26. MARCY
MARCY
We sit around the living room in a heavy hush. I’m curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked under me, fingers tracing circles over the curve of my belly, both for comfort and courage.
CJ stands by the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the world outside like he’s bracing for it to crash through the glass.
Ryder lounges across from me, legs stretched out, hands resting on his thighs, quiet but observant.
Hawk paces near the fireplace, jaw tight, restless energy rolling off him in waves.
No one speaks. I wait. Let the silence stretch.
Then CJ turns around. “Seven years ago, before we left the SEALs, the three of us were part of a seven-man covert team. Black ops. No patches, no names. Our mission was classified under a directive called Project Blackthorne.”
Ryder leans forward slightly. “The job was to extract an ‘asset’ from Russian territory. Intel said it was an encrypted drive. Something containing critical cybersecurity intelligence. The kind of thing that, if it got into the wrong hands, could compromise half the infrastructure of the U.S.”
“Only…” Hawk stops pacing and cuts in, voice tight. “That was a lie.”
I look at him. “A lie?”
He nods. “Jake sent us in with half the truth. The ‘asset’ wasn’t a drive. It was a person. A woman. The chip we were supposed to retrieve? It was surgically embedded in her neck.”
My stomach turns. “Oh my God…”
CJ nods grimly. “We didn’t know until we were already inside. No time to plan. No backup. And that’s when intel came in—the Russians were onto us. The clock was ticking.”
“She was panicking,” Ryder adds, quieter.
“Didn’t want to leave. Said she wasn’t who we thought she was.
Started giving us pieces of the truth. She was embedded deep in an underground network.
When we found her, she was terrified. She didn’t know who to trust, and we didn’t know the full story.
But once we saw what was in her, once we knew time was running out… ”
“Shit,” I say.
“Russian intel knew we were there. We had hours, maybe less. We improvised. We did what we had to do to get her out,” Ryder says.
“But it cost us,” CJ says. His voice falters, just for a second. “We went in as seven. Came back as three.”
My heart twists. “Four men?”
CJ doesn’t speak, but Hawk answers instead, his jaw tightening. “Including our team leader.”
“Sam’s dad?” I say quietly.
They don’t say anything; they don’t have to. I see the pained expression on CJ’s face.
“He died saving us. Bought us time to extract. And what did we get in return? Silence. A pat on the back. Orders to never speak of it again.”
“No inquiry?” I ask.
“Nope,” Hawk answers. “Because once we got back, the op disappeared. Jake’s people had already buried it six feet under.”
“My father?”
CJ leans back, jaw tight. “The op was contracted through a private intelligence agency. Your father’s. He built it, designed the operation, and handed it to us like it was just another ghost mission. He knew what we were walking into and let us go in blind.”
Ryder shakes his head. “We didn’t know who she was. Or what she meant to him. Not until later.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.
“The woman was Jake’s mistress,” Hawk says.
My heart is pounding. It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room, but I’m the only one who notices. The guys are still speaking—Hawk pacing again, Ryder silent, CJ staring off like the memories are playing behind his eyes—but their voices fade as one name pulses in my mind.
I whisper it before I even realize I’m speaking.
“Nadia.”
All three men look up. CJ freezes. Ryder’s brow furrows. Hawk stops dead in his tracks.
I sit forward, voice a little louder now.
“Nadia. My father’s mistress. He never calls her that, obviously.
She’s just his ‘old associate,’ his ‘consultant.’ But she’s always around.
He has a house in the valley just for her.
My mother pretends she doesn’t know.” I scan their faces, heart in my throat. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
“I can’t believe he still has her around,” Ryder says, shaking his head. “After everything… after the lives we lost.”
The room feels like it’s closing in.
“He let men die,” I say, breath catching, “to get his mistress out of Russia?”
CJ meets my eyes. “Yes.”
I press my hand to my mouth, my whole body going cold.
My father sent these men—my men—on a mission with half the truth.
He turned a covert military op into a personal favor wrapped in lies.
Sam’s dad is dead. Four families were destroyed.
And my father got to bring his mistress home like she was a prize.
I feel sick.
I lean forward, my voice quiet but urgent. “How do we stop him?”
CJ exhales, shaking his head. “We can’t. Jake covered his tracks too well. Any evidence that existed? He made sure it disappeared.”
“And believe me, we tried,” Hawk adds, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We pulled every string we had. Got someone inside to search his house. Top to bottom. Clean. Not a single shred of evidence left.”
I blink, that word catching in my chest. House.
And suddenly, I remember.
A few years ago, I came back home from college for the holidays, and everything was…
different. I remember stepping out of the car, standing on the curb, blinking in confusion.
The house we had lived in for most of my life wasn’t ours anymore.
We’d “moved,” just like that. No warning.
No explanation. Mom had said something vague about “new security protocols” and “better zoning.”
But now?
Now it makes sense. Dad must have moved us because he was spooked.
“This is so messed up,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
CJ leans forward again, his gaze steady and hard now. “Yeah. It is. But we’re not going to let him shut us down. Not The Den. Nor any of our other chapters.”
His voice is like steel, like a promise forged in blood.
“If he thinks we’re going to roll over and let him burn down everything we’ve built,” he says, “then he’s got another thing coming.”
Christmas morning is crisp and quiet, the roads nearly empty as I drive through town, the heater humming gently, and the smell of still-warm chocolate chip cookies filling the car.
Sam’s in the passenger seat, singing off-key to a Christmas song on the radio, a little smudge of flour still clinging to his cheek.
He’s kicking his heels against the seat, absolutely hyped from the sugar I already regret letting him have at breakfast.
I’d been thinking about Bianca all morning.
After everything she’s done for me, she deserves better.
She invited me to leave town with her, to disappear, to escape the storm I was about to walk straight into.
She was my best friend in the whole world, and I needed her to know that things between us wouldn’t change just because I had fallen in love.
I pull into the lot outside her apartment building and spot something that immediately makes my pulse stutter.
A familiar car. My mother’s car.
Here?
I grip the steering wheel tighter and frown, heart hitching slightly. “Hey, buddy,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Stay here, okay? I’m just going to run up real quick. I’ll only be a minute.”
“Got it,” Sam says, already distracted with the snow globe in his lap.
I grab the cookie tin and head toward the front entrance, boots crunching against thin frost.
But before I even reach the steps, I freeze.
Just ahead, in front of the building, is Bianca. Running full speed.
Toward someone with their back to me.
She launches into the man’s arms, laughing, and he catches her without missing a beat, lifting her off the ground and spinning her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her arms wrap around his neck.
My feet go cold. My breath stops.
Because I know that stance. That build. That slicked-back hair.
He turns just slightly—and I see the side of his face.
My father.
My mouth drops open.
“I missed you,” Bianca says, voice soft and giddy, planting a kiss on his cheek. Then his mouth.
And he kisses her back.
The tray in my hands tilts. I catch it just in time.
I stand there in stunned silence as they laugh, touching foreheads.
Then they disappear into the building together, stepping into the elevator like it’s nothing.
Like they’ve done this before.
And all I can do is stand there on the sidewalk, sick to my stomach, watching the doors close on the girl I thought was my best friend, wrapped in the arms of the man who destroyed everything.