7. The Morning After pt II
seven
The Morning After pt II
Grace jolted awake as the masked man in her dream pulled the trigger. She threw herself upright, gasping, choking on a scream, and seconds passed before she realized she didn’t know where she was. The room was fairly dark, though bright golden light around the edges of the heavy drapery along the far wall suggested that was more because of the curtain than the time of day. She had about half a second to process the meaning of that before she realized how perilously late for work she surely was. It wasn’t until she went to swing her feet to the floor that Grace recognized the room, and the massive king-sized bed engulfing her.
She was in Romeo De Salvo’s bedroom. In his actual bed.
Hands clenching the comforter tight, Grace looked down at herself. She remembered this shirt. She remembered putting it on in the bathroom after a shower, and Romeo ripping it off her not twenty minutes after. The memory of him offering it back to her to sleep in later, when she could barely move, was both warmer and weaker in light of what had happened in between.
Oh. My. God. Grace scooted herself to the edge of the bed, the dragging motion forcing her to acknowledge that the shirt was all she was wearing.
It had really happened.
She’d offered herself to him—practically begged him to have his way with her—and he’d accepted. Her body heated at the remembered visual of him kneeling between her thighs, face buried in her pussy. At the sensory memory of his firm grip on her thighs. He hadn’t just been holding her in place. He’d been making sure she couldn’t break free and retreat.
The entire experience replayed in fast-forward in her mind and Grace shivered. It had been so much more intense than she’d imagined.
She glanced around the room, a flicker of ridiculous disappointment in her chest. It would have been perfect, dangerously too perfect, if he’d been with her when she’d woken up. But if the sun was out, he was probably at work. That meant she had a small window of time to figure herself out, because she was not going to wallow in terror or self-pity.
She didn’t know where she stood with Romeo. She didn’t know if he really wanted anything more than one night or not. What she did know was that she would prefer to be obsessing about that rather than giving even a single thought to the problem—the nightmare—that had landed her in his arms in the first place. That was something she didn’t know how to handle really, but she was going to have to muddle through.
Grace twisted her hands in the fabric of the shirt and glanced toward the bathroom. She didn’t want to go in there and see what she’d left behind, but she didn’t exactly have a choice. Although… There was no harm in checking the time first.
That plan drew her attention to the paper seemingly propped up on her phone.
It took some fumbling in the dark, unfamiliar space, but Grace got the side lamp on and her vision cleared enough to read the words. She shouldn’t have been surprised Romeo left her some kind of message. She supposed what did surprise her was that it was more than a reminder to be out before Lucia got home from school, or to keep what had happened between them quiet. In fact, neither of those concepts was expressed in any degree.
The note informed her that he’d cleared out the bathroom so it was safe for her to use, and she wouldn’t have to worry about a stranger entering the room. She would find a packaged toothbrush on the counter he had left for her. He’d straightened out the pants from the night before and left them on the edge of the bed as well, and they could figure out a better clothing situation once she was awake. Finally, he’d written that he would be leaving to take Lucia to school and then returning, and that he didn’t expect to be leaving again. So unless she woke up before eight-thirty, he was likely to be home and available when she was ready to come downstairs.
P.S. I have great coffee, too.
Her lips twitched. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, but she was starving. And her chest felt too warm. She had the most irrational urge to clutch the note close and press her lips to it.
Grace managed to resist and instead set it aside. Her fingers brushed over her phone and she paused. The display told her it was nearly ten in the morning, which was absolutely horrifying. She hadn’t slept that late since she was a middle-schooler, maybe. The display also told her she had a crap ton of messages, and the sight of those notifications chased away the warm, fluffy feeling she’d been floating in seconds previously. She might not be at work, but work could always find her.
She frowned and left the phone where it was as she pushed to her feet. No matter the number of messages, her bladder was done waiting. And come to think of it, she still needed another shower. But it was already a quarter to ten, so she’d make it fast, and then go see if she could find her way back down to the main floor.
