Chapter fourteen
Greyson
Lombardi’s men congregate around him, creating a wall of defense. They drag their boss from the stage leaving Tilly crouched in a ball, completely exposed, with her hands over her head. I weave through the chaos, my eyes only focused on her.
Hunter has his knife drawn; he steps in front of his niece protectively as I reach the stage. More men descend. A quick look comforts me that they all seem to be our own.
“Hunter, we need to go,” Damon says beside me. Our boss glances down but shakes his head. “It’s too open here. We need to get cover.”
“Just find out who fired the shots, McKinney,” Hunter snaps back. “If they wanted to kill me, he would have done it by now. Have the men sweep the whole building, and get the surveillance team onto the camera footage. Find the bastards so I can kill them.”
“Hunter, I think…” He trails off when Hunter starts spinning his knife between his fingers.
“Now is not the time to play cop. Fucking do as you’re told.”
“On it, Boss,” Damon responds, surprising me.
He rarely calls Hunter anything but his name.
Since he now works for him full time, they have more of a friendship than a work relationship.
Damon is genuinely within the inner circle.
Even though I know I’m trusted, I will always be slightly on the outside.
But today, Hunter is pulling rank as the man who pays the wages.
“Greyson, take Tilly to my suite and stay there with her. Don’t let anyone in, unless it’s myself or McKinney.” He throws me his keycard. “She must stay alive; the situation is too volatile for this deal not to happen.”
“Do we know who the enemy is?” I ask, looking for some sort of clarity on the situation. “Who’s on the safe list?”
“No one,” Hunter says with a chuckle. “No man is to be trusted with her safety except you. If she dies, so do you.”
“Come with me, Miss,” I say, holding a hand toward where Tilly is still crouched.
She glances up, and tears stream down her cheeks freely as she shuffles forward.
I take her hand, and she jumps down from the stage.
“Take off your shoes.” She blinks at me, confused.
I kneel and start undoing the straps, slipping each one free from her feet as they’re unbuckled.
Her feet quiver with fear between my palms.
Hunter doesn’t see the intimate interaction; he’s too focused on barking orders at everyone.
The guests have all left, escaping the unexpected danger before anything else could happen.
It strikes me as odd that someone would fire a handful of gunshots, not hit anyone, let the congregation scatter, then disappear themselves.
After taking Tilly’s hand, I guide her through the hotel toward the penthouse where Hunter is residing.
We walk hurriedly but don’t run in an attempt not to divert attention to us.
Our men patrol the corridors looking for the phantom shooter, someone who seems out of place.
I listen to the incessant chatter in my earpiece.
No one has seen anything. It makes no fucking sense.
I lift my hand to turn it off, and the line goes quiet.
“We’ll take the stairs,” I tell Tilly. The last thing we need is either to be stuck in an elevator with an assassin or to open the door to a gun pointing at us.
Her fingers clutch mine as we climb, breaking into a jog.
With my weapon in my free hand, I point it forward in case we come into any danger, but overall, everything seems quiet. Too quiet.
Eventually, we reach the top floor of the hotel.
It opens into a foyer with a single room door marked Penthouse.
Without a word, I swipe the card, and we walk into the most stunning hotel room I’ve ever seen.
The glass vase on the coffee table likely cost more than my whole apartment.
I close the door behind us, sliding the bolt before moving to close the curtains.
Tilly stands in the center of the room, visibly shaken by her ordeal. I collect a white, fluffy bathrobe from the closet and wrap her in it. Then, I hold her to my chest, placing my chin on top of her head.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, trying to settle her. “I’ve got you.”
“But for how long?” She sniffs loudly, and I tighten my arms around her, attempting to keep her fracturing pieces together. “Do you think they were trying to kill me?”
I sigh before responding. I’m as fucking confused as anyone. Nothing makes sense. “I don’t think they were trying to kill anyone.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her face turning upward from my chest to look at me.
“Well, if they wanted to kill you, they could have. They could have killed anyone in that room. Somehow, an unknown person evaded our security team and took a shot at the boss and his family.”
I instinctively kiss her forehead, then immediately regret the gesture.
Shit, this can’t happen again, no matter how I feel.
I can keep her safe, but she isn’t mine to have.
“Heads will roll over this. Your uncle will want a culprit to blame.”
“What do you think happened?”
Taken aback by her question, I pause. I’m used to working in a team where someone else tends to be in charge. Sure, they may ask my opinion, but more often than not I do as I am told, follow instructions, and get the job they want done.
