Enforce(91)

Our conversation on the phone hadn’t lasted long. I’d immediately called him after Trace had hung up the phone, not trusting her to tell him that I was arriving and not trusting myself not to pull a gun on him if he tried pulling one on me first.

I’d told him I was coming over, and that if he tried to stop me, I would simply ram my Range Rover through the front door and wave around my semi-automatic until he led me to Trace and assured me of her safety.

He’d laughed.

The old bastard had laughed.

And said in a low voice, “Of course you’ll visit… you need to say goodbye, after all.”

“Goodbye?” I repeated.

“I’m calling in a favor, Nixon.” His voice sounded tired, so strained I felt a twinge of pity in my gut. “Boss to boss, leave her alone. I cannot lose my granddaughter… I’ve lost too much. Do me this favor, Nixon, and I’ll stand down. Just leave her.”

He may was well have asked me to cut out my own heart and offer it to the Alferos as a sacrifice.

Leaving her alone was basically the same thing.

But I agreed.

Why?

Because he was right.

I hated him for it.

But he was right. She deserved a chance at normal. The more attention I paid to her, the darker I painted the target on her back. If she was viewed as being special to me, important, then my enemies would stop at nothing to destroy her.

And Frank was right. Their family had suffered enough.

But so had I.

Trace tilted her head in my direction. I forced another smile, allowing myself to memorize every single detail about her face from the curve of her lips to the cadence of her breathing.

Would those memories be enough to satisfy me at night?

No.

But they had to be. Because she would be safe. And I needed her safe, at all costs.

I lifted my hands into the air as one of Frank’s men patted me down. He pulled one of my guns from the back of my pants, a knife from my boot, and a set of brass knuckles from my pocket. I thought Trace’s eyes were going to bug out of her head, I wanted to laugh but knew it would probably just prolong the process, and I really really need that girl in my arms.

Frank released her.

And Trace launched herself in my direction. I barely had enough time to brace myself before her body met mine.

This was what I was giving up.

My head lifted, my eyes slowly meeting Frank’s steel gaze. The bastard better keep her safe, or it was his head.

Because this… I inhaled… this was what I was saying goodbye to.

I couldn’t take it…

We hugged for possibly a few seconds before I let out a hiss and pushed her away. Funny, how a few weeks ago her touch damn-near destroyed me. Now? It was a drug that I craved on a daily basis, one I would never again be able to experience.

Ha, I thought I’d felt true pain before.

I’d felt nothing.

Trace reached for my hand, but I pulled it away and shook my head slowly. This wasn’t the time or place, and we had an audience.

The sound of stiletto heels hitting marble interrupted the stare-off between me and Frank. A lady cleared her throat. A pretty woman with straight black hair smiled at Trace. “Lunch is ready.”

Frank turned around and followed her into another room. I did the same, as Trace trailed behind me. If I wasn’t invited, he’d make it known by the bullet-sized hole in my forehead.

The medieval-looking dining room was just as I remembered. A long, wood table was in the middle of the room. Dark wallpaper lined the walls, and a few bronze chandeliers hung in the middle, casting a glow on the cold pastas and bruschetta that were ready for consumption.

I’d always been terrified of that room as a kid… it had just seemed too dark and a lot haunted. I was too little to know that ghosts didn’t exist, and all too aware of how darkness could consume you from the inside out.

My glass was filled with red wine.

Thank God.

Trace looked at hers with narrowed eyes then glanced at me with a pleading look. She reached for my leg. Damn, but her touch brought me way too much comfort. Wasn’t I the one in the wrong? Shouldn’t I be comforting her? Kissing her? Telling her that I was sorry?

It was backward.

So freaking backward.

I was the reason she was hurting, yet she still reached out, which just goes to prove how amazing the girl was, and how unworthy I would always be.

Lunch was silent. So silent I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness. Since when were Italians silent during mealtime? Tex would have swallowed his damn tongue over that.

Loud chewing was our soundtrack, well, that and Frank’s sudden outbursts of cursing, thanks to his inability to do anything except stare at every movement Trace made in my direction.

“Grandpa, may I be excused?” Trace asked politely, finally breaking the tense silence.