“I’m sure she would,” I say diplomatically, even though everything in me rejects this idea. “This would —”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I move to silence it, ignoring the caller, momentarily distracted. This meeting is too important, the alliance too necessary.
“As I was saying —” I start. The phone buzzes again. This time, I pull it out of my pocket to silence it, but when I look at the caller ID, it’s Omero calling. He knows better to interrupt unless it’s an emergency.
My blood runs cold.
“Excuse me, Mr. Tao.” I stand, already moving away from the table. “I have to take this.”
“Of course,” Delan says, but I can hear the tone of disapproval in his voice.
I move to the small alcove on the opposite side of the restaurant, a spot intended for the waitstaff to hover and watch their tables.
“This better be important.”
“Boss, I’m sorry.” Omero’s voice is tight, controlled, but unnerved all at once. “It’s Chloe. She’s hurt.”
Suddenly, the world is tilting on its axis all around me. “What do you mean, hurt? What happened?”
“She snuck off the property with Emmanuel to take him to the park across the street. They were alone and were attacked by some punk kid pickpockets. She fought back, so Emmanuel could run home to get someone. But by the time we got there, one of them had stabbed her with a knife. Docs here now —”
“How bad?” I’m already moving, signaling to my men loitering beside the Tao table to follow me. Then I’m shoving through the restaurant doors and heading for the cars.
“Bad enough. She passed out from the blood loss. We got her inside and field patched before Doc got here, but —”
“I’m on my way. Don’t let anyone near her except the Doc. You hear me? No one.”
“You got it, boss.”
I hang up, climbing into the back of the awaiting car, signaling the driver to head back to the mansion. I don’t look back; I don’t say goodbye to Delan or his perfect daughter. I don’t offer explanations or apologies.
An insult that I will surely have to make up for later, but right now, Chloe needs me, and nothing is going to stop me from getting to her.
Anxiously, I call Raffaello. He doesn’t answer, which only increases my restlessness. He’s either dealing with the muggers or avoiding me because he knows I’m going to rip him apart for letting this happen.
He was supposed to be protecting her. That was the whole point of having a bodyguard. Of the restrictions I’d placed on her.
And somehow, she had slipped past him with my son and nearly gotten herself killed.
The thought of her bleeding, hurt, and afraid makes me want to put my fist through the window.
The drive home takes forty-five minutes, but it feels like hours. Each minute is utter agony as I sit helplessly in the backseat, yelling inefficiently at the traffic to move out of our path.
We pull through the gates at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for the sharp curves of the driveway. It would have terrified anyone who didn’t know just how well my driver can handle a car. As soon as we reach the plateau near the front door, I’m out and running, taking the steps three at a time.
Maria meets me in the foyer, her face pale. Taking my jacket, she points up the stairs. “Thank God, you're back. She’s upstairs in her room. The doctor just finished —”
I’m already moving, not waiting to hear the rest of what she says.
Emmanuel is in the hallway outside Chloe’s room, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, back against the wall, tears streaming down his face. When he sees me, he scrambles to his feet and breaks into a dead run, straight into my arms.
I drop to my knees, pulling him against me. “You’re okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”
He shakes his head — no — against my shoulder.
Raffaello appears in Chloe’s doorway, his expression grim. I lock my eyes on him, and he straightens, bracing for the anger that is about to be unleashed on him. I stand, keeping one hand on Emmanuel’s shoulder.
“What happened?” I demand.
