I pull the gun from my waist and aim at the back of my father’s head before releasing the safety. Declan and Connor both tense at the soft click.
“Give me the drive.” I keep my voice low, but I know they hear me.
Connor pivots first, his eyes widening at the sight of my weapon. Declan slowly turns around, unfazed by the barrel directed at his forehead. “What’s this? You’re going to throw your life away for a piece of ass? Didn’t I teach you better?”
“Actually, you never taught me anything worth a damn. And she’s more of a Gallagher than you’ll ever be.” I adjust mystance. I’m taller. Steadier. More like myself than I have been in years.
I inch closer to the couch, my aim never wavering. Declan and Connor keep still as I reach down, unplug the drive from the laptop, and slip it into my pocket.
The gun stays up as I back away toward the door. Connor reclines against the couch, his eyes dark and thoughtful. The little twitch to his lips might be a smirk, but it’s impossible to tell with him.
When I reach the doorknob, Declan stands but doesn’t try to stop me. He may not consider me a man, even after all these years, but he knows I’m a dead shot. He won’t risk me pulling the trigger.
“If you leave, Brody, you’re done. Think about it, son.”
I bark out a laugh, the sound nearly hysterical. “I’m not your son. You may have called me ‘son’ over the years, but you didn’t treat me like one.” Shaking my head, I turn the knob, lower the gun, and step out into the hall. “Fuck you, Declan.”
The door clicks shut behind me. I exhale, releasing years of pent-up anxiety over my relationship with that man.
Not my father. Never was and never will be.
A sense of calm washes over me. I know what I need to do now.
I need to find Trinity and fix what I broke.
I just need Trinity, period.
Chapter 38
Trinity
The sparkling chandeliers and red velvet covering nearly every surface of this hotel rival the grandeur of the Ritz. Still, I find that Grigori’s choice, while sophisticated, lacks charm. Color me surprised.
Grigori and his men have holed up in a large suite with dark carpeting and blood-red walls. A pool table covered in red felt sits near the balcony.
If I weren’t on the verge of a panic attack, I would laugh at the sight. Did they specifically request a pool table with a red top for the room?
For breakfast, they offered me filet mignon, waffles, omelets, and chocolate croissants. To their credit, they’ve treated me like a queen, or like the woman carrying Grigori’s child.
But I recognize a prison cell when I see one, no matter how many spoonfuls of sugar they use to sweeten reality.
Grigori Rostov is intelligent, on par with the leaders of other criminal organizations, my late father included.HeknowsIknow I had no real choice. If I hadn’t agreed to work with him, he would’ve taken me by force.
I hope I convinced him that even if he coerced me, I plan on assisting. If he views me as a compliant little ally, I’ll be able to move around more freely.
I don’t have the hard drive, and he needs my help to obtain it. While we’re working on that, I can plot my escape.
I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. At least I’m alive and breathing steadily to fend off any panic attacks, the way Brody showed me. If I learned one thing from my time with that man, it’s how to remain calm under pressure.
For me, that means switching off my brain and following my gut. That never happened before Brody.
Everything had to be logical. Orderly. Analyze, weigh the options, and choose the best course. Relying on the heart—its desires, its hopes, its dreams—was for children. A reactionary response. Adults considered the pros and cons and settled on the most logical choice.
All the chaos with Brody taught me that approach was wrong. Balance between the heart and the mind is the key. Logicandlove. If I get out of this alive, I’m never discounting my gut again.
Who knows, Ange, maybe I’ll be brave enough to start living for both of us.
Though if Andrei Kruschev has his way, I won’t live past this afternoon.