It was minutes after ten o’clock when she dared step from Romeo’s bedroom. She’d redonned his sweatpants, once again drawn high on her hips so she could better anchor them and the ankles rolled to avoid tripping. His shirt was a balancing game, but she was just large enough that she was fairly confident she could keep it in place. It was more embarrassing traipsing through his halls knowing she had no undergarments in place, that her boobs were bouncing with each step, and that she’d had to wash out her lady parts in his shower because he’d insisted on filling her up the night before. Which she really did not want to think about in this situation.
The staircase was at least easy to find, and she only caught a glimpse of one other person on the way. At the bottom of the stairs she paused, because her memory of entering the house was a blur, and in her moment of stillness the low murmur of voices drew her attention.
She followed them on instinct, becoming quickly and increasingly convinced she knew the tones of the two speakers she’d heard so far. In fact, she knew both of them very well, in dramatically different ways. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she paused just beyond the entry of what she assumed was a sitting room. For as much as she didn’t quite know what to say to Romeo when she saw him next, she had anticipated that encounter sooner than later. She had not been prepared for also coming face-to-face with her boss just yet.
She couldn’t help but look down again at her borrowed clothes. Her excuse was valid. She just wasn’t sure that was enough to propel her forward.
Something moved in front of her and a strong hand tipped her chin up, drawing her eye along Romeo’s body until she was drowning in the blue of his warm smile. “You want some coffee, angel? I didn’t expect you up this soon.”
Grace balked. “It’s ten.”
“You had a lot to sleep off.” He curled his finger, turning her head slightly, and his smile dropped. “How’s your pain?” He released her chin with a lingering stroke of his thumb.
She didn’t know how to respond. He was speaking softly and touching her in a way that made sense for the intimacy they’d established, except his brother was just behind him, barely out of sight. She drew a deep breath, trying to think past the rising panic. “I—” She was hungry, and coffee sounded wonderful, and she wanted to stay near him. She couldn’t explain it, but Romeo felt safe. Like having dialed him the night before had been some intervention of fate and she wasn’t dumb enough to misinterpret that.
Her gaze flicked to the side, trying to see through the cased opening of the wall to where she thought Dante sat. As if the sight of him would help her choice. But didn’t she know how he’d feel about this? Wasn’t that why he was there, and not at the office?
Her throat swelled at the thought of the mess she’d made. “I should—”
“Nope.” Romeo spun her around by her shoulders as if she were standing on a carousel. “We’re not doing that today, Grace.” He moved her forward, walking with her, and projected his voice. “We’re getting coffee and food. Come back to the dining room if you want to talk.”
Her feet kept moving, but trepidation twisted her stomach. “Romeo,” she whispered, “this is— It’s so inappropriate.”
She spotted the kitchen and shifted her weight in assumption of their direction at the same time as Romeo shifted his hold on her and the next thing she knew, her back was against a wall in the hallway. The kitchen was to the side, out of reach, and she couldn’t see a thing past Romeo’s broad shoulders as he leaned close.
“Here’s the thing,” Romeo said, his voice dipping into that delightfully rougher tone she remembered from the night before. The tone she really did not need to be thinking about when what might have been her actual boss was walking by. Romeo didn’t blink. “Last night, I implied I would back off today and give you the chance to put your walls up again. To push me away and decide things between us needed to go back to the daytime status quo.”
Grace swallowed hard, her heart thundering in her ears at his choice of words. “You did.”
“I lied.”
Her eyes widened.
Romeo trailed one hand down her side, purposefully rumpling the shirt as he spoke. “My house, my bed, my clothes.” He dipped his hand beneath the shirt and splayed his palm over her side, just above the too-high waist of the pants. “My woman.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
He stroked his thumb along the underside of her boob and bent lower, bringing himself closer. “We can slow down if you need to, but I’m not letting you go.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek on the opposite side of her bruise, then murmured, “That’s what you need to think about, angel.”
