the party, although it’s still overwhelmingly expensive and luxurious.
Our reception is different too. Instead of being greeted at the door by a butler, we’re ushered inside by two large men with guns holstered at their belts.
My already racing pulse kicks up another notch as they lead us through the house, and I can’t stop myself from darting glances at the two men. They have blunt, stoic faces and carry themselves with the casual power of men who know how to deal death quickly and efficiently.
Marcus and Ryland bookend me on either side, walking so close that their arms brush against mine, and Theo is just ahead of us, his posture stiff and alert.
We head into an entirely different wing of the house than we were brought to for the party, and the men stop outside a large wooden door. One of them raps sharply against it, and at the sound of a male voice from inside, he opens it and ushers us inside.
The door closes with a sharp click behind us, and I feel certain that the two men are posted on either side of it just outside the room. Ready to burst in at any moment if needed, or to stop us if we try to flee.
“Constantine. Bennett. Harrington.” Luca D’Addario sits at a large desk, and he nods at the three men as we all step forward. Then his gaze lands on me, and he cocks his head. “And who is this? I saw you at my party, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir.”
I dip my head in a deferential nod. I’m not sure what the exact etiquette is supposed to be when addressing him, but the impression I’ve gotten of Luca is that he’s the kind of man who demands that others respect his power. And I don’t want to piss him off any more than we already have.
“This is Ayla Fairchild,” Marcus adds, introducing me to the dark-haired older man.
Luca nods, his gaze still zeroed in on my face as if he’s dissecting me, picking me apart into small pieces and cataloguing which bits might be useful to him. It makes my skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness. His gaze isn’t sexual or leering, but it’s so fucking perceptive that it makes me feel naked anyway.
A long moment of silence drags out while he studies me, and then he nods to himself and shifts his focus back to the men. “You know why I called you here, I presume?”
Marcus nods. “Jordan McCabe.”
Luca’s heavy dark eyebrows jerk upward a little, as if he’s surprised Marcus admitted to it so easily. That he didn’t argue back or feign ignorance.
“Yes.” Luca leans back in his seat, tugging at the sleeves of his crisp dark suit. “He was important to me.”
“I know. He told us.”
“But you killed him anyway.”
“Yes.”
Marcus’s voice remains calm and blunt, and unease prickles through me. I know the men decided that lying to Luca would guarantee a worse outcome, but I wish he would soften the truth a little.
Luca’s eyebrows rise even higher, and he scans Theo’s and Ryland’s faces carefully.
