Page 8 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

But something is off, something I’ve felt bubbling beneath the surface for longer than I care to admit. He’s nearing thirty now, and his impatience is evident. He wants what I have, wants to be the one calling the shots, and it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I try to tell him otherwise. He’s not ready for it, and if he rushes something like this, he will make a mistake that he can’t take back.

And I get the feeling, right now, that he might have done just that.

I pour myself another glass of vodka, doing my best to stem my racing thoughts.

It could just be cold feet. He wouldn’t be the first man to find himself with second thoughts on his wedding day, and it doesn’t mean that he has turned against me, found a better offer elsewhere, as difficult as it might be to believe that. I’ve been paranoid my whole life in this industry, because that’s the only way you survive, the only way you guarantee that you don’t leave the doors open for someone to do something they shouldn’t. I’m just not sure that Andreo is entirely aware of it.

A knock comes on the door, and I look up to find Marcia standing there, a grim expression on her face.

I rise to my feet at once. “Is she alright?”

My mind goes first to Julia. I’m sure I have no reason to worry about her, that she’s in good hands with Marcia, but I can’t help it. I saw the hurt in her face as she was led away to her room, the clear doubt in her eyes as she tried to make sense of everything that is going on here. But Marcia nods, raising a hand, as though to soothe me before I can go too far over the edge.

“The girl’s fine,” she replies, her voice curt. I have learned that Marcia, my head of security, never intends to insult, but it’s just her way, her bluntness a good trait for someone in her line of work.

“Then what?”

“Salamanca. We found a note left at the hotel for you, signed from him.”

My heart sinks. Salamanca, that fucker.

I should have known he would have something to do with this. He’s been circling my territory like the vulture he is for a long time now, waiting for the time to strike. And it’s his bars that Andreo has been spending time at.

Marcia holds the note out to me, her mouth set in a hard line, and I take it, unfolding it swiftly to see what lies in wait within.

“Shit,” I mutter, as my eyes dart over the page. I can’t take it in, not entirely, but I get the gist. It’s a warning—a taunt, telling me that Andreo has defected to the Salamanca mafia, and that I need to watch my back before he’s willing to share everything with Salamanca himself. And it’s signed with his name, almost mocking, like he wants me to know in no uncertain terms that he has my son right where he wants him.

I stare down at the note until my eyes start to blur, and then crumple it into a ball in my hand, trying to force myself to come to terms with it.

Of course. Of course I should have known that Andreo would be pulled into something like this. I all but told him that he wasn’t ready for this business yet, and he was getting tired of waiting. So when Salamanca came along, no doubt told him that he could have everything he’d been waiting for, he jumped at the chance.

I should have known he would. And now, he’s gone—walked out on his wedding day, no doubt another ploy by Salamanca to make me look as though I had even less control of him than people thought. He wanted to do something public, something that I couldn’t avoid dealing with in some way.

Marrying Julia might not have been the only way to handle it, but it’s the best I could come up with given the circumstances. If Andreo truly has defected, then everyone he left in his wake will be in danger, and I refuse to put Julia in the middle of it, when I know that she doesn’t deserve it.

“I’ve doubled the guards on patrol,” Marcia tells me. She leans in the doorway, her arms crossed.

I notice dark shadows under her eyes, and I can tell this is taking its toll on her, as much as she’s clearly still wired from everything that’s been going on. She has worked for me for nearly eleven years now, when I first picked her up from the security team at one of the bars that serve as a front for the business and made her the head of my security here at the house, and I trust her implicitly—but that doesn’t mean that her exhaustion isn’t something I should keep an eye on.

“Get some rest,” I order her, and she looks at me.

“I need to⁠—”

“You’re no good to me exhausted, Marcia,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice as steady as I can. “Rest. Sleep. The guards are on duty. And nothing’s going to happen tonight.”

Even as the words come out of my mouth, I’m not sure I believe them.

I have to hope that Salamanca will be organizing right now, figuring out what he’s going to do now that he has access to one of the most valuable and knowledgeable people in my organization.

Of course I have shared everything with my son.

I thought, with him stepping up to take over this kingdom one day, he would need to know it all. But it looks like he’s going to turn that on its head and leave me with nothing, make me pay for holding out for so long, making him wait for years to take what he knew was his.

I would have handed it over sooner, if I thought he could handle it. But this—this just proves that every instinct I ever had about him not being ready for such a thing is right. That he doesn’t have the patience for this world, the sense of scale, the levelheadedness you need to keep from flying off the handle and making a mistake you can’t fix.

In a grim way, I’m glad that I stuck to my guns all this time, as hard as it is to face down the truth of where it has left me.

And where it has left her.