Her head spun as a myriad of reactions raced through her. She ought to have been furious at his words, or at least at his too bold behavior, but there was no denying she liked it. She felt flustered and flattered and stupidly giddy, like a teenager whose crush had finally paid attention to them. She blamed that conflicting emotional, psychological response on why she only stared at him as he straightened.
“Now, you sit, I’ll get you some sustenance. Anything in particular sound good?” Romeo slid an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the wall, toward his surprisingly large dining room table.
Where her boss, and his elder brother, sat waiting.
Romeo lowered his lips to her ear. “Don’t make me do something drastic.”
Grace sucked in a breath, her head whipping around. “How was that not drastic?”
He grinned. “She speaks.”
Heat rushed to her face and she averted her gaze. “Coffee, please. Maybe something with eggs if you don’t mind.” An omelet sounded amazing, actually, but she felt bad asking for one after everything he’d already done for her.
Romeo pulled out a chair several seats down from where Dante sat and prompted her to settle into it. “Fried, scrambled, omelet?”
“I’d recommend waiting for Cristiano to get here,” Dante said, looking up from his phone. “He’s always been the better cook.”
“Screw you,” Romeo snapped. “I can make breakfast.”
“That explains why you pay someone else to do it for you.”
Grace felt like a ping pong ball, her gaze bouncing back and forth as they bickered. Which was in itself somewhat unusual, at least for her. It only made her feel more self-conscious. “An omelet would be wonderful, please,” she said quietly.
Romeo shifted and his hand returned to her shoulder briefly. “Coming right up.” He offered her a grin when their gazes met, then stepped away and into his kitchen. Effectively leaving her alone with his brother.
Suddenly Grace felt nauseous again. She didn’t think she’d been this nervous to be in Dante De Salvo’s space when she’d first been lobbying for the assistant promotion.
Dante set his phone on the table. “Romeo says you got out mostly unscathed. Is that bruise the worst of it?”
She wished she’d at least done a better job of blow drying her hair. Romeo had gone through the trouble of setting his out for her and everything, but she’d barely let it touch her hair before rushing out of the room. She was such a mess. And her boss wanted to have a conversation.
Grace steeled herself and dragged her gaze properly up to his. She tried to pretend she was presentable and not wearing oversized men’s clothing that belonged to his brother and business partner. She tried to pretend it hadn’t been made abundantly clear that her relationship with Romeo had slipped beyond the boundaries of the professional. “Yes,” she said. Her hand twitched in an upward direction, but she refrained from poking at her jaw. It did hurt. “I presume that means you … heard what happened?” Not that she honestly felt as though she even understood what had happened, not really.
Dante inclined his head. “I imagine at this point I know more than you do about the events surrounding last night’s incident.”
His calm statement startled her all over again and Grace nearly jumped out of her seat when Romeo set a steaming mug of delicious-smelling coffee down in front of her. She glanced at it, noting that the shade was exactly how she preferred, and then up to him. “Thank you.”
He smiled at her, gave her shoulder another squeeze, and went back to the kitchen. Seconds later, the unmistakable sound of a sizzling pan drifted out.
Grace pulled the coffee closer and took a deep breath of the fragrant aroma. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she finally said, keeping her eyes on her drink, “what do you know?” She thought about asking how, but the simple truth was he was an obscenely wealthy man. Money opened doors and mouths.
Dante drummed his fingers on the table one time before answering. “So far, we’ve learned there were at least eight men involved in last night’s attack, which was without a doubt focused on you. What they intended to do with you, what their motives were, and whether or not there are other players behind the scenes we’ve yet to learn.”
Horror twisted inside her and Grace lifted her cup, taking a slow sip. She closed her eyes in an attempt to focus on the taste of it and not the sound of Dante’s words in her memory. Eight . What could she have done to earn such fury? It was like something out of a movie. She released a slow breath. “I only saw three….”
