She shakes her head, big brown eyes staring up at me. “But there are hostile parties in the building. Is she in danger?”
Is she talking about Vigo? “I can assure you, the Sinclairs won’t be anywhere near the daycare.”
She wilts into the bed, her eyes sliding closed. Her shoes are still in the bathroom downstairs. I’ll collect them later. Right now, what she needs to do is sleep.
I brush her hair back, my thumb stroking over her temple. “I’ll be up to check on you soon.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, not opening her eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”
That makes me smile, and I bury my hand into her hair. “I’ll do my best.” And then I kiss the top of her head, before turning back toward the door.
She doesn’t stir as I leave her apartment and then make my way back downstairs.
I’m not sure Gigi realizes what a beautiful woman she is. Until I met her, I didn’t think that was an actual thing, a woman who didn’t understand her allure. But I can confess, that I would have liked her by my side today. She would have been a distraction to Vigo. Having a woman that attractive directly under me speaks to my power, my position.
I let out a small breath of frustrated air. Whatever Vigo wants, he’s not getting it. The elevator doors open and I step back into the open lobby of my office.
I can hear Vigo yelling and I smile, knowing that I’ve already won. Fucker thinks he can come in here and intimidate the Smiths?
My brother is a duke, directly under the King of England, and one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.
But go back a few generations and we were nothing but bastards, men who clawed their way to the top.
When my father nearly lost everything, that was the part of ourselves we had to find.
My father made one incredibly smart decision in his life, he married our mother.
She gave us love, but never coddled us as children. She taught us resiliency, control, fair play, and the shrewdness to understand when to be ruthless.
I draw in a deep breath of air, clearing my lungs and my head as I stride toward the boardroom.
Gris sits to the right of the head of the table, looking bored as Vigo bangs his fist and fills the air with his angry and stupid words.
And Killian? He leans against the wall, picking his nails.
One corner of my mouth turns up. Killian knows how to go snake cold. I wanted to do this on my own, but looking at my two brothers, I’m glad they’re here.
I don’t know why I didn’t understand that sooner. I want to prove myself, still, but why not do what we’ve always done best? Act as parts of a whole.
Some of our power, even my eldest brother Win’s, has always been in family. I should have remembered that sooner. I see the green light of the table speaker. Triston and/or Win are silently listening on the line. The gang is all here.
Behind Vigo stands one of his nephews. Angel is his name. His swept-back dark hair, thick muscles, and wealth of tattoos are all suited to his role as intimidator, as are the freaky fucking contacts he wears.
He cracks his knuckles, showing off the large skull ring on his finger. If Vigo is blowing hard, Angel is in complete control, his silence and stillness far more worrisome than the behavior of his fucking uncle.
I step into the conference room, my gaze meeting Gris’s. Vigo goes silent, but his red face tells me he’s far from calm.
“Sinclair,” I say, my voice neutral, as I slide into my chair. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure.”
“British twat,” he growls, showing his incisors.
His temper has no effect on me. My father used his sons like punching bags when he drank. He tried it with our mother too, but my brothers and I made an unspoken vow that it was our job to protect her. I lean back in my chair, my hands tenting in front of my mouth. “You’re here to call me a twat?”
Gris dips his head to hide his smile, but Vigo catches the attempt.
It’s like watching a peacock, Vigo’s feathers rising as his fist comes down on the table again. “I’m here to make you an offer.”
“I’m listening.” I’m in the position of power and we both know it. He’s come to grovel and a man like Vigo hates groveling.
