Page 40 of Made for Vengeance (Dark Dynasties #3)
GRACE
" Y ou can go into town today."
I looked up from my book, certain I'd misheard him. Rafe stood in the doorway of the library, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable as always.
"What?"
"Town. You can go. For a few hours." He stepped further into the room, his movements measured and deliberate. "There's a bookstore you might enjoy. A café. A few shops."
I set my book aside, studying him carefully.
In the two days since he'd given me my phone—since I'd confirmed what I'd already known, that no one was looking for me—our relationship had settled into something I still couldn't quite define.
Not captor and captive, not quite lovers, but something in between.
A strange domesticity tinged with the ever-present knowledge that I remained here by his choice, not mine.
"Why?" I asked, suspicious of this sudden offering.
He shrugged, the gesture too casual to be genuine. "You've been restless. Pacing. Playing the same Debussy piece for three days straight."
I hadn't realized he'd noticed. "And you think a trip to town will help?"
"I think a change of scenery might be beneficial." He moved to the window, looking out at the manicured grounds that had become both my sanctuary and my prison. "For both of us."
There it was—the hint that this wasn't purely for my benefit. Nothing with Rafe ever was.
"What's the catch?" I asked, setting aside the pretense that this was a normal conversation between normal people.
He turned back to me, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Practical as always. The 'catch' is that you'll be accompanied by Marco and Anthony. You'll stay within their sight at all times. You'll return by four o'clock. And you'll wear this."
He pulled something from his pocket—a delicate gold bracelet with a small charm dangling from it.
"A tracking device?" I guessed, not bothering to hide my bitterness.
"Yes." No apologies, no excuses. Just honesty, as always. "A precaution."
I should have been offended. Should have refused on principle. But the thought of leaving these walls, of seeing something beyond the estate's boundaries, of breathing air that wasn't filtered through the lens of captivity—it was too tempting to reject out of pride.
"Alright," I said, standing and holding out my wrist. "Put it on."
He crossed to me, his fingers warm against my skin as he fastened the bracelet. It was beautiful, I had to admit—the kind of thing I might have chosen for myself in another life. The tracking device was disguised as a small heart-shaped charm, innocuous to anyone who didn't know better.
"It suits you," he said, his fingers lingering on my wrist a moment longer than necessary.
"Does it?" I pulled my hand away, not wanting to acknowledge the small thrill his touch still sent through me. "When do we leave?"
"Whenever you're ready. Marco is waiting with the car."
I nodded, already mentally cataloging what I needed—my jacket, my shoes, the small amount of cash Rafe had begun providing me with for "incidentals" around the estate.
It wasn't much, but it was another small freedom in a life increasingly defined by what freedoms I was granted rather than what was taken away.
"I'll be ready in ten minutes," I said, moving past him toward the door.
His hand caught mine as I passed, stopping me. "Grace."
I looked up at him, at the intensity in his dark eyes, at the tension in his jaw that betrayed his unease with this concession.
"Be careful," he said, his voice lower than before. "Stay with Marco and Anthony. Don't?—"
"Try to escape?" I finished for him, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "We both know there's nowhere for me to go."
Pain flickered across his features—not physical, but emotional. A reaction to the truth we both acknowledged but rarely spoke aloud.
"That's not what I was going to say," he replied quietly. "I was going to say don't forget that there are people in this world who would use you to get to me. To my family. People who wouldn't be as... considerate... as I've been."
The warning sent a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the library.
It was easy to forget, in the bubble of the estate, that Rafe Conti was not just my captor but a powerful man in a dangerous world.
That his enemies might see me as leverage, just as he had once seen me as leverage against my own family.
"I'll be careful," I promised, the words more sincere than I'd intended.
He nodded, releasing my hand. "I'll see you at four."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, Marco driving and Anthony in the passenger seat. Both men were armed—I could see the subtle bulge of shoulder holsters beneath their jackets—and both wore the expressionless mask of professional security.
