Chapter 25
Victor
The cigar smoke hangs heavy over the front booth of the cigar bar, as does the tension that’s been building for days.
Luke leans back against the leather seat, fingers drumming along the top edge.
Matteo stands by the window, phone in hand, texting someone.
Owen’s laptop sits open in front of him with security feeds cycling across the screen.
We’ve been talking for an hour about next steps, with no obvious solution in sight.
There are too many problems with no answers.
“Your father’s men are still at your house?” Luke asks, tapping ash from his cigar.
“Three of them by my count. They won’t leave until he orders it.
” I take a drink of whiskey, letting the burn distract me from the frustration of not being able to fix anything.
“They’re not interfering, just watching.
Reporting back to him. I’ll need to make a few trips over there, so they have something to tell him. ”
Matteo turns from the window. “And you’re sure these men haven’t been compromised by the Russians or another enemy?”
“As sure as I can be. My father might be a manipulative bastard, but his security protocols are solid, and he would only bring his most trusted men on a trip like this.”
Owen’s eyes never leave his screen. “We’re getting responses from families about the summit. So far, the response has been positive. We just need to set a date. Everyone has committed except for Luke’s family.”
“They’ll come,” Luke says with certainty. “Jamie may send a proxy because he doesn’t leave New York unless he has to, but someone will be here.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to read the message. My jaw tightens as I scan the text.
“What is it?” Matteo asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.
“Flowers were just delivered to Grace’s apartment.” I’m already on my feet, texting instructions to the surveillance team. “Purple roses. Like the others.”
Owen looks up now and adjusts the laptop. “You want me to pull security footage?”
“Already on it. I have a team watching the place. One of them is bringing the bouquet here now, and the others are pulling footage. They’ll send it directly to you.” I drain the last of my whiskey and set the glass down harder than necessary. “Let’s go see what Kara sent this time.”
Luke stands, stubbing out his cigar. “Need backup?”
“No. Stay and finish discussing what our next steps would be. Get Hunter involved if you have to.” I turn my attention to Owen.
“I need you for this.”
Owen nods, already packing up his equipment.
Matteo’s expression is skeptical. “Grace knows now. Maybe you want to let her handle this her way?”
“This is her way,” I say, already moving toward the door. “We’re being transparent. She knows about the surveillance. Knows we’re keeping watch for any developments.”
The distinction matters. Grace isn’t being kept in the dark anymore.
After our conversation yesterday, I’ve been careful to include her in every update regarding her stalker.
The surveillance on her apartment was her idea, she predicted more flowers would arrive.
We also told Lili everything, and I have to admit it feels good to have everything out in the open.
Owen falls into step beside me as we exit Havana’s through the back door.
The small shopping center that houses both the cigar bar and The High Card sits quiet in the midday heat.
Security cameras track our movement across the lot, with additional cameras having been installed since the threats we’ve been facing began.
“Carter says your guy is two minutes out,” Owen says, holding up his phone. “Meeting him at the service entrance in the kitchen.”
I nod, scanning the parking lot for any sign that we are being watched. Part of me expects my father to have his men follow me, but my own camera system at my house shows they haven’t left.
“What do you think she’s playing at?” I ask. “Why the flowers and cryptic letters? Do you think she knows we’ve identified her?”
“Psychological warfare, mate,” Owen replies. “She wants Grace off-balance. Wants her to know she’s being watched.”
The thought sends a fresh wave of anger through me. I’ve seen what this kind of stalking can do to the victim. The constant looking over one’s shoulder. The jumping at shadows. Grace won’t live like that. Not as long as I’m alive.
A black SUV pulls into the service bay behind The High Card, and a member of the security team exits the driver’s side and lifts the bouquet of roses from the passenger seat.
“Watched a delivery guy drop them right outside her door. It was a courier service. Already sent the info to Owen’s tablet.”
The man hands me a small evidence bag. “I used gloves to bag the card, but I doubt Kara or anyone working for her touched it.”
The bouquet is identical to the previous ones. Twelve purple roses, expertly arranged in an expensive vase. Inside the evidence bag is a white envelope, unsealed. I don’t open it yet, eager to get back inside.
“Good work. Stay on the apartment and let me know if anything else unusual happens. At some point, Kara will try to confront Grace again.”
