CHAPTER 7

Dean

Grace 24, Dean 32

The melancholy music hummed through the entire auditorium.

Though it was a lamentable piece, the song was about two lovers. Two passionate fellows who lost themselves in each other so deeply that when they found one another, one of them was dead.

The moment Grace strummed the first string of her instrument, the song captivated the audience. Others probably were too in-depth in the music, but I was sitting in the first row for another reason.

More than the melody, it was the magnificence of the artist that kept me glued to this uncomfortable seat. Her beauty radiated under her white spotlight as she swung right into the music she was playing. 

Her full-sleeved burgundy gown with her hair in a neat updo, coupled with minimal makeup, brought out a freshness in this room. It was impossible to focus on the music when she was sitting there. Any man with a functioning dick would feel a little thing in the lower part of the body. Just the way I was feeling.

Grace's eyes were closed; her hands were moving in synchrony. The music crammed every single one of her senses, taking her to a world where it was only her and the instrument. She was shining brightly because she was doing what she adored. It made her glow brighter than the diamond she was wearing around her neck.

I didn't like it, not a single bit of it. I figured out her devotion to the cello when I quietly saw her practicing all these weeks. She bypassed this world entirely once the cello bow was in her hands and her fingers brushed over the strings.

Grace Hale transferred into some goddess mode, making it hard to look away from her peaceful face and content smile. She found herself in music, wiping out all the worries this world had offered. 

And that was cute.

However, I didn't like it. At all.

Why?

The answer was simple; she found pleasure where I didn't exist, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I was deep in this play. The game my heart and head were playing finally had a name. “Obsession.” Yes, I recognized my feelings for this young woman were called "obsession." The one sentiment most mature independent women found nuisance. But it was what it was.

I was obsessed with Grace Hale, and thinking she found peace elsewhere than with me constructed a fury in my heart that burned every bit of my organs.

“I must say, tonight you were dazzling.” I said, standing in the doorway of her dressing room. “I am not a music guy. I don't care about any form of art, but tonight I sat through your performance. And trust me, tonight will stay with me for a long time.”

Grace stared at me with a blank face, as if she didn't know how to react to this sudden unexpected compliment. She blinked a few times but neither moved from her seat nor said a word to me. Finally, she nodded her head a little before turning around in her chair and focusing on removing her makeup.

Any other man in my place might have found her manner grouchy, but not me. I liked it, which was why I smiled the entire car ride to my penthouse.

It was fascinating. How subtly she dismisses me as if I were an inconvenience to her busy schedule. Like I was one of those many men who yearned for a glance from her. Once she smiled, they fucking lost their senses.

Cute.

But I was the fellow who was writing her future. From now on, it would be me who decides her present and future.

Of course with me in it.

Enzo was on the phone when I entered the penthouse. His smile and gentle voice conveyed that he was talking either to his wife or his daughter. He held his whiskey glass while I nodded my head before entering my bedroom.

As I emerged from the quick night shower, Enzo was still on his phone; however, this time his voice was harsher and his language was a lot more vicious. Work, for sure.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of cold water before joining him in the living room, where the news was serving as the background music.

“What's wrong?” I asked, finishing the water. “You look like you are about to have a stroke.”

“I am if we don't catch whoever is leaking news to the cops soon.” He scrolled his phone with such urgency; it revealed what I needed to know.

“How bad is it?” I switched on my phone, which I had switched off before the show began.

“We lost 45 million and a drug shipment.” He muttered before pulling his phone to his ear.

“Fuck.” I shouted as I checked my phone, and he was right.

Tommy, who was in charge of tonight's shipment, messaged me an hour ago informing me that the cops were there in ordinary clothing before the ship hit the shore. He somehow ran, and two of the other men were safe too. But cops seized the entire shipment, making us suffer a fucking 45 million.

“Not now.” I groaned as my phone lit up with the one name I was nowhere near interested in talking to at this moment.

“What do you want, Rocco?” I snapped. “I don't have any time for your nonsense right now.”

“Too bad, cousin. I personally dedicated tonight to you. I canceled all my appointments just to spend this lovely night with you over the phone.” He chuckled. "Don't you want to spend the night with your older brother?”

“You did it, didn't you?” I asked calmly.

“Did what, my brother?”

“Informing the cops about the shipment.”

“And lose our family a significant