Or deny.
I narrowed my eyes at George as he stood there waiting for my reaction. “How the fuck didn’t this come up in your initial research about her?” I asked again. That stood out the most to me, but I knew I was latching on to anything to dispel this dread. It was my fault. He’d produced the intel report and handed it over, like he had done for so many requests I’d made of him. It was on me to fucking read it all. I couldn’t shoot the messenger.
Not knowing that I had been in charge of the situation that got Fitz Hayes killed was a mistake I couldn’t afford. Knowing everything about everyone we let into our inner circle was imperative. My uncle was impatient to dive deeper into her past and probably formally interview her too before granting her the privilege of protection she would need if the Popovs were to call war. Or to use her to attack me—which would always be an attack against the whole family.
“It did. It did come up in that research,” George replied. “But it was overlooked.”
By me.
I overlooked it.Skimming the report for just the basic details was wrong. I hadn’t wanted to delve into her past because I’d been hanging on to this stupid idea that she’d tell me about it on her own eventually.
I ran my hand over my face. “Does anyone else know?” My uncle could’ve been privy to those reports. If any of the guards had been briefed, they wouldn’t have told her. The guards and house staff didn’t speak to her unless she addressed them first—my rule because I didn’t want her to be scared or intimidated.
But if any mention of the intel had gotten out to my brother, or my cousin—hell, even Anya or Claire, I didn’t want to worry about them revealing this connection.
“Others in the security detail received the same condensed intel report,” George said.
“Fuck.” Any of them could’ve read far enough to see the full disclosure and realized who her late husband was. This was too much of a ticking time bomb, not knowing if she could be in the dark about this link.
She had to hear this from me. This truth could eradicate all the progress we’d made in her trusting me, and ensuring she’d hear this from me was crucial.
“Handle this,” I ordered George. I gestured at the warehouse to take over. No matter what, I could count on him to question and kill the Popovs we’d found, the ones who’d been targeting her.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement.
“I need to tell her.” Avoiding it would backfire. I knew it would. Coming clean about my connection to her husband’s death and letting her understand how surprised I was about this would help my case. The case of never wanting to hurt her.
I would never.
I strode away, furious with myself that this incident would be the one main obstacle to any kind of a future between us.
But then again, it wasn’t one-sided. She didn’t talk about her late spouse. I didn’t ask, either, but I refrained from asking her out of respect. Out of the need to not push her and overwhelm her as I let her adjust to being with me and not so scared or tired.
Hell, if I’d ever asked, maybe I could’ve connected the dots sooner.
I got into the car and told the driver to hurry to my building.
It still wouldn’t change anything.If I knew and talked to her about before or now, it wouldn’t rewind time itself and make the situation any different. She would still be mad at me and hate me for this.
As I rode across town, I gritted my teeth and damned this new turn of events.
She wasn’t going to use this as an exit ticket out of my life.
I’d be damned if she tried to twist this complication into a reason for why she would leave me or end what we had so far.
She can’t.
The fine line of balance between pushing her too far or too much with needing to have some semblance of commitment with her wasn’t an easy one to walk, but my hand was forced now. I had to make her understand that I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—let her go. Not even if I was the cause for why she was single, lonely, and struggling to begin with.
Confronting her immediately was the only thing I could do. Instead of staying back there with the men and personally killing those who’d threatened her, I sped home to talk to her.
The ride dragged on too slowly. That was how impatient I was to reach her. The ride also blurred by too quickly. That was how anxious I was to speak with her and yield to her reaction.
When I arrived, I hurried out of the car and approached the elevator to get to the penthouse. The presence of multiple men running through the lobby area and into the garage prevented me from doing that.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
Andre was with them, his face serious like something bad had gone down.