"Where to first, Ms. O'Sullivan?" Marco asked, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror.
The formality was jarring after weeks of being simply "Grace" to everyone at the estate. A reminder that to most of Rafe's people, I was still an outsider. A complication. A potential liability.
"The bookstore," I decided, wanting to start somewhere quiet, somewhere I could adjust to being in the world again without too much stimulation.
Marco nodded and pulled out of the estate's gates, the massive iron structures closing behind us with a finality that made my stomach clench. I was leaving, but not escaping. The distinction was important.
The town was small but charming—one of those communities that seemed frozen in time, with colonial architecture, tree-lined streets, and small shops that had probably been there for generations.
It was early autumn, and the leaves were just beginning to turn, splashes of red and gold against the deep green of summer.
We parked on the main street, and I stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath of air that tasted different somehow—fresher, wilder, less controlled than the air within the estate's walls. Marco and Anthony flanked me, not touching but close enough to intervene if necessary.
"The bookstore is there," Marco said, nodding toward a storefront with bay windows displaying stacks of books and comfortable reading chairs. "We'll be right behind you."
I nodded, already moving toward the shop, drawn by the promise of new books, new stories, new escapes from the reality of my situation.
The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and the scent hit me immediately—paper and ink and the faint mustiness of old books.
It smelled like freedom, like my old life, like the person I'd been before Rafe Conti had decided I belonged to him.
The shop was empty except for an elderly woman behind the counter, who looked up with a smile as I entered. "Good morning! Let me know if you need help finding anything."
"Thank you," I replied, my voice sounding strange to my own ears—too formal, too careful, like I'd forgotten how to interact with people who weren't part of the Conti household.
Marco and Anthony positioned themselves near the door, their presence less obtrusive than I'd expected but still unmistakable. The shopkeeper glanced at them curiously but didn't comment, returning to the book she'd been reading.
I wandered through the stacks, trailing my fingers along spines, reading titles, occasionally pulling a book out to read the back cover.
It was such a normal activity, something I'd done countless times before my abduction, yet it felt surreal now.
Like I was playing a role in a movie about my former life.
I selected a few books—a novel I'd been wanting to read, a collection of poetry, a biography of a female Supreme Court justice. Normal choices for the law student I'd once been, for the woman I was trying to remember how to be.
As I approached the counter to pay, I noticed a display of local newspapers. The headline caught my eye: "O'Sullivan Empire Expands: Patrick O'Sullivan Acquires Graven Hill Properties."
My father's face stared up at me from the page, his expression the practiced smile of a businessman closing a successful deal.
The same expression he'd worn in countless photographs throughout my childhood, at events where I'd been trotted out as the perfect daughter, the O'Sullivan princess, before being sent back to boarding school or summer camp or wherever was convenient.
The same expression he'd worn when discussing my absence with Dante Conti, as if I were a minor business complication rather than his kidnapped daughter.
"Are you alright, dear?" the shopkeeper asked, concern in her voice.
I realized I'd been staring at the newspaper, my knuckles white around the books I held. "Yes, sorry. Just... recognized someone."
She nodded, ringing up my purchases without further comment. I paid with the cash Rafe had given me, tucking the books into a bag and heading back out onto the street, Marco and Anthony falling into step beside me.
"The café next?" Marco suggested, gesturing to a small establishment across the street.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The newspaper had shaken me more than I wanted to admit, bringing the reality of my situation into sharp focus.
While I'd been living in Rafe's gilded cage, life had gone on without me.
My father had continued his business dealings, expanded his empire, moved forward as if I'd never existed.
The café was busier than the bookstore, filled with locals enjoying late-morning coffee and pastries. A few glanced up as we entered, their eyes lingering on Marco and Anthony before dismissing them as bodyguards for someone wealthy but not important enough to recognize.
No one looked twice at me. No one whispered, "Isn't that the missing O'Sullivan girl?" No one reached for their phone to call the police or take a surreptitious photo.
Because no one was looking for me. No one knew I was missing. No one cared.