Then before my visit to Hailey’s, Koby was too busy spiraling over what-ifs to stop and realize I’d be fine.
I expected the same when we got back from Chicago on Sunday morning after spending the better part of Saturday locked in Dante’s office. I expected distance. I thought he’d hide inside his head and ignore me.
I was wrong.
It’s Tuesday now, and instead of pulling away, Koby’s been glued to my side. He’s obsessively clingy in a way that makes my chest ache and my brain overheat. He follows me everywhere. To the kitchen, to the bedroom, to the fucking bathroom.
He stands outside while I pee...
At night, he wakes me up—or doesn’t—rolls me under him, and pushes inside me without a word.
He’s driving me insane with the way he keeps circling back to the plan we carved out in Dante’s office.
It was fascinating seeing the guys work.
Carter’s methodology took the lead, the others questioning every detail and step. Ryder was all about the tech: phone jamming, surveillance, and things I didn’t even try comprehending. Broadway took over logistics: how, where, when, and Koby’s only focus was my safety.
Dante listened, throwing one-liners that forced everyone to look from a different perspective while Noretto’s voice crackled through the speakerphone as he filled us in about the guest list, the allies we could rely on, and the auction itself.
We talked for hours, nitpicking until we were left with the cleanest, tightest version.
That should’ve been the end of it, but it’s Tuesday evening, and Koby hasn’t stopped talking since Saturday. Every hour of every day he’s stressing over a new detail.
Carter can’t be far off blocking his number. Koby’s called him at least ten times today, demanding clarification over things we’ve already hammered out.
His fingers never stop moving. One minute he’s drawing circles on my hip, the next he’s tapping my ribs like he’s counting seconds. His leg twitches against mine, his jaw ticks, and every few minutes he buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply.
He keeps me pinned to him as if it will keep me from slipping away. His breath warms the back of my neck, but there’s no calm in him, every muscle tense.
“Run me through it again,” he whispers in my hair.
I sigh, half-exasperated, half-melting into him. “We’ve been through it a hundred times.”
“I know. What I don’t know is how to stop worrying, so do me a favor and make it a hundred and one.”
I’m this close to smothering him with a pillow, I swear.
“Octavius arrives at Noretto’s in Pittsburgh mid-morning on Saturday,” I recite. “As soon as we know he’s aboard his private yet, Ryder will do his thing, so Anton can’t contact his brother.”
“He’ll jam Anton’s outgoing calls to Octavius,” Koby recites.
“That’s what I said.”
He chuckles, but there’s little humor in that sound. “When we’re certain Anton can’t reach Octavius...” I pause, the next part of the plan bitter in my mouth.
“Then you call him,” Koby grits out, fingers sinking a little harder into my flesh.
“Yes. I call him.”
For me, that’s the hardest part. I need to be convincing enough that Anton’s rational thinking takes a vacation and he’s all emotional response. It means I must be hysterical... crying,begginghim to come get me before it’s too late.
Anton always turned frantic at the first glimpse of my tears. He cradled my face, kissed my cheeks, and did his utmost to calm me down. Now I’ve got to weaponize that reaction... I have to fake my distress until he can’t think straight.
Playing shy or scared isn’t an issue, but crying on command, freaking out in a believable way might be above my pay grade. I can’t imagine working myself up this badly... and the whole plan hinges on my performance.
“I’ll tell him I overheard them planning to sell me. That I haven’t been in Florida for weeks, that I’m in Pittsburgh, and I’m scared.”
If I sell it right, Anton will snap the same way as when my stepmother’s executioner aimed his gun at me.
