But he plays dumb.
His gaze slides to Fallon. “And who is this?”
“This is my boyfriend, Daddy,” she says, and then braces for impact.
“Rhys Quinlan, nice to meet you, sir.” I extend a hand to be cordial and non-threatening.
Fallon’s mysterious father meets my gaze. A predator recognizing another. His eyes are the pale blue of a frozen sea. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”
Black’s grip on my hand is firm, lingering just long enough to map the strength of my tendons. It’s like he’s calculating where he’ll break me first.
This is a hornet’s nest that needs a dose of gasoline. And a match. But I’m one man against a small army. So, I do what I do when I can’t kill someone yet. I gather intel.
A maid drifts forward to take our bags. The woman gives me a soft smile, blinking. It might be ‘help me’in Morse code.
“Come on, Rhys.” Fallon pulls me toward the stairs. “Daddy, we’ll freshen up and be in the dining room in a few quick minutes.”
I take one step, but a hand like an iron trap clamps around my arm.
“Surely you don’t think you’ll be sleeping under this roof with my daughter,” Elias warns with Manhattan gangster polish.
Two men in black suits with blacker eyes materialize from a corridor behind the stairs. So that’s where thewatchroom is. Noted and clocked.
“Show Fallon’sfriendto the guest house,” Black orders.
“Daddy, I’m twenty-five.” Fallon takes her bag from me and sighs as she dashes up the stairs.
“No problem, sir.” I follow the guards with Black’s warning grip lingering on my elbow.
I’m brought through the kitchen. Heat blasts from the stoves as two chefs in white jackets work in silence, knives flashing, and copper pots steaming with dinner. Not one of them looks at me.
One guard opens a door that leads to a back garden. The guest house looms at the far edge of the property. It’s a pretty little stone carriage house that might serve as my coffin. But the snow is knee-deep and untouched. No one dug a path, and I’m not wearing boots.
I glare into the man’s dead eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The other guard doesn’t flinch. “You weren’t expected, friend.”
“Key?” I hold out my hand.
The guard takes out his phone and swipes a few times. “It’s open.”
Great, they control the locks to either imprison me or come in later to kill me.
“I’m not your friend,” I say and trudge through the snow.
My feet go numb fast, socks soaking, every step a crunch and icy burn.
The doorisunlocked, like they promised, but the frame is nearly frozen solid. After a few hard pushes that make my shoulder feel dislocated, I get it open. Inside, the air is frigid, the radiators silent.
Cursing, I kick off my soaked shoes, peel off my wet socks, and run a bath. Steam curls from the faucet, and I stick my hands under the warm deluge just to stop myteeth from chattering.
The main door opens moments later, and I whip around. Elias Black stands there with the glowing snowscape framed behind him. I see someone has carved a neat path between here and the mansion forhim.
At least my feet won’t get soaked again for dinner.
“Rhys Quinlan. Lead assassin for your cousin Griffin’s crime family in Manhattan,” Elias says with a lazy smile. “Hired by Ares Zervas, the head of the Greek Mafia, to kill one of my soldiers.Thisis who my daughter brings home.”
I stand in the doorframe to the bathroom, arms crossed, trying to look tough while barefoot. “That’s a coincidence.” I shrug. “Fallon is using a different last name. I had no idea who you were. And she doesn’t know the man I killed worked for you.”
