Chapter Six
Inna Grace
Getting caught meant I no longer had the luxury of disappearing. If he found us once, he would find us again, and next time he probably wouldn’t bother with a phone call. So I showed up.
At first, I thought about leaving Cole behind and going alone. It sounded safer in theory. But leaving him in that apartment felt like setting a bait and hoping nothing came for it. So Cole came with me.
The stranger’s briefcase no longer held what I stole. A chunk of it was already gone, swallowed by rent, food, and survival. I carried the rest along with a promise I wasn’t sure he would buy. I planned to tell him I’d pay the difference in installments, like people who still had options.
By the time we arrived, night had crept in. The beach restaurant wasn’t busy. The air carried salt and dampness, mixing with the smell of grilled fish. Waves rolled in intervals, a quiet reminder that the world outside this moment kept moving.
My steps slowed at the entrance as I took it in.
The stretch of empty tables and neatly arranged chairs looked like they were waiting for a crowd that never came.
Near the back, an old man sat alone, busy clearing a glass of drink in front of him.
He didn’t look up, but I still wondered if he was the one I was to meet.
I crouched and adjusted Cole’s hoodie, pulling it forward just enough to shadow his face. My fingers lingered a second longer, grounding myself before I straightened.
We walked toward an empty table, my eyes flicking once more to the man at the back. If he were the one, he wouldn’t need help to recognize me. A man who could find where we lived would already have every detail, including my face.
We sat at the table, though hesitation slipped through. My gaze moved over everything at once—the doors and the windows. I read the room the way people learned when they didn’t feel safe, and I felt exposed seated by the window.
“Let’s sit there.” I reached for Cole and guided him to another table tucked further inside, away from the glass window.
We sat again, but I remained alert.
“Guess what?” Cole’s voice cut through the noise in my head. I looked at him and nodded for him to go on.
“I had this dream that you and I were in a nice place. Somewhere we could do anything we wanted.”
I let out a quiet scoff. “I hate nice dreams. They never end well.”
He groaned. “Your theory about dreams is wrong. Every time something good is about to happen, I dream about it first.”
The restaurant bell jingled before I could respond, and my heart jumped. I turned towards the door. A man walked in, laughing easily, a woman close behind him. They took a table, and the tension in my chest eased on realizing it was not him.
Just as I believed we had a few quiet minutes, the door opened again. A man in a black suit, tailored close enough to show the work beneath it, walked in. He carried himself as if he owned the space, with no need to prove it. Every step was measured.
His eyes found me, then flicked to Cole. He didn’t look anywhere else. He walked straight to our table, and the closer he got, the louder my pulse became.
It was him.
He stopped in front of us. “Inna Grace.”
Hearing him say my name sent a shiver down my spine. He stood there like the answer didn’t matter. He already knew.
“Yes,” I managed, my voice thinner than I liked.
“Come with me.”
“Sorry?” I asked.
His eyes dropped to Cole, taking him in without curiosity, just acknowledgment, before returning to me. “Follow me.” He turned and walked toward the exit without another word.
I didn’t move.
I watched him leave, every instinct in me screaming not to follow. He reached the door, paused, and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw we were still seated, his expression shifted, like he wasn’t used to being ignored.
He came back, this time with less patience in his stride. The calm was still there, but it had hardened, stripped of whatever courtesy he had given me before.
“You’re supposed to follow me.” His voice dropped, colder now, the edge no longer hidden.
Beside me, Cole shifted. “Inna… who is he?”
“No one. Don’t worry,” I said to Cole, keeping my voice calm even as my pulse refused to cooperate. I lifted my gaze back to the man standing over us. “You said we were supposed to meet here.”
A faint line formed between his brows. “The boss is waiting outside.”
The boss?
Wasn’t he the one?
My eyes lingered on him a moment longer, taking him in properly.
If he was just the messenger, the man he answered to had to be something else entirely.
This one already radiated trouble shaped into a human being.
A man who could track you down without you noticing, stand outside your window, and tell you to shut it like it was a favor. And you would, without thinking.
And now there was someone above him.
Great. Just great.
“Did he lose his legs?” The question came out carelessly in a way that had no business matching the situation.
He was surprised. “I’m sorry?”