“There were four more in the hallway outside your apartment,” Dante replied. “Romeo identified seven assailants on-scene, but when my men reviewed the CCTV footage, it very quickly became clear there was an eighth.”
Grace held tighter to her cup, took another, larger, swallow, and lowered it to her lap. Her brow pinched as she looked over at her boss again. “You have access to the security footage?” It was starting to feel like she was missing a significant piece of this puzzle.
“Does the name Filip Tracey mean anything to you?” Dante asked.
Grace frowned. “Filip is the late-night valet,” she said. “He brings my car around in the mornings.” Sean’s urgent phone sprang to mind again, again cutting off with a resounding burst. Grace set the mug back on the table and leaned forward, breathing hard. “Oh, God, they’re dead. They’re both dead, aren’t they? Sean … tried to warn me. He’s the only reason I was even awake. I think I— But if they got to him, then Filip must also be—”
“You’re half right,” Dante said. “The doorman is dead. The footage shows he tried to keep the attack team out. Even once they opened fire, he resisted, but he never had a chance. The fact that he made the effort to call and warn you speaks to his character. Remember him that way, not as some poor hapless victim.”
A lump formed in Grace’s throat. “But it … was my fault.”
“No, angel,” Romeo said as he set a plated omelet directly in front of her. The fluffy, folded eggs bulged with melted cheese, chopped bacon, and just a peek of something green that might have been spinach. He caught her wide-eyed stare. “The men who decided to ambush and assault an unsuspecting, defenseless, innocent woman— those are the assholes responsible. Not you.” Romeo pressed his lips to her forehead, then angled around her and dropped himself into the chair on her left. Leaving just one between himself and his brother.
Just like that, she was flustered again. Her hormones were all out of whack. So Grace lifted the fork from the plate and tried to focus on slicing off one end of the breakfast that had been made for her. Wait. She glanced up again. “You said I was only half right.”
Romeo leaned back and she pictured him stretching out his legs under the table.
Dante inclined his head. “The valet was never in any danger,” he said. “Filip Tracey was the eighth man.”
Grace went numb, the fork clattering to the plate. “What…?”
Dante unlocked his phone, swiped open an app, and slid the phone across the table. “See for yourself.”
Romeo caught the device and moved it up beside her. On the display was a video, waiting to be played, and it only took a moment for Grace to recognize the exterior of her apartment building. Specifically, it was the covered curbside directly in front of the glass paneled entry, where the valet post was stationed.
Her stomach churned at the prospect of the video.
Romeo indicated her food. “You’re not about to watch anyone die. Eat.”
That was far more reassuring than she was comfortable admitting. Grace shoved a bite of her omelet into her mouth, forgetting her manners, and didn’t reach for the phone until she’d swallowed it down. Then, free hand still shaking, she tapped the screen.
The video was soundless. She didn’t know if that was better or worse. Romeo made no attempt to better his viewpoint, and combined with what he’d already told her, she assumed she was the last to see it. That was actually fine.
What she was rapidly becoming less okay with was what she was watching.
She could clearly recognize the overnight valet, Filip. It wasn’t that she’d known him long or overly well. She was just good at remembering people. Forty-year-old Filip Tracey had a thick build that would have been stocky if he were much shorter than his five-foot-eleven and always looked a little awkward in his work uniform. The blond of his short hair didn’t really come through on camera due to the indecent hour and none of his facial details were visible—not the scruff he seemed to never shave or grow out, or the deep brown shade of his eyes, or the faint scar Grace had once noted that slashed through his eyebrow.
She took another bite of her breakfast as the video played, noting the time stamp in the corner and mentally comparing it to the time she’d been awoken by Sean’s call. At three minutes before the call, Filip stepped out from his little heated cubby and gestured agitatedly toward someone who was only then walking into the frame of the camera.
