Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Grace
The bass thumped through the walls of the underground club, a steady, pounding rhythm that vibrated beneath my feet as I moved through the dimly lit corridors.
The air was thick with smoke and alcohol, the scent of expensive cologne clinging to the velvet curtains and polished marble floors.
Laughter echoed from the main lounge, but I wasn’t here to drink, and I definitely wasn’t here to socialize.
I was here for a conversation.
I adjusted the tiny earpiece feeding directly into my recording device, hidden beneath the lapel of my leather jacket.
I had been tracking one of Knox’s associates, a man named Lawrence Foster—mid-forties, well-dressed, the kind of man who looked polished on the outside but was nothing more than a snake beneath his expensive suit.
He was sitting in the VIP section now, drink in hand, talking to someone I couldn’t quite see yet.
I needed to get closer.
Slipping past the groups of well-dressed patrons, I moved with practiced ease, weaving through the shadows, careful not to attract attention.
A server’s tray had been left unattended near the entrance to the VIP lounge, and without hesitation, I grabbed an empty glass, holding it like I belonged.
The key to blending in wasn’t just looking the part—it was acting like you had every right to be here.
I made my way toward the back, close enough that I could hear the low murmur of voices beyond the half-drawn curtain separating the VIP section.
"He still doesn’t know," a voice said. Deep, cold. Someone I didn’t recognize.
Lawrence chuckled, swirling his drink. "Of course, he doesn’t. Beethoven thinks he’s still untouchable. That’s the problem with men like him—they don’t realize they’ve already lost until it’s too late."
My grip tightened around the glass.
They were talking about Dominic.
"How soon?" the second man asked.
Lawrence took a slow sip of his drink before answering.
"Not long now. The board is already losing confidence in him. Once we cut off his investors, he’ll have no choice but to fold.
The empire will crumble, and when it does...
" He set his glass down, a smirk in his voice. "We’ll be there to collect the pieces."
I forced my breathing to stay even. They weren’t just trying to ruin Dominic.
They were trying to erase him.
"Beethoven won’t know what hit him," the second man said with a low laugh.
My pulse hammered in my ears. I needed to get out. I had the recording—I had proof. If I could get back to the penthouse, we could use this, turn it against them, finally get ahead.
I turned to leave.
And then I heard it.
A creak.
A shift in the air behind me.
Too late.
A hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back hard. The glass I had been holding slipped from my fingers, shattering against the floor.
"Well, well," a voice drawled near my ear. "What do we have here?"
I twisted, breaking the grip on my arm, stepping back just in time to see Lawrence rise to his feet, his expression turning cold as his gaze locked onto me.
Shit.
"Who the hell are you?" the second man demanded.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
They already knew.
Lawrence sighed, adjusting the cuffs of his suit like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "You shouldn’t have come here, sweetheart."
I moved first.
I slammed my elbow into the ribs of the man closest to me, using his momentary shock to grab the back of his head and drive it into the table. He crumpled, but Lawrence was already lunging for me, his hand swinging toward my face.
I ducked, twisting to the side, but not fast enough. His fist clipped my ribs, pain exploding through my side. I bit back a sharp inhale and countered with a hard kick to his knee, sending him staggering backward.
The second man groaned from the floor, reaching for something at his waist. A knife.
No time to think.
I kicked it away before he could grab it, spinning just as Lawrence recovered, his expression no longer amused. He moved faster this time, grabbing my jacket and yanking me forward. I used the momentum to bring my knee up—direct hit to his stomach.
He cursed, stumbling back. I turned to run.
A sharp, burning pain slashed across my arm.
I gasped, clutching the wound, blood already seeping through my sleeve. The second man had managed to grab a broken shard of glass from the floor and cut me.
I gritted my teeth, ignoring the pain. I had to get out.
I shoved past them, ignoring the way my side screamed in protest, barreling through the crowded club, pushing past stunned patrons. Voices yelled behind me, but I didn’t stop.
I made it to the alley behind the club, my legs unsteady, my vision swimming. Blood dripped from my arm, staining my jacket. Every breath was sharp, painful.
I needed to get back.
I needed to?—
The world tilted beneath me.
The penthouse door blurred as I stumbled inside. My legs gave out before I could take another step, my body collapsing against something solid, warm.
Arms.
Strong hands gripping me, holding me up before I could hit the floor.
"Grace?"
The voice was distant, muffled. My head lolled forward, my breaths coming in shallow pants.
Dominic.
His face hovered over mine, his expression thunderous, but his touch was gentle as he scooped me up, carrying me deeper into the room.
The others were there—muffled voices, sharp questions, but I couldn’t focus on them.
My vision swam. My head rested against Dominic’s shoulder, and for the first time since I walked into that club, I let myself feel the exhaustion, the pain.
"I have… the recording," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
His grip on me tightened. "I don’t give a damn about the recording right now, Grace."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him it mattered, it was proof, it was everything we needed—but my body had other plans.
The darkness pulled me under.
The last thing I felt was the warmth of Dominic’s hand cradling the back of my head.
And the last thing I heard was his voice, low and rough, whispering my name.
I had the evidence.
But I also had a problem.
I had to survive long enough to use it.