Page 77

Where would be the harm in trusting someone just this once?
“Actually,” I say cautiously, “there’s one more thing I could use your help with. You’ll be compensated handsomely, of course.”
“Shoot.”
“Viktor Petrov.”
“I know him.” Rocky’s face tightens slightly. “Guy has a reputation.”
“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “Could you keep an eye on him when he appears at the gala? And… intervene if you see anything…” I trial off, seeking the right word.
“Anything detrimental to your reputation?” Rocky offers.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Easily.” Rocky smiles. “He won’t be able to piss without one of my guys cataloging how much.”
“Ew.” I snort. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Uhm…” I’ve asked too much already, but the urge is there and Rocky makes it feel easy.
“Ask,” Rocky says, leaning back against my car. “What is it?”
“There’s something else you might be able to help me with.”
Rocky’s head tilts to the side. “Which is?”
Bending back into my car, I rummage quickly in the glove compartment and pull out the bag containing the bloodied letter opener. I present it to Rocky, and his brows knit together as he studies the object in my hands, then his eyes flick up to mine.
“Can you help me with this?” I ask.
The lights are low, and the estate is asleep by the time I sneak back inside. My meeting with Rocky didn’t go the way I anticipated. He was much friendlier than I expected, which must have been Cormac’s way of doing things. I can’t imagine the heir to the Italian Mafia being that friendly to a stranger. His willingness to help should be suspicious, but not long after we parted, I received a call from Cormac, who wanted to make sure things had gone well.
Part of me wants to trust it. I want to believe that these decisions will help me and that I finally have someone in my corner, but the thought makes my chest squeeze and not even a long, hot shower can remove the sensation.
I trusted Erik. And Viktor.
Both of them have been working against me this entire time, and that betrayal runs deep.
So I can’t trust Cormac and I can’t rely on Rocky. Not completely. I need to be prepared for the gala to be a failure or a danger to my life.
The only problem is, I have no idea how to be prepared. How many backup plans will I need before it gets ridiculous? Howlong until my broken trust reduces me to a hermit who never leaves the house and exists only in contingency plans?
By the time I’m showered and in bed, the thoughts haven’t calmed. Despite exhaustion lingering in the corner of my mind, sleep feels impossible. I settle against the pillows and stare up at the ceiling, willing something to come out of nowhere and calm me down.
Nothing does.
As I lie there, something tightens slightly in my abdomen and I press a hand against my tummy.
Is my baby okay? Should I be worried? What if the stress of the gala and more results in something worse than the bleeding?
Too many questions, but as they spin around my mind, one other thought strikes me.
Erik.
The letter he left me sits in my bedside drawer. I haven’t been able to read it because I can’t stomach anything he has to say to me, but as the minutes tick by and another uncomfortable sensation worms through my gut, I can’t stop thinking about it.