“I think it’s someone on the inside.” She gasps, stunned by my musings.
Her eyes pop wide, and she scans the room as if a threat will jump out from behind a curtain.
“I know how much work went into securing the ballroom for this evening. The systems in place to track attendees and ensure your uncle’s safety are extensive. I don’t believe someone unknown could walk in and fire a gun.”
“Do you think there was a gun?” she asks, and I am startled by her thought process. That hadn’t even crossed my mind. She freezes with my lack of response, and I tighten my grip in comfort.
“What makes you suggest there wasn’t?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” she mutters, annoyed. She steps out of my embrace, and her eyes narrow. “It’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion.”
I hold my hands up to ward off the torrent of words I expect to be thrown at me.
“I wasn’t making fun of you. I’m genuinely interested in your theory. Tell me what you think.”
Her petite frame relaxes when she realizes I’m serious; I want to hear her suggestions.
The expression on her face is somewhere between surprise and gratefulness.
“Tilly, you’re a smart girl. You know how these families and lifestyles work. What do you think is going on?”
She takes a breath before speaking, her breasts encased in silver sparkles rising and falling with the movement.
“Since getting back from Edinburgh, I’ve overheard some things—or been told deliberately, I’m not sure which. Uncle Hunter wanted me to understand the reason for my marriage, I suppose, without explaining directly so I couldn’t argue.”
She rolls her shoulders fractionally. The gesture signals complete defeat.
“The union of the Lombardi and Devane families will be one of the most powerful collaborations in our world. His words, not mine.”
“Go on.”
“But the Russians are unhappy because it will make us collectively more powerful than them. My cousin’s family had contacted my uncle suggesting I marry Rodion instead. They’re angry Hunter would make this arrangement without consulting them.”
“That’s understandable. They’re all addicted to power. None want another to surpass them. But I still don’t understand what’s truly in it for Hunter.”
She sobs a little against my chest, the strong woman I fell for in the Scottish Highlands disappearing before my eyes.
“If I give Domenico the son he desires.”
She looks up, her eyes pleading for a resolution to this fiasco.
“He’ll hand over his men based in London to my uncle. They have agreed to stay in their territories, support each other in conflict, and broker business deals between them as long as I ensure the Lombardi line.”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” I tell her impulsively. The desolation in her tone, combined with the way she describes the life mapped out for her, crushes my soul.
“You can’t stop it,” she wails. “I must, for my family. It’s up to me to protect us all moving forward. Perhaps once I have a son, I can leave. But if I don’t marry him, he will wage war on us.”
I place my finger under her chin and lift her eyes to mine. Tears flow down her cheeks freely as all the fear and pain come to the forefront. I lean down and place a kiss on her lips.
“We both know you would never do that to your child. You, Tilly, are one of the strongest women I know. Even if you are a reckless pain in the ass.”
She smiles, a giggle escaping, unexpected lightness in such a dark situation. “I like that,” she whispers, rising on tiptoe to kiss me. I don’t stop her, even though I should.
“What do you like?” Unable to contain my interest. What she likes is important to me.
“When you call me Tilly. It’s as if you know me. It’s like what we have is real. Whatever it is.”
Her cheeks flush the most stunning shade of pink.
The stress of the previous hour starts to dissipate.
Our only focus is on each other, here and now.
There’s a strange sense of déjà vu from when we were stuck in our little cabin in Scotland.
Under threat, but calmly together, enjoying the bizarre moment.
“In all honesty, Tilly,” I say, “I do know you.”
She lifts her eyebrows mockingly. “There is no way you can get to know me after a few days. It takes time to really know someone.”
“Perhaps,” I agree. “For example, I don’t know your favorite color.”
“Purple,” she says.
“Woah! It's mine, too.” She laughs at my blatant lie. “Or how you like your coffee.”
“Strong and dark, enough to make my heart beat harder.” The edge of her lips turn higher, and my breath catches in my throat. She’s so damn beautiful. “Just like my man.” My man. Her words don’t go unnoticed, but I continue with the conversation, trying not to become distracted.
“Or what you actually want in life. I think that’s the most important question someone who is your friend needs to know.”
“We’re friends?”
“Yes, we’re friends. And friends help each other. I want to help you. What is it you want?”
“Freedom,” she answers instantly. “The right to choose me.”
“Everyone deserves to be free, Miss. That isn’t selfish or unnecessary, it is a basic human right. It’s something I crave too.”
