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When his knocking becomes more insistent, I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Grace. I debate waking her up and telling her to stay put, but I don't want to scare her. She seems to be sleeping deeply anyway, so my best bet is to leave her here and get my father gone before she awakens. It's scarcely five o'clock in the morning, so she shouldn't wake for a while yet. She usually doesn't wake until eight or nine, but I bet she'll sleep later than that after I kept her up all night making love to her and fucking her in turns.
I curse under my breath when my father's pounding becomes even more insistent. I hurriedly tug on a pair of slacks and a shirt before making my way to the front door. I have no doubt he would have barged straight in had he been able to gain access to the key. Unlike the key to my elevator, there’s only one key to my actual penthouse, and it's mine. My head of command might have access to my elevator, but he doesn't have access to my internal apartments. I'd never trust anyone that much.
No sooner do I open the door than my father comes storming in. He begins to pace around the living room like a lion. No greeting or anything. He just gets right to it. “Where the fuck is she?” My heart stills within me, and my entire body goes rigid.
If he's found out I've got Grace...
I don't even have a chance to finish that thought before he goes on, “My men have been searching everywhere for her. How hard can it be to find one woman? She's not in her apartment. She hasn't shown up for work in weeks. It's like she disappeared off the face of the earth. I would think Doyle got to her first and got her safely hidden, but my sources tell me he's searching just as hard for her, too.”
I take in a deep breath. I'm not sure what I'm going to tell him, but I need to calm him down enough to get him out of my apartment so he doesn't discover Grace is here with me. It's not that I'm above lying to my father, although I honestly don't think I ever have. I've always followed orders. My father and I have always had a respectful relationship, not only business-wise but as a father and a son, but I won't let anyone—including him—come between me and Grace.
Before I get a chance to say anything, a soft voice says, “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt, but I thought I heard my name.”
My heart trips within me with dread. Grace looks over at me and blushes. She's wearing the emerald-green negligee I removed off of her last night. She must have picked it up from the floor and put it on before she padded out here, and thank god for that. At least she didn’t come traipsing in here naked. I glance over at my father and see him staring at her, and the jealous beast within me rises up. I immediately move to step between him and Grace, blocking her from his vision.
My father's eyes turn to me with a look of pride. “If you already had her son, why didn't you just say so?” He chuckles before he adds, “And hell, she is a pretty little thing. If you wanted to fuck her, I'd have let you do that, anyway.”
I square my jaw in anger. “Don’t talk about her like that,” I grit out.
My father's eyes widen before they narrow, and he looks at me suspiciously. “What's going on here?”
I don't answer. I just stand there with my jaw clenched, trying to get control of myself. I could murder him right now for even seeing her in this state of undress.
Grace echoes my father's question. “What's going on, Massimo?” Her voice is shaky. She's clearly scared, and I put a hand behind me to steady her, but I never move from my position in front of her, shielding her from my old man's gaze.
“Go back to your bedroom, Grace.” She makes no move to obey me.
My father splays out his hands. “Why send her away, son? Let her stay. Maybe she can answer some of my questions since you seem averse to doing so. How long have you had her?” he asked me nonchalantly, but my father is no fool. I think he's already put two and two together and figured out that I'm the reason no one has been able to find Grace.
When I don't answer, he directs the question to her. “How long have you been here, sweetheart?”
She opens her mouth and looks to me, but I give her a firm shake of my head. “You don't owe him anything, Grace.”
My father looks between us before he directs another question to Grace. “Do you know who you are, sweetie?”
Grace's brows pull down into a frown. “Grace Birmingham,” she answers my father like he's crazy. His mouth pulls into a grin as his eyes turn back to me. “She has no idea, does she, son?”
“She has nothing to do with this,” I tell him firmly.
My father shrugs. “Maybe not, but she's still the pawn I need to get her father under control.”
Grace perks up at that and pushes past me. “My father?”
“Yes, child,” my dad drawls. “You haven't met him yet?”
Grace shakes her head. “I've never met either of my parents.”
My dad gazes upon her sympathetically.
“Father,” I warn.
He ignores me. “Why, your father is none other than Connor Doyle, the notorious head of the Irish mafia.”
I see Grace's knees give out on her, and I'm there to catch her before she collapses to the floor. She's shaking her head. “No,” she denies the charge.
My father nods his head. “Yes. Didn't you ever wonder why there was never any record of your parents whatsoever? It’s because Doyle wanted to make sure that none of his enemies could ever find out about you and use you against him.”
“Use me against him?” Grace’s eyes cut to me accusingly. “Is that why you took me? Is that what you were planning?”
