Chapter 22 Ravenswood’s Mercy
RAVENSWOOD’S MERCY
DOMINIC
Ifound Troy in the east wing. Three in the morning. The hour when Ravenswood went quiet and men like us stopped pretending sleep was an option.
He was cleaning weapons. Methodical. Precise.
“Can't sleep either?” I asked.
“Sleep's for people who don't have problems.” Troy didn't look up. “You here for conversation or company?”
“Advice.” The word tasted strange. I didn't ask for advice. Didn't admit when situations exceeded my capacity to handle them. But Cal had shattered every rule I'd built about self-sufficiency.
Troy set down the gun he'd been working on and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Talk.”
I sat and stared at my hands. I tried to find words for the thing eating me from the inside out.
“I don't know what to do with him,” I said finally. “With Cal. He makes me feel reckless. Like I'd burn the world down if it meant keeping him safe. And that terrifies me because I've spent years being the person who doesn't get reckless. Who stays controlled.”
“You're in love with him.” Troy said it like observation. Like fact. “That's what love does. Makes you reckless. Makes you stupid. Makes you care more about one person than your own survival.”
“I can't afford to be that person. Not in this world. Not with what we do.”
“Then you've got a choice. Walk away. Or accept that loving someone means occasional stupidity in service of keeping them breathing.” Troy picked up another gun.
Started the disassembly process. “But here's the thing nobody tells you: you don't have to forgive him to understand him.
And you don't have to trust him completely to decide he's yours to protect.”
“He fed information to Harrow's people.” The words came out flat. “About Ravenswood. About security protocols. He made a trade to save someone and put all of us at risk.”
Troy's hands stilled. “Did he know it would compromise us?”
“He thought he was being clever. Giving partial information. Incomplete details. But he couldn't have known for certain it wouldn't be enough for them to piece together vulnerabilities.”
“So he gambled with our safety for someone else's life.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're angry because he didn't trust you enough to help him find a better solution.” Troy looked at me directly. “Or because he proved he's exactly as damaged and self-destructive as you feared.”
Both. Neither. The truth was more complicated than either option allowed.
“I don't know if I can do this,” I admitted. “Be with someone who operates like partnership is optional. Who makes unilateral decisions that affect everyone and then acts surprised when people are hurt by it.”
“Then don't.” Troy's voice was matter-of-fact. “Walk away. Find someone less complicated. Someone who doesn't come with trauma and death wish and photographic memory full of horrors.”
“I can't.”
“Then you've answered your own question.” He returned to cleaning.
“You protect him. You try to teach him better habits.
And you prepare yourself for the reality that he might never learn.
That loving him means constant vigilance because he'll keep trying to martyr himself until either he succeeds or you break.”
“That's bleak.”
“That's honest. Which is what you came here for.” Troy glanced up.
“But here's the other side: men like Cal don't let people in easily.
If he's let you past his walls, if he's shown you the soft parts underneath all that bullshit, that means something. Means you matter enough to terrify him. And terrified people do stupid things.”
“Like trading Ravenswood's security for a broker.”
“Like that, yes.” Troy set down the gun. Leaned back. “You taking it to Adrian?”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“He was calmer than expected. Said maybe Cal had a reason. Said we'd adjust protocols and prepare for potential breach.” I pulled my hand through my hair. “Then he said if it goes sideways, Cal's head is on the table. Not emotional. Not dramatic. Just policy.”
Troy nodded slowly. “Adrian thinks like a king. Not a lover. He'll protect Ravenswood first. Always. If Cal becomes liability that threatens the household, Adrian will remove him.”
“I know.”
“And you're sitting here instead of with Cal because you're trying to decide which side you're on when that moment comes.”
The words landed exactly where they were supposed to. In the place I'd been avoiding looking at directly.
“I can't choose between them,” I said. “Ravenswood is home. Adrian gave me purpose when I had nothing. Viktor, Noah, Luka—they're family. But Cal—”
“Is the person you'd burn it all down for.” Troy finished. “Yeah. I know that feeling. And I know how it tears you apart when those loyalties conflict.”
“What did you do? When you had to choose?”
“I chose the person.” His expression went distant. “And I've been living with the consequences ever since. But I'd make the same choice again. Because some people are worth the cost.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Just two men carrying weights that didn't have good solutions.
