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22

Blaise

Ipace in front of the door. It’s Friday night, and I’m waiting for Maddox to get home from work. Hopefully he gets here first before Cillian and his men do. I would like to kiss him goodbye before leaving.

The doorbell rings the same time my phone in my purse chimes. I glance at the monitor in anticipation of feeling Maddox’s warm mouth on mine. To my disappointment, it’s Cillian. I check my messages. There’s one from Maddox.

Maddox: Remind Cillian I will cut off his junk if he breaks his promise

I bite down on my nervous smile. How can I convince the men to be civil to one another? More is at stake here than egos. My connection to Cillian could affect Maddox’s business. I would never want to rob him of the source of his wealth. I return his message.

Me: I will. TTYL

Maddox: That’s all u have for me?

I send him an emoji blowing a kiss.

Maddox: That’s better

The doorbell rings again. Men and their impatience.

I open the door, and glancing back at the safety I’m leaving behind, I follow Cillian to the elevator. We take the ride down to the lobby in silence. I don’t blame him. There are cameras everywhere, and where there are eyes, there must be ears listening in on our conversation.

Should I feel safe or intruded upon that someone shared the image of me and Granger with Cillian? Which begs the question, is one of Maddox’s men working for Cillian?

At the lobby, large men wearing dark suits greet us. They surround us the moment we step out of the elevator. Cillian grabs ahold of my arm and leads me to the blacked-out SUV parked in front of Maddox’s building. His men are my shield from the paparazzi waiting by the line of SUVs with cameras in hand.

Once we’re inside the SUV and the doors are closed, his security detail packs into the SUVs parked behind and in front of the one we’re in. I don’t say a word until we’re on the road.

“Did you tip off the media?”

“Guilty.”

“Why?”

“Gotta give the world something to talk about. Imagine the headlines, sweetheart. The Reclusive Blaise Lexington Canoodling with the Scarred Lord of the Underworld.”

“You acknowledge your connection to the mob?” I shift in my seat and look at him, amazed he’s admitting rumor to be truth.

“A matter of semantics. I’m a businessman.”

“Who uses intimidation and violence to get his way.”

“You have proof, sweetheart?”

There’s a sharp edge in his voice.

“None.” I return to my initial pose, staring forward with my gloved hands clasped in my lap. I must remember that Cillian McCabe is a dangerous man.

“Good. Keep it that way. Otherwise, I will not welcome you into our family, Blaise.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me. You are my child.”

“My father—”

“We were business partners.”