I pretend I don’t notice how the four men who escorted me into the room fall into position around me. Zaid and Lucas stand at either side while Ciro stays behind me, Hale’s body creating a temporary barrier of safety between myself and Damian.
“Father.” Hale dips his head, taking a single step forward.
While they exchange formalities, I peer around Hale to take in his father. It’s impossible not to pick up on how similar the two men look. Although much older than his son, Damian has the same deep blue eyes, strong brow, and straight nose. His dark brown hair is peppered with strands of gray, but his jaw and cheekbones are still sharp, his features darkl
y handsome.
He’s the exact picture of what Hale will probably look like thirty years from now, when he’s replaced his father, married, and had an heir of his own.
For some reason, the thought of Hale with a son and a wife strikes a strange chord inside of me. My stomach clenches, and I push the mental image away quickly.
Damian doesn’t give me any time to think about it anyway.
He turns his attention to me, standing from the chair. “Grace. It’s been a while.”
His eyes narrow a little as he watches me, gesturing for me to come a little closer.
Hale’s shoulders tense, then he takes a step to the side, allowing me to move forward to meet the beast in front of me.
I try not to drag my feet as I walk toward Damian’s desk, letting him take my hand in his. He watches me like a cat watching a mouse, his eyes filled with curiosity and eerie calm. Though his tone was light when he spoke, that doesn’t put me at ease.
No. It scares me more.
I know that violence is never far away in the mafia, and if I say or do something wrong, Damian won’t hesitate to give the order to one of his men.
Shoot her.
He probably wouldn’t even have to say the words. A signal and I’d be gone. I swallow, shoving that terrifying thought aside.
“Grace Weston.” Damian’s voice is almost a purr, a controlled calm that sends a chill down my spine. “You’ve changed very much since I last saw you. How long has it been?”
We both know he knows how long it’s been, but he wants me to answer.
“Six years. About.”
“The time has been good to you. Washington was good to you. You look lovely.” His gaze flickers down my body, although his eyes don’t fill with heat like Hale’s do when he looks at me. This gaze is assessing, not sexual, but it still makes goose bumps spring out across my skin. “You look much older.”
“Yeah. So do you.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Hale tenses next to me, and I fight the urge to cringe, but the low chuckle that falls from Damian’s lips relaxes my muscles a bit. He took my sassy response in stride, but that doesn’t mean he’ll tolerate it again. And I don’t dare look over at Hale, but I know if I did, his eyes would be telling me two words.
Be careful.
He’s right. I’m dealing with a predator here. A man who wields a kind of power I can barely comprehend. If someone steps too far out of line, he won’t hesitate to let them know they’ve taken things too far.
With a bullet. Or two.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to a chair in front of the desk, and I obey without question. Hale steps up to stand beside me as I sit.
The rest of the men fall into position behind us, a presence I can feel even though I can’t see them. I glance over at Hale nervously, then quickly avert my eyes. I don’t want Damian to think something is going on between us. It feels dangerous to give up that secret. Instead, I focus on the desk in front of me, hiding any outward signs of the storm inside of me.
Damian shifts his gaze to the three behind me. “Leave us.”
Hale stiffens next to me—clearly, he wasn’t anticipating having his men dismissed like this. He expected to have them as backup, and I don’t like this any more than he does. I don’t have to turn around to feel the way that Zaid, Lucas, and Ciro hesitate behind me. The temperature in the room seems to spike, and I clench my hands on my lap as my breath catches.
Then Hale gives his friends a sharp nod, telling them to follow the order.