“Thank you,” I said finally. “For the advice. For the honesty.”
“Don't thank me yet. You haven't made your choice.” Troy's mouth curved slightly. “But when you do, commit fully. Half measures get people killed.”
I left him there. Walked through Ravenswood's corridors with his words echoing in my head. You don't have to trust him to decide he's yours to protect.
The problem was I didn't trust the world around Cal either. Didn't trust that he'd see danger coming. Didn't trust that he'd ask for help before walking into traps.
Which meant I had to be the one watching. The one prepared to intervene when Cal's self-destructive tendencies inevitably led him somewhere deadly.
I grabbed my jacket. My phone. Checked the tracker I'd put on Cal's car two weeks ago during a moment of paranoia that suddenly felt justified.
He was moving. Three in the morning. Heading east toward Shoreditch.
Not Ravenswood. Not his flat. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere that felt wrong the moment I saw the location.
I followed.
The building was old warehouse converted to office space. Legitimate businesses on lower floors. But the top two floors showed no lights. No activity. Just empty space perfect for meetings that required privacy.
Cal's car was parked three streets over. Hidden. He'd walked the rest of the way.
I parked further back. Approached on foot. Scanning for threats. For watchers. For the signs that suggested ambush instead of meeting.
The street was too quiet. No foot traffic despite pubs being nearby. No cars moving through. Like someone had cleared the area deliberately.
Wrong. Everything about this was wrong.
I circled the building. Found Cal entering through a side door. Moving with confidence that suggested he thought he was in control. That he'd planned for contingencies.
I found an entrance two doors down. Service access. Unlocked because someone wanted easy egress. I moved through corridors that smelled like dust and old machinery. Following the sounds of voices.
Cal's voice. “I'm here. Alone. Like you asked. So tell me about Lily. Tell me who Harrow was protecting.”
Another voice. Older. Amused. “You're very trusting for an investigator. Walking into buildings without backup. Without weapons. Without any guarantee you're walking out.”
“I have guarantees. I have insurance. People know where I am. If I don't check in, they come looking.”
“Do they? Or did you tell them you were handling this alone? Like you always do?”
Silence.
I moved closer. Found a position where I could see without being seen. Four men with Cal. Professionals. Armed. Positioned in ways that covered all exits.
This wasn't interrogation. This was execution.
Cal saw it too. His posture changed. Went from investigator to survivor in a heartbeat. “This is a mistake. Killing me doesn't solve your problem. It makes it worse.”
“Killing you solves several problems actually.” The older man—Harrow's fixer from the surveillance photos—moved closer. “You've been persistent. Expensive. Harrow's tired of managing you. So we're removing you from the equation.”
“Harrow knows I've documented everything. Shared it with multiple sources. Kill me and it all goes public.”
“Bluff. You're too paranoid to trust anyone with your evidence. Too convinced you're the only one competent enough to see this through.” The fixer smiled. “You're predictable, Mercer. That's your fatal flaw.”
The first attacker moved. Cal blocked. Countered with technique that was textbook perfect. But four against one with no weapons meant inevitable outcome.
I moved before conscious thought. Grabbed the nearest attacker from behind. Arm around his throat. Squeezed until vertebrae cracked and he went limp. Dropped him. Engaged the second before anyone could process what was happening.
My fist caught his temple. He staggered. I followed with knee to solar plexus that folded him. Grabbed his gun as he fell. Put two rounds into the third attacker's chest before he could raise his own weapon.
The fourth attacker—the fixer—dove for cover. Fired blindly. Bullets sparked off metal machinery. I used the chaos. Grabbed Cal. Pulled him toward the exit.
“Dom—what the fuck—”
“Run. Now. Argue later.”
We ran. Down corridors that became maze. Behind us, footsteps. More than four. Reinforcements.
This had been coordinated. Harrow had planned for Cal's arrival. Had prepared extraction team. Had set the trap knowing Cal would walk into it because Cal couldn't resist bait that promised answers about cases he couldn't let go.
An attacker appeared ahead. I didn't slow. Just lowered my shoulder and drove through him like he was training dummy. His ribs cracked on impact. He went down screaming.
Cal kept pace beside me. His breathing hard but controlled. Mind already working through exits and contingencies despite adrenaline.
“Service stairs,” he said. “Left corridor. Leads to basement exit.”