Chapter Twenty-Three
Garett
Just as Garett was about to ask Torin if he’d like to go horseback riding after work, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his stomach tightening as he saw who sent him a message. Garett frowned, his thumb hovering over the screen as he read the message. Byron Bellucci . The name alone was enough to make his jaw tighten. Torin’s ex. The New York City mafia guy. What the hell was he doing here? And why was he reaching out to Garett?
Byron Bellucci: Meet me in ten minutes at Binxie’s Vittles. I need to talk to you. Urgent.
He didn’t like it. Not one bit. But curiosity got the better of him. Garett needed to know what Byron wanted, why he was in town, and why he thought it was a good idea to contact him.
“Everything okay?” Torin asked, noticing Garett’s expression.
Garett forced a smile, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah. Just ranch business. I need to go to town now,” he said to Torin, then turned to Sam. “I want you two to walk to the guest house together. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Torin and Sam both nodded as Garett grabbed his keys and headed out the door, his mind racing as he drove into town. He already knew what Byron looked like—Dante had given him a folder with all the relevant details and pictures when Torin first arrived at the ranch. Tall, wild brown hair with some highlights, impeccably dressed, with a sharp, calculating gaze. Garett had memorized the face, though he’d never expected to see him in person.
Binxie’s Vittles was the only restaurant in town, the kind of place where Byron might not feel at home in or up to his level of dining. Garett parked his truck and walked inside, his boots echoing on the polished floor. He spotted Byron immediately, sitting at a corner table with a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked exactly like his photo—polished, confident, and entirely out of place in this small town.
Garett walked over to him, his expression neutral but his guard up. He didn’t acknowledge the mafia thug until he was standing right in front of the table, his eyes locked on Byron’s. “You wanted to talk,” he said, his tone flat. “So talk.”
Byron looked up, his lips curling into a faint, almost amused smile. “Garett. I was wondering if you’d show up. Please, sit.”
Garett hesitated for a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down. He placed his worn leather hat gently on the edge of the old wooden table. He didn’t take his eyes off Byron. His posture relaxed, but his instincts were on high alert. “What do you want, Byron?”
Byron took a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving Garett’s. “Straight to the point. I like that. Very…rustic.” He set the cup down, leaning back in his chair. “I know you’re a Dom. And I know Torin is living with you. I’m here to talk about him.”
A vein throbbed in Garett’s temple as he gritted his teeth, but his voice stayed steady and controlled. “Torin’s not your concern anymore.”
Byron’s smile didn’t waver. “Isn’t he? You see, Garett, Torin and I have history. A lot. There are things you don’t know about his past. Things that you wouldn’t know how to handle. And I’m not convinced he’s where he belongs. Dante made it very clear that if I set foot on Carrillo Ranch, he’d kill me. So here I am, in town, reaching out to you instead. I want to know how he is.”
Garett’s hands clenched into fists under the table, but he kept his expression neutral. “Torin’s fine. He’s safe. He’s happy. And he’s not going anywhere with you.”
Byron raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with condescension. “Is that so? Tell me, Garett, do you really think you’re what Torin needs? You’re a ranch hand, a tracker. Torin is…cultured. Sophisticated. He belongs in New York with me. Not here, playing house with an uneducated cowboy who can’t possibly understand him.”
Garett leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “You don’t know a damn thing about what Torin needs. And you don’t get to decide where he belongs. He’s not a possession, Byron. He’s a person. And he’s made his choice.”
Byron’s smile faltered for the first time, his eyes narrowing. “You think you’re good for him? You think you can give him what I did? The art galleries, the plays, the travel? He loved to go clubbing every night. He’s not going to get that with you in this god forsaken dusty town. You can’t give him the life he deserves.”
Garett didn’t flinch. “Torin doesn’t need your money or your criminal lifestyle. He needs someone who respects him, who cares about him, who sees him for who he is. Not someone who tries to mold him into something he’s not.”
Byron’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’re not his type, Garett. You never will be. He’ll get bored with you. And when he does, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
Garett stood, his chair scraping against the floor. “You’re not going anywhere near him. If I find out you’ve contacted him, if you so much as look in his direction, you’ll regret it. And trust me, Byron, you don’t want to find out what happens when you piss me off.”
Byron leaned back, his smile returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Big words from a small-town Dom. But we’ll see, won’t we? Torin and I…we have a connection you can’t break. He’ll come back to me, eventually. It’s only a matter of time.”
Garett didn’t respond. He stood, turned, and walked out of the restaurant, his heart pounding, but his resolve was unwavering. Byron could say whatever he wanted, but Garett knew the truth. Torin wasn’t going anywhere. Not now, not ever. And if Byron thought otherwise, he was in for a rude awakening.
As he climbed into his truck, Garett took a deep breath, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. But he’d protect Torin, no matter what. Byron could try all he wanted, but Garett would not let him take Torin back to a life that almost landed him in prison. Not now. Not ever.