“Really?”
“Yup,” I tell her, before taking a breath and continuing. “There is something else I know…”
“What’s that?”
“I’m lying when I say we’re friends. You are the woman for me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”
We stand grinning maniacally at one another, the tension and craziness of the past few hours melting away. As I lean down to take her lips with mine, a familiar voice resonates through my earpiece.
“Next time you want to have an intimate conversation, Greyson,” Hunter says, the fury in his voice reverberating.
“Take the earpiece out. I can tune in whenever I like, whether you switch them off or not. What the fuck is going on? If you’ve touched my niece, I’ll…”
The line goes dead before he finishes speaking, and I pull the bud from my ear.
Shit, I need to get out of here, but where the fuck to go?
“What is it?” Tilly says, her tone nervous.
“They heard us. All of what we said.”
“Who?” But the realization of what I mean becomes clear on her face as I pull the bud from my ear. “No,” she wails. “No, this can’t be happening. We need to go.”
I look around the room. We’re trapped; there’s no outrunning this.
If we go downstairs, we will either be stopped by our own men or the Russians, who may already be in the building or waiting for us to leave.
The balcony could offer an exit, but it’s only a potential way for me.
The chances of Tilly being able to jump roof to roof are slim.
She starts pacing around the room, her hands in her hair. Panic envelops every fiber of her body; it pulsates from her. Stopping at a tray holding fresh bread, she slides the robe off then picks up a large, serrated knife and starts chopping at her skirt.
“Help me,” she shouts. “I need to be able to run.”
Trying to maintain an air of calm, I walk over and pluck the blade from her fingers, then place it back on the table.
“There’s no outrunning this. They won’t hurt you.”
“But you…they’ll kill you.”
For a moment, I’m overcome by her caring about what happens to me.
Her primary concern is my welfare, not her own.
That is something I am not used to, someone else caring.
“Maybe, but I’ve lived many extra lives I shouldn’t have. I’m just glad I survived this one long enough to meet you. Come on, Tilly, let’s get you home safe.”
I turn toward the door to guide her back downstairs; when it opens, Hunter stands on the other side. I don’t see the knife in his hand until it is lodged in my shoulder. Tilly screams as I reach up and pull it free.
“Not here,” I growl, feeling no pain, running completely on the adrenaline of the situation. “Not in front of her.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he shouts, storming toward me and grabbing his knife from my hand before lifting it to my throat.
“Uncle Hunter,” Tilly shrieks. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s the reason I’m alive.” Hunter's eyes flick in her direction and narrow; his expression darkens further as she returns his glare. It’s eerie how alike they are. Both are dangerous in their own way. “Let him go.”
“Back in your box, little princess. You have one job to do, and it seems like you couldn’t even do that without fucking up. I’m assuming this arsehole has been places only your husband should be.” Her cheeks flame red, and he scowls.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” I snarl, and he presses the tip of his blade into my throat.
It pierces my skin, and I feel the sensation of hot wet blood trickling down my neck.
“Show some respect, she’s your family.” I’ve nothing to lose now, so I’ll fight for her as long as I can.
There’s no way I am surviving tonight, but I’ll die trying to protect her.
“Respect,” he sneers. “For your sake, Tilly, you’ll need to pray Lombardi still wants you. But you, Greyson, you’re a dead man. Neither of you could spell fucking respect. If she wasn’t so lucrative.” He removes the knife for a moment and waves at Tilly. “I would skin the pair of you here and now.”
Damon appears as if from nowhere, his usual calm demeanor in place.
He walks up and taps Hunter on the shoulder, then whispers something in his ear.
All I can make out is not here. But whatever he says, it works, and Hunter releases me.
Damon takes a set of handcuffs from his pocket; he pulls my arms behind my back and secures me roughly.
Pain sears up from my shoulder as the damaged muscle is pulled violently in the wrong direction. I grunt, and Hunter’s fist connects with my jaw.
“Shut the fuck up, or no matter what McKinney says, I’ll castrate you in front of my tart of a niece.”
Damon doesn’t speak. He grabs my hands behind me and pushes me toward the door.
The four of us approach the elevator, and I wonder if the threat has been eradicated.
We all step inside, and Damon presses the button for ground level.
As the cabin descends, I know this will likely be the last time I smell fresh air because wherever they take me, there’s no doubt Hunter Devane has revenge on his mind.
And for the first time, his primary target is me.