The guard nods and gets back in the SUV, pulling away as Owen and I head back through the kitchen and into the club.
In Owen’s office, I place the bouquet on a table and carefully open the envelope. One card, just like the others. This time with the letter Y.
Owen photographs the card and then displays the images from previous deliveries on his monitor. Five bouquets in all BTRLY.
“Doesn’t spell anything obvious,” he says, arranging the images on the screen. “No vowels unless you count Y.”
I stare at the letters, trying to see a pattern. “Could be an anagram. Or they’re meant to be arranged in a specific order. Or there are more bouquets coming. But if she knows we’re here and is escalating to bomb threats… something isn’t right.”
Owen is already typing, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
“I’m running the courier service along with a few other searches to see what I can find.
Most of these services use third-party apps that hire gig workers.
It could be she wanted a specific person to deliver them, but that’s a long shot.
I study the flowers while he works. The same florist as before, judging by the arrangement style and ribbon. High-end, but not unique enough to easily trace.
I pull out my phone. “I need to tell Grace.”
Owen gestures to the flowers. “Tell her to come here. She should see all of this together. Could be she’ll recognize something in the message we’re missing.”
He’s right. Grace has insight into Kara that we don’t.
“Got her. Can’t hide from me forever crazy Kara,” Owen mutters.
I peer over his shoulder and try to read what’s on his screen, but it’s all gibberish to me. “What did you find?”
“We found a property with Kara’s name on the rental agreement the other day, but that doesn’t prove anything. But I just linked an online order from a florist shop that used this courier service to her address. It’s finally something tangible.”
I nod and head for the door. “Not enough for police action yet, but it’s something.”
“Keep digging,” I tell Owen. I want everything we can find on this woman. Especially any links to Griffin Price.
I slip the phone back in my pocket and open the door. “I’m going to find her myself.”
When I find Grace, she’s in the kitchen with Lili and Tyson Vance, helping prep lunch for everyone locked down in the club. Grace is clearly there for moral support, but Lili’s hands are covered in flour, a streak across her cheek as she kneads dough with more force than necessary.
Grace looks up when I enter, her expression immediately shifting as she reads my face. “What happened?”
“Another delivery,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “To your apartment. We have it in Owen’s office.”
Lili pauses kneading and wipes her hands on a nearby towel and moves to follow Grace, but I stop her. “Stay here, help Tyson, Spitfire. I need to talk to Grace alone.”
She nods and returns to the dough, no questions asked.
Tyson gives me a nod of his own, silently offering to keep Lili occupied. One of the many reasons I trust him and value his contribution to the club.
“More flowers?” Grace asks, squeezing Lili’s shoulder as she squeezes past the prep counter to join me.
“Same as before. Purple roses.”
Her jaw tightens. “And a card?”
“A letter Y this time.”
We walk through the club without stopping to talk to anyone. Grace’s shoulders are straight, her steps purposeful. No visible fear, just pissed-off determination. I fucking love how strong she is.
“Owen traced the delivery,” I tell her as we approach his office. “It’s definitely Kara. The IP address for the online order came from a house in Henderson, and her name is on the rental agreement. We have digital proof now.”
Grace nods once. “Good. That’s… good.” Her voice doesn’t match her words. Confirmation has to be painful in its own way. I squeeze her hand and press a kiss to her cheek.
“We’re going to end this soon, butterfly.”
Owen’s door is locked, so I knock and wait for Owen to answer.
He’s sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, typing furiously.
“This little bitch is something else. Turns out Sampson was trying to file for divorce, and she was raking him over the coals in court. Claimed he cheated on her with Grace years ago, and that started the decline of their relationship.”
Grace visibly recoils at that, and I wrap an arm around her to keep her steady.
“She’s fucking delusional,” Grace whispers against my shoulder.
“Clearly,” Owen snorts. “I’m glad you got out of there while you could, Gracie… Grace. Sorry, I’m trying.”
Grace gives him a small smile. “I appreciate the effort, Master Owen. What do you need me to look at?”
He switches the monitor on the wall behind him and turns in his chair to face it. “These are the letters you’ve received so far. Do they mean anything to you?”
Grace studies them, silence hanging heavy with tension as we wait for her to speak.