They live to serve. They know their needs are met.
Good enough for me.
The house is quiet as we walk down the hall. The housekeepers and staff have either gone to bed or left for the day, and Maman goes to bed early, so it’s just us here. It feels strange that Fabien isn’t here like he used to be. Family dynamics always change when people get married, have children.
I’m not sure I like change. I like things predictable, neat, and ordered.
We head to the living room, where my father insisted we install a full bar. Lyam’s been mixing drinks since he was twelve.
“What’s your drink, Rossi?”
Mario grins. “When in Rome…”
Lyam fancies himself a mixologist, so he waves his magic wand and hands us both a few potent concoctions. I have no idea what they are, but I’m not complaining. I sigh after the first sip. I didn’t know how badly I needed that.
“You know,” Mario says almost casually, but I don’t miss the sharp glint in his eyes. “In America, a married man is a made man.”
“Same here,” Lyam says. I glare at him but he’s pouring a drink and misses it.
“Makes you more powerful. You get a wife and kids and you?—”
“Might as well get shackles,” I finish. Lyam laughs but Mario winces and shakes his head.
“I’m serious, Thayer. This outfit is new. Of the three of you, only one is married. You know if you marry a woman no one can touch her. You’re a unit. Indivisible.”
I try to divert the subject.
“You were always the player,” I say. “You used to show up with a woman on each arm. What happened?”
The front door booms with a thudding, frantic flurry of knocks, followed by the doorbell ringing. I’m on my feet instantly, my heart racing. Another frenzied knocking follows the first. I hear my mother’s bedroom door open and her rapid footfalls as she races to the landing. Tension mounts in the air, but I keep my head and check my weapon.
The last time we got hurried knocks this late at night, Fabien had been shot.
Something is wrong. Everyone knows who lives in this house, and no one, not even a well-meaning neighbor or salesperson, ever knocks on this door uninvited.
I get to the door first, Lyam and Maman right behind me. Mario stands behind us, his hand on his weapon. Lyam is armed as well.
I yank open the door and almost immediately fall backward when I’m tackled by a bundle of a woman. She grabs at me and hauls herself to standing. She’s all tangled hair and torn clothing, but I know exactly who she is the second those mahogany eyes look into mine.
Normally artless and serene, as innocent as a dew-kissed flower at sunrise, she now looks at me with utter terror. Panic has sweptthe color from Savannah’s face, and the grip on my arm’s so tight it’s painful.
I catch her before she falls.
I hold her.
No.
I fight the urge to push her behind me and race into the night, gun drawn, to bring justice to whoever chased her here. To kill whoever made her cry. But heroics and impulsivity don’t mix, and it isn’t the way I do things. So I draw in a breath and let it out slowly as I bring her into the house.
“Go,” I snap at Lyam, who races in front of me with his gun drawn, calling on our guards.
As soon as she realizes she’s clinging to me, she releases her hold as if touching me burns her hands. She blinks in the brightness of the overhead lights and wrings her hands.
“Thayer! Oh, God, Thayer!” She spares a second to look over her shoulder. “Shut the door!” she says with a strangled cry. “Lock the gates! Hurry!” I reach for the door to slam it as she does the same, making her clumsily fall against it. Lyam’s out there, but he can handle himself.
Maman reaches us and gently takes her from me as I make the call.
“Close the gates. All circuits on standby. Weapons ready.”
