Chapter 4
Raw it's something worth protecting behind layers and layers of security.
I lean back in my desk chair, studying the lines of code scrolling past, and hit enter. For three weeks, I've been chasing this digital ghost, ever since I started digging into Anton's business here.
But the Basovs are phantoms online, with no social media, no public records...nothing. Their servers are impenetrable.
Their property holdings are buried under shell companies that lead to more shell companies.
Smart. Frustrating, but smart.
My laptop chimes softly. Another failed attempt.
"Damn it."
The Chicago overcast skies hit my bedroom window, matching my luck perfectly.
I minimize the encrypted files and launch another brute force attack, letting it run in the background while I pull up my secondary browser.
Morrison's court records paint a different picture entirely, revealing case after case where he ruled in favor of Quinn interests.
Construction permits approved despite environmental concerns.
Zoning variances that shouldn't have passed.
A manslaughter charge against one of Dad's associates that mysteriously got reduced to involuntary vehicular homicide.
The Basovs appear less frequently, but when they do, Morrison's rulings follow the same pattern. Evidence suppressed. Charges dismissed on technicalities. Search warrants denied.
This looks like standard corruption. Nothing groundbreaking about a bought judge doing favors for the families that own him.
Still, something about HeartSync nags at me. The amounts are too large, too regular. Whatever service Morrison's purchasing, it's not your typical judicial bribery.
My laptop chimes.
Success!
Not complete access, but deeper than I've gotten before. My pulse quickens as new directories populate on my screen.
I'm close. So damn close I can taste it.
A sharp knock at my door startles me.
"Fee? Sweetheart, are you ready?"
I glance at the time on my screen. Shit. Our dress shopping appointment is starting in twenty minutes.
"Coming, Mom!"
I quickly save my progress and encrypt the files. The HeartSync servers will have to wait. Another knock, more insistent this time.
The wedding comes first. But after the wedding, I'm going back to cracking HeartSync wide open.
Present day…
My quest to understand this man sent me down rabbit holes of encrypted servers and shadowy transactions, Morrison, HeartSync, digital ghosts that led everywhere except back to Anton. And now here he is, finally giving me the answers I've been searching for.
I stare at Anton's hand covering mine, feeling the warmth of his skin against my knuckles.
Anton's phone vibrates. He looks down at the table where his phone is. Then his eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that reaches somewhere deep inside my chest. No words, no touch, just that look that strips away everything.
The phone vibrates again. He takes my hand from his chest, kisses it, and releases it. Then reaches for the phone.
"Connor Quinn," he says, answering with professional formality that's such a contrast to the heat still simmering in his eyes.
"Yes, sir. Fee is safe. She required six stitches for a foot laceration, but she's otherwise unharmed."
I watch Anton's face shift into business mode, though his free hand stays on mine.
"I understand your concern, but we don't have complete intelligence on today's events yet." Anton's voice remains respectful but firm. "The nature of the attack and potential ongoing threats haven't been fully assessed."
Dad wants me to go to Providence with Moira.
"You have my word, sir. Fee's safety is my priority." Anton's eyes find mine again, something protective and possessive flickering there. "Yes, sir. She's right here."
Anton extends the phone toward me. "Your father wants to speak with you."
I take the phone, feeling the weight of inevitability settle over me.
"Hi, Dad."
"Jesus, Fee. How bad is it?" His voice carries that particular strain reserved for moments when his daughter's blood has been spilled because of family business.
"I'm fine. Anton took care of everything."
"Lorenzo's expecting you tonight," Dad continues. "Moira's excited to see you, and Providence is more secure than anything we can offer in Chicago right now."
"Dad, I'm worried about leading whoever did this straight to Moira. She's pregnant. What if—"
Dad sighs. "Sweetheart, Lorenzo has forty armed men on his property at any given time. Motion sensors, thermal imaging, the works. A fucking army couldn't get close to that estate without him knowing about it three miles out."
The clinical way he describes the security measures should be reassuring. Instead, it reminds me how dangerous our world really is, that my sister needs an army to protect her. And now, so do I.
"Lorenzo's expecting you," Dad says. "So you need to leave soon."
"I understand," I say, though understanding and accepting are two very different things.
But what choice do any of us really have?
The line goes dead. I hand the phone back to Anton, who pockets it without taking his eyes off my face.
"You don't like the Providence plan," I tell him with certainty.
"No." His answer is immediate, honest. "I don't."
"Why?"
Anton's hands clench at his sides, and for a moment, the careful control he maintains cracks slightly.
"Different territory, different rules, different chain of command." His eyes hold mine. "I'll be a guest in Lorenzo's house, following his security protocols, trusting his people with your life."
"You don't trust them?"
"I don't trust anyone else with you. But I told your father I would take you to Providence, and I will. I'm a man of my word."
The doubt that's been eating at me since last night sharpens into something cold and clear. This is Anton's pattern, beautiful words followed by swift retreats.
Ask me to dinner, then tell me he overstepped. Promise to keep me close, then arrange my exile to Providence.
I lean back against the medical table, studying Anton's face with new intensity.
"You're a man of your word? Because about an hour ago, you said I'd stay with you until you kill whoever's behind this. So which promise are you keeping? The one you made to me, or the one you just made to my father?"
Anton goes completely still, that predatory focus he wears in dangerous moments settling over him like armor.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if I've pushed too far. This is the man who systematically executed five gunmen in an alley without breaking a sweat, the Basov enforcer who makes problems disappear.
"You're absolutely right. I did promise you that, and to keep that promise, I first must follow through with your father. Ready to leave?"
I suppose I have, again, no choice in the matter. I nod. "Yes."
Anton slides one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me from the medical table like I weigh nothing at all.
His face hovers just inches from mine, close enough that if I tilted my chin up slightly, our lips would meet. Close enough that I can see the way his pupils dilate slightly as he looks down at me.
But he doesn't kiss me. Instead, there's something gentle, almost teasing in his restraint. This is so different from the aggressive dominance other men in this life throw around. Anton is infuriatingly confusing and attractive, and I hate that I can't stop thinking about it.
"Comfortable?" His voice rumbles against my ear as he adjusts his grip.
"Getting there." I loop my arm around his neck. He is all rock-solid warm muscle.
We move toward the elevator, and the mundane act of pressing the button becomes something completely different when I'm cradled against Anton's chest. He adjusts his hold, supporting me with one arm while reaching out to hit the call button with the other.
"I'm sure you know everything there's to know about me, but you are a closed and very securely stored book."
"Was that a question?" Anton asks.
"No, it was a statement."
"You're right. I do know pretty much everything about you, Fee."
"What kind of a man does that make you?"
We step inside. He considers my question, then tilts his head with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you have an idea?"
Here we are, psychoanalyzing each other again. His eyes search my face like he's reading a classified file, while I study the way his jaw shifts when he's thinking.
"That isn't fair, turning the question around." The elevator starts its descent, and I find myself studying the way the soft lighting catches the gray in his eyes. "But okay, I'll entertain you."
I trace the strong line of his jaw with my gaze, noting the slight stubble that's appeared since last night.
"You're introverted. People probably mistake that for being grumpy, though maybe you are a little grumpy too." A smile tugs at my lips. "I've seen you really smile maybe three times. Once at the wedding last night."
The elevator reaches the garage with a soft ding. Anton steps out, still carrying me.