Chapter 11
JACKSON
M y phone vibrated in my pocket just as I exited the elevator and entered the lobby, planning to wait for Elena. I checked the phone screen quickly. It was Eddie, the man I'd sent out to deal with Trent Simpson since I had my hands full here.
"Graves," I said, keeping my voice low. "What've you got?"
"Not good news," Eddie replied. "That PI, Simpson? He's disappeared. Office cleaned out, phone disconnected. My guys are still looking, but so far nothing."
I nodded as I caught the gaze of the receptionist, who was always a little too friendly with me, but I kept my expression neutral. "Keep at it. I need to know why he was working with her and looking into the family."
"Will do. We'll get to the bottom of it."
I ended the call and immediately dialed Roman as I moved to lean against the vacant end of the reception desk. The receptionist, Lucy, was too busy chatting with another worker now to bother me.
"Jackson," Roman answered on the first ring. "Report."
"Simpson's gone dark," I said quietly as I watched two workers exit the elevator and head home for the day. Elena would be coming down in a few minutes as well. "Eddie's still looking."
"Fuck," Roman muttered. "Anything else?"
"She was looking into old financial records today. Nothing to do with her current work. Took screenshots and emailed them to herself. I would've alerted you sooner, but i know you were dealing with that little fiasco at the port. Besides, she's without a car and I have my eye on her."
"Right, thank you. Was a bit of a mess but we got it sorted. What records specifically?" Roman sounded worn from his efforts today but still bothered by my report.
"Files from twelve years ago. March through July. Payments to a company called Pristine Solutions."
The line went silent. Too silent.
"Roman?"
"I'll call you back," he said finally, his voice tight.
"I'm supposed to give her a lift home in five minutes."
"Do that," Roman ordered. "Keep her in your sights. Don't let her know we're onto her."
The call ended, and a cold weight settled in my stomach. Roman's reaction confirmed what I'd suspected—those records meant something. Something significant.
I pulled up my security app and watched Elena through the security feed as she stepped into the elevator, noting how she kept her head down, shoulders tense.
Something was off. Her body language had shifted dramatically since this morning—since I'd found her hunched over in her car, panicking in the parking lot.
She'd been acting strange all day. Jumpy. Distracted. And I'd been watching her like a hawk after learning about her PI.
Just who was she? All our digging hadn't revealed much of anything about her, nothing to tie her to any rival families or anything.
Nothing to give us an idea of who she could be working for.
But if she was working alone of her own accord to bring the Donati family down, she wasn't very good at it.
Which made me less inclined to believe she was working with someone as well, because they'd warn her of all the possible things to look out for.
Cameras, recording devices, the lot of it.
She'd not searched her office for a camera or anything.
Who are you, Elena Peters? And what do you want here?
She was digging for something, but for who? Herself? Why?
I hated not having the answers. But Roman knew something, and I'd find out soon enough.
The elevator doors opened, and there she was, stepping into the lobby. I pushed off from the reception desk where I'd been waiting, forcing my expression to remain neutral despite my irritation. Whatever game she was playing, I wasn't about to let her know I was onto her.
"Ready?" I asked.
She nodded without speaking. Another red flag.
"Your car's been towed to the company mechanic," I explained as we walked to the parking garage. "They're looking at it now, but I'll take you home. It could take a few days, sometimes it can be done quicker if it's a small fix."
"I can't afford a repair bill right now," she admitted, her voice small.
"Don't worry about it. I'm happy to give you lifts for now. We'll deal with the bill when it comes, I'm sure the company can assist, since you need transport to get to and from work."
"I can't ask you to do that," she protested.
I opened the passenger door for her, offering a hint of a smile that I didn't feel. "I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for Macey. She'd never forgive me if I let her new favorite understudy get stranded."
She sighed and slid into the seat without further argument.
As I walked around to the driver's side, I clenched my jaw.