No. Not someone, a group of people. All dressed in black or colors dark enough that the distinction was lost. A couple of them had backpacks slung over a shoulder, and Grace could clearly make out a weapon in one person’s hand.
The foremost newcomer stepped closer to Filip, Filip jabbed him in the chest with a finger as if they were arguing, and the man shrugged in a blatantly casual manner. He then proceeded to hold out his hand as if he were expecting something. Filip shook his head and pointed toward the closed glass doors, then tapped his wrist, the way someone would if they were concerned about time.
The forward man jerked a thumb over his shoulder, turned, and pulled a handgun from his waistband. He waved it at his companions and strode toward the building’s entrance. As the rest of his gang—the rest of the men who’d come to hurt her—started in his wake, Filip zipped up his overcoat and stepped off the curb. Striding promptly away and out of sight of the camera. Abandoning his post, completely unharmed. No one had pointed a gun at him, or even so much as shaken a fist at him.
The video abruptly stopped, jarring Grace back into the moment. She drew a shaky breath as Romeo took the phone and slid it back to his brother.
“Now you see what I mean,” Dante said. “At no point did Tracey indicate surprise or discomfort by their arrival. They let him go, and he made no effort to contact authorities.”
Grace pulled her coffee cup close, if only to keep her hands from trembling. She wanted to argue that she hadn’t seen anything supremely damning, that it wasn’t like they’d hugged in greeting or Filip had handed over a supply of guns, but she heard Dante’s point. If they’d killed Sean, why would they not have shot Filip? Why would they not have at least threatened him? And Filip hadn’t seemed warm and friendly, which to her mind should have increased his odds of getting hurt. “I still don’t understand … why me?”
There were so many wealthy people in that building. So many people who were themselves important or had significant connections. Why had they targeted a single woman living in one of the middle floors?
“You can’t think of anything you’ve done to personally offend this man?” Dante asked, indicating his phone and video she’d just watched.
Grace shook her head. “No. I’m always polite to the building staff, and I tip my valet every day.” He had access to her car, after all. “Filip always seemed a little gruff. He did his job well, never made me uncomfortable, and I once overheard him mentioning to someone that he was ex-military. It was one of those Army vs Navy conversations, I think. But that’s pretty much all I know about him. We never really talked.” She paused and shrugged. “He hadn’t even been there very long. He only started that job in the second week of November, I think.”
Romeo pulled out his phone while she was talking, thumbs moving rapidly over the screen in a quick text. When he was done, he set the device down quietly.
Dante let out a low hum. “Cris hasn’t had a chance yet to have his conversation with the surviving man from last night, but I don’t believe in coincidence. The assailants were Ink Blots, and either Tracey is, too, or he has some other connection we haven’t made yet.”
“Agreed,” Romeo said.
Grace set her empty mug down. “Ink Blots?” Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t that … a gang?”
“You’ve heard of them?” Romeo asked.
She frowned. “I do pay attention to the local news.” When I have the time.
Dante scowled. “Yes, they’re a local gang. A bunch of pissants. And if we’re right that they’re the ones who came for you, then the reason they came for you is sitting at this table.”
Grace scrunched up her lips, took a moment to polish off her breakfast, and slid the plate far enough back so as to rest her arm on the table. Finally, she said, “With all due respect, Mr. De Salvo, I assumed my connection to you was the most likely explanation.” Technically her sister was an attorney, but Cait was only a divorce attorney, and living in a different state and being so disconnected kind of minimized the likelihood of drawing that sort of target.
Romeo chuckled.
A shadow of a smirk tipped Dante’s lips, just for a second. “Reasonable, but it’s not what you’re thinking, Grace. I am the head of a mafia family with reach and allegiances spanning across the country. The Ink Blots made the mistake of picking a fight with me last fall, then disappeared over the winter to lick their wounds. If it was them who came for you, then they’ve obviously decided to announce their return with a fury.”