We walk the broad expanse of the front yard while he makes a phone call, saying simply, “Open the garage,” before returning his cell to his pocket.
I watch the Porsche pull around the drive as the doors open. “Who’s inside it?”
“Carlo,” Kayden says. “Who is about to be reminded that I’m his moral compass.”
“Considering he’s amused at inappropriate times, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Don’t confuse amusement with lack of intelligence,” he says. “He’s cunning. He’s lethal and he misses nothing.”
“And the moral compass?”
“He has one, but he’s about to be reminded that mine is the only one that matters.” We reach the bottom of the stairs and he turns me to face him. “My men think you called me before meeting Gallo. Keep it that way and they might not ask questions. Don’t talk about it. Less is more, unless it’s with me.”
“Because they’ll see me as a weakness.”
“Yes.”
“Am I?” I ask. My cell phone rings from my coat pocket and Kayden’s jaw sets hard. No doubt he assumes it’s Gallo, as I do.
“Check it,” he orders softly.
Dreading where this might be going, I fish it from my pocket and nod. “It is. It’s him.”
“Decline the call,” he says, his mood shifting back to that dark edginess from the alcove.
I don’t hesitate, not after his comment about Gallo trying to divide us in some way, which the note he stuck under the door supports as true. I hit “decline” and shove my phone back into my pocket, and the mysterious note flutters out to the ground.
Kayden bends over and snags it, reading it and looking at me. “What does ‘I know’ mean?”
“Gallo shoved it under the bathroom door in the coffee bar, but he said nothing to indicate he knows about my past.”
“Of course he didn’t,” he says, balling the paper in his hand and shoving it inside his pocket, his jaw clenching at the sound of the front door opening.
“Less is more,” he repeats as we start to climb up the stone steps.
I hurry to keep up, my gaze lifting to find Adriel has appeared on the top step, dressed in jeans and some sort of polo-style Italian football shirt. His features are harshly drawn, the scar lining his cheek somehow more pronounced. When he looks at me, it’s brittle, and the only color in his eyes is ice. He’s pissed at my bypassing him today, and my struggle to find peaceful ground with him, and I’m thinking my telling Kayden about his disapproval isn’t going to help.
He speaks to Kayden in Italian and the two men talk on the porch. Eager to get out of the cold, I continue into the main castle foyer, almost running into Carlo. I back up, and I swear in morning light, dressed in jeans and a tan leather jacket and tan boots, he’s far more the Italian stallion than I remember. A man I suspect could fuck you senseless and slice your throat, and I’m not sure why Kayden tolerates him.
Carlo is quick to remove the space I’ve just put between us, his eyes a bit too warm, too attentive. It could be flirtation, but my gut tells me that’s not the case. He’s testing me, trying to intimidate me, and I hold my ground. “How was coffee?” he asks, a cynically amused quirk to his lips, arrogance wafting off of him.
I want to step backward, but refuse to give him that reaction. I fold my arms in front of me. “Uneventful and uninteresting,” I say dismissively.
“Gallo is many things,” he says, “but we both know uninteresting is not one of them. Did he fuck with your mind? He likes to fuck with people’s minds.”
“Spoken like a man who’s been his victim.”
He gives me a deadpan stare and then smirks. “Ha. Ha. Aren’t you funny. And brave.”
There is something brutal in in those flippantly spoken words, almost a threat, or maybe it’s just that everything about the man is lethal. I stand firm, reaching for the respect I need to stand by Kayden’s side. “Brave because I said that to you, or brave because I dared to suggest I fared better than you?”
The door shuts behind me and a moment later Kayden steps beside me, speaking to Carlo in clipped, thick Italian, but it is not his words that I cannot understand. It’s how, without trying, he sucks all the energy from the massive castle foyer, leaving none of it for Carlo to claim as his own. Kayden has become The Hawk. He is always The Hawk, but I’m in awe of his control when he chooses to radiate that persona. Carlo’s words sharpen and Kayden stares at him, seconds ticking by before without looking at me, he orders, “Wait on me in the tower, Ella.”
I’d rebel against that order if he weren’t The Hawk, who I’ve vowed to battle behind closed doors, and if I weren’t certain Carlo had just challenged him over me. Which makes me want to stay and fight my own battle, and his too, but he is The Hawk, and I can’t risk working against his leadership. Knowing my show of respect is critical right now, I force myself to turn and walk to the door dividing me from our tower, jabbing the code into the keypad.
The door begins to lift, and for once, my impatience does not win as I wait for it to rise all the way up, hoping to overhear the conversation sure to take place between Kayden and Carlo. But they start talking in Italian, driving home how important it is for me to learn the language—and then Adriel’s and Matteo’s voices join the conversation, surprising me. Giving the door my profile, I bring the foursome into view to find Matteo standing next to Carlo, and Adriel next to Kayden. Perhaps the choice of positions is simply convenience, but I have this odd sense of a division that I do not like.
Too soon, considerin