Elena Peters had me twisted in knots, and I fucking hated it.
I'd spent my entire career reading people, anticipating threats, staying one step ahead.
But with her, my instincts were all over the place.
One minute I was suspicious, the next I was concerned.
One minute I wanted to interrogate her, the next I wanted to protect her.
She was messing with me without even trying, and I hated it.
I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, stealing a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She had her eyes closed, a crease between her brows. Whatever was eating at her seemed genuine.
But so did a lot of things that weren't in my life. She could just be really good at pretending.
The drive was silent for the first few minutes.
I kept my focus on the road, but my mind was replaying what I'd seen on the security feed earlier, of her searching those records and screenshotting them, sending them to herself.
I'd already gotten my cyber team onto her email in order to wipe away that evidence by corrupting the files.
Elena was staring out the window now, lost in her own thoughts. What was she after? What did those records mean to her?
"Have you ever lost people you loved?" she asked suddenly, her voice so soft I almost missed it. Before I could answer, she shook her head. "Sorry, you obviously have, given your history, I imagine."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. "I didn't have actual blood family. Not really. But I have lost people I loved. It's a part of life ultimately."
She looked at me, her expression pained, and something tightened in my chest.
If she was acting all this time, then she deserved a damn oscar. It was making me doubt if I was right in thinking she was playing me, but all of this was hard to figure out.
"My parents weren't good people," I continued.
Gaining her trust could mean she'd open up to me, tell me everything I needed to know before I had to force it out of her.
If it came to that. Besides, it's not like a background check on me wouldn't reveal these details.
"Abusive. I cut them out when I joined the military.
But I found people who became like family. And yeah, I lost them."
The memories flooded back—the smell of burning flesh, the screams, the weight of a child's body in my arms as the life drained out of them. I pushed them away, focusing on the road ahead.
"How did you survive it?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.
I glanced over at her. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. Despite everything—the suspicion, the confusion, the irritation—something in me softened at the sight of her pain. It seemed too raw to be an act.
"I focus on the people I can still help," I said. "On finding a new purpose. Sometimes it's just about surviving each day."
"Surviving isn't exactly living."
"No, it's not," I agreed. "But it beats the alternative. Besides, we can still serve others while we rebuild ourselves."
She turned away, staring out the window. "I'm not ready to endure and survive. I don't know how I can do it."
The vulnerability in her voice cut through my defenses. Whatever she was hiding, whatever game she was playing, her pain was real. I'd seen enough grief to recognize the genuine article.
We pulled up to her apartment building, and I killed the engine. Without asking, I got out and walked her to her door. She fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling slightly. I could see she was fighting tears the whole way.
This was a woman truly hurting, a woman who was trying to hold it together. Even if she was digging, I couldn't ignore her pain as much as I wanted to.
It wasn't in my nature.
"Thank you," she said as she opened her door and stepped inside.
Before she could close it, I heard the first sob break free. The sound hit me harder than I would have thought. She tried to muffle it, but it was too late.
Against my better judgment, I followed her inside, closing the door behind me. She stood in the middle of her living room, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"Elena."
She turned, her face wet with tears, and something in me broke. I crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into my arms. She stiffened for a moment, then collapsed against me, her fingers clutching at my shirt as she cried.
I had no words to reassure her. Whatever was tearing her apart wasn't something I could fix with words. So I just held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other firm around her waist.
When she lifted her face to mine, her eyes red-rimmed and desperate, I knew what was coming. I should have stopped it. Should have pulled away. But when her lips found mine, I was lost.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, a plea for distraction. Her hands moved to the buttons of my shirt, fingers shaking but determined.
"Please," she whispered against my mouth. "Make me forget. Just for a little while."
A warning bell sounded in the back of my mind. She could be playing me. This could be part of whatever game she was running. But as she pressed her body against mine, all rational thought fled.
It felt too real, too genuine, and even if it was, I'd beat her at her own game.