He doesn’t bother with greetings. A dead giveaway.
“The Grimaldis moved.”
Squaring my shoulders, I adjust my grip on the phone. “What now?”
“The smaller shipment sent out tonight has been intercepted on the highway. They left the bigger one, which can only mean they’re testing the waters and letting us know they’re still a player in this game,” he answers, tone lacking his usual humor, given the serious nature of this.
I close my eyes and take a breath for a moment. Of course.
“They didn’t take much, but it was enough to be deliberate,” he continues, steady like I need him to be. “They want your attention.”
“They have it,” I mutter, leaning forward enough to grip the front of the kitchen island.
“You want retaliation?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. “Not yet.”
He pauses, seemingly thrown off by the lack of direct instruction. “Wyatt—”
“Handle it,” I murmur, with more conviction this time. “Have it cleaned up, and keep it quiet. I can’t escalate right now. Not yet, anyway.”
“Understood,” Patch says, well aware of what I require of him. “But you know what this means. We can’t delay for long, especially not if they try again.”
“I do.”
They’re circling, just like all the opportunists in this city do. Once you’re on their radar, they’ll do anything to sniff out weakness. They’ll test my defenses, my patience, and more importantly, my resolve. This won’t stop until they get what they want. More specifically, who.
“But the Grimaldis can wait until I have what I need.”
Without needing to say it outright, Patch already knows what I’m implying.
“When that happens, we’ll give them hell,” he says, close enough to a promise. “I’ll get some guys out here and have it handled.”
“Keep me in the loop if anything changes.”
“Will do, Ghost.”
At that, I scoff, but the corners of my lips pull faintly. He knows how I feel about the nickname, yet he keeps using it against me.
“Smartass.”
A more lighthearted chuckle comes from his side before I end the call with a shake of my head. As serious as the situation is, the moments of levity help.
With that quiet stillness returning to the space, I take a breath and slide the phone into my pocket before leaving the kitchen. My jaw aches from how hard I clench it, and I silently remind myself to relax.
Elena’s still in the living room when I walk in, curled up on the love seat with a blanket draped over her lap. Her eyes flick to me, and she lifts a brow. “Was the call that bad?”
Not wanting to ruin the normalcy I’ve been clinging to against my better judgment, I don’t answer right away. But of course, she’s too perceptive and too persistent to let it go.
“Let me guess,” she continues, tone light enough to almost sound teasing, but I catch those sardonic notes. “One of your enemies has reminded you that your actions have consequences.”
I huff out a breath and stand behind the other sofa. “Something like that.”
Elena holds my gaze, considering her words for a beat. “Should I be worried?”
The question settles a bit deeper than it should, but my resolve still hasn’t faltered. My intentions have remained the same since the night I took her from Vito’s, and even if I shouldn’t care, I don’t plan on letting anyone take advantage of her.
Facing her fully, I say calmly, “No. You shouldn’t be.”
