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I, however, didn’t move, still staring at the man with all the tattoos. Damian. I’d have to look into him later. He looked like he’d just come from the streets, barely able to clean himself up for tonight. “Who do you work for?” I asked, my voice low.
Those dark eyes turned to me, and he smirked. It was a deadly kind of thing, something I knew he kept restrained. I knew it right then and there: Damian, whoever he was, was one of the vipers the priest had mentioned.
“I don’t work for no man,” he said. “I work for myself, and if I were you—” He stepped closer to me, dropping his voice to a bare whisper only I could hear. “—I’d keep a close watch on that girl. She looks tasty. I might just decide to take a bite or two.”
My teeth ground, and he pulled away from me, still smiling like he had something up his sleeve. If he didn’t work for anybody, that meant he was here as a guest of the Black Hand, wanting the soon-to-be vacated position, which meant he was on Miguel’s level, somehow.
Who the fuck was he? I’d definitely have to make time to investigate him.
I left him standing there, hurrying to catch up to Miguel and Giselle. They were a silent pair, but I could tell they were each wondering just who the hell Damian was. Not quite like anyone else in that ballroom, which begged the question of: why was he here? What made him so important that the Black Hand wanted him here?He certainly didn’t seem like the Black Hand type.
The drive back to the manor was silent, and I assumed that was because Miguel was thinking. Same with Giselle. She was like her father in that respect, always thinking, always trying to come up with a plan. Sneaking out of the house to hit up the clubs around here? I didn’t know why that had been so important to her, and she’d been tight-lipped about it, but she’d clearly planned it.
We made it back to the house. Miguel sent off the driver, and he told me I could go home for the night, if I wanted. I didn’t leave, though. I stuck around to listen to voice my concern over that last man, Damian.
Giselle had gone upstairs to her room, which left me alone with Miguel in his study. A dark room, the fireplace empty for the night. He immediately went to pour himself some whiskey, and he offered me a glass, which I turned down.
“That Damian guy,” I said, “who was he?” Maybe Miguel knew more about him than I did, in which case, I hoped he would tell me, because that comment he’d made about Giselle didn’t sit right with me.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to have a few guys look into him. Something about him seemed…” Miguel quieted. “Familiar, almost, but I’m certain I’ve never met him before.” He finished his glass and poured himself more.
“He made a comment about Giselle. So did that priest, actually—”
Miguel’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not appear shocked. If anything, he looked like a man would when he heard exactly what he’d been expecting to. “Did they, now?”
I stared at him. “You knew they would.” Well, maybe not them, but somebody, at least. It had to be why she’d worn white. That color drew every person’s attention to her. And then it hit me. “You wanted them to.” I couldn’t let it show—and so I struggled to keep my true emotions down—but I hated him in that moment, if only because of the target he’d put on Giselle’s back. “It’s why she wore white tonight, isn’t it?”
I earned myself one of Miguel’s rare smiles, which told me I was correct in my assumption. “Now you can see why I place so much of my faith on you, Zander, to keep her safe. I have the feeling it will become a harder job in the upcoming days.” He took another sip of his whiskey, this time hardly blinking at me, and I knew right then this was all part of his plan.
Using Giselle like this… it didn’t sit right with me.
But I also couldn’t change it, and I hated that fact even more.
Miguel set his glass down. “Anything else to report? You and my daughter were upstairs for quite a while with the other heirs.” He sat down at his desk, leaning back in his high-backed leather chair. Though he didn’t say anything about it, I knew he was three steps away from insinuating something that didn’t happen.
If I didn’t have anything to report to him…
Let’s just say it was a good thing I had something.
“Did you know that Shay Arrowwood is dating not only Atticus’s sons, but also Atticus himself? And Nixon Hawke, and Slade Palmer—” I stopped, knowing I had Miguel’s full attention.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. She’s dating them all, and from what it sounded like, they all know about it and are fine with it.” If, say, I managed to get Giselle, I couldn’t say whether or not I’d ever be the kind of person who’d say okay to sharing her with a crowd of other men.
But I didn’t have Giselle, so it was a moot point.
“That’s… very interesting. Very interesting indeed,” he said, running a finger along his clean-shaven jaw. Miguel said nothing else for a while.
I took that to mean I’d given him a good piece of information, something he could possibly use, so I decided to ask, “Would it be alright if I went upstairs to check on Giselle? She seemed a little out of sorts tonight.” Especially when she was seated with you and the Morettis, but I kept that tidbit to myself.
Miguel was so lost in his own thoughts about what I’d told him that he simply waved his hand in the air, which I took as an affirmative, so I immediately turned around and left his office, my feet taking me to the main stairwell of the estate. Up I went.
I usually tried not to go to her room, because that was her place, and I didn’t want Miguel thinking I was trying anything with her. He’d obviously choose his daughter over me any day, so I really didn’t want it to get to that point. But, tonight, I had to go to her, had to see her one more time, just to make sure she was okay.
Her bedroom door was closed, but the light was on. I tapped my knuckled against the wooden door, though I didn’t say a word. I guess a part of me feared that if she knew it was me standing here, she’d never come, never open the door and invite me in. Some days I think she downright hated me, and that hurt.
It hurt me because I’d do anything for her. I’d fucking kill for her. How many other men could say the same?