“I mean,” I said, lifting my phone off the table and tilting it toward him, “can’t he walk in here himself? The message clearly says we should meet here at seven.” I held his gaze, letting the words hang. “He is actually ten minutes late.”
Silence settled for a moment.
“Let me get this straight.” He pulled out the chair across from us and sat. “So you’re not coming with me.”
If they told me to kneel, I would kneel without a second thought.
If they told me to jump, I’d probably ask how high on my way up.
I had stolen the money, and I knew exactly what that meant.
Guilt with evidence wasn’t something you argued away.
It was something you survived if luck was on your side.
But stepping outside into the dark, where no one would see or hear, that was my line. I could already picture them dragging us to the ocean to kill us, with Cole’s terrified voice calling me for help. So no. Not outside.
He studied me a moment longer, then exhaled and pushed back his chair. “Very well.” He straightened his suit. “I’ll let him know.”
“Thank you.”
I watched him go, aware I might regret my choice in the next five minutes. But if anything happened here, there were witnesses and a room that would remember.
The door closed behind him, and the space he left felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were waiting too.
“Are you sure we’re meeting the person who will help us find Dad?” Cole asked, his brows knitting together.
I had lied to him.
“No,” I said, correcting him. “I told you we’re meeting a man who might help us find Dad.”
“That’s what I asked.” He shrugged. The room shifted before I could open my mouth and say anything that would make this feel less heavy.
It started small. A waiter froze mid-step, a tray poised too long in his hands.
Conversations thinned into whispers. The servers by the counter stopped pretending to work, their eyes fixed on the entrance.
Even the couple who had arrived earlier fell silent, as if someone had turned the volume down on the world.
My eyes followed and met the man walking in.
He wasn’t wearing a suit that would draw attention. He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. The fabric stretched slightly over a body built with purpose. His movement wasn’t for show or admiration. He moved without hurry, but every step held control.
The room didn’t react to him, it adjusted.
My body almost acted on its own, ready to stand, bow, and acknowledge something I didn’t understand but knew was dangerous.
He walked straight toward us, and my breath hitched the moment our eyes met.
His eyes didn’t just look at me. They cut through, peeling away every lie I thought I could hide behind.
There was no softness, only calculation.
Dark brown hair cropped short, a few strands out of place, like he didn’t bother with appearances.
His face offered a still control that made every small thing count.
Even the faint clench of his jaw felt deliberate.
I reached for Cole’s hand and gripped it. If death had a face, it would look like him. This man didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
He pulled the same chair the suit guy had used and slid into it. His eyes stayed on mine, and it unsettled me. The mask hid part of my face, but it did nothing to hide the fear.
He leaned back and watched me.
I had to speak. We were here because of the briefcase. I reached for my bag and pulled it open, my fingers slipping once before I dragged the briefcase out. “This… hm… this is your briefcase—”
My voice cut off when he lifted a hand, and a waitress hurried to his side.
“Whiskey.” His voice carried effortless authority. It was the same voice from the phone call last night, now real, near enough to fray my nerves.
“Get one for her and…” His eyes flicked to Cole. My stomach dropped as heat rushed through me. “What do you like?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Hot chocolate,” Cole answered calmly, as if I wasn’t dying here.
“No. He wants nothing. And I want nothing. In fact, we want nothing. Madam—”
“Bring that.” He didn’t raise his voice or snap his fingers, but the waitress obeyed.
“Yes, sir.” She left.
I let out a breath and tightened my hold on the briefcase. The table between us didn’t create distance. I prayed this would end well.
“Is that a Rolex watch?” Cole asked, and I grabbed his hand, squeezing it to quiet him.
I looked at the man, ready to apologize, but the words died when I found him smiling at Cole.
Was he smiling?
“Nice catch. You like watches?” he asked.
“He doesn’t,” I said.
“I do,” Cole said, and God help me. “I’ll buy Rolex and Graff watches when I grow up. Do you like cars?”
The man’s smirk deepened, and I didn’t like it at all. Why was he smiling? It had to be a facade.
“Motorcycles mostly,” he said.
Cole’s eyes lit up. “You do? Me too! Inna loves them too.”
His gaze slid to me. “Does she?” The smirk lingered, just enough to make my skin prickle. It wasn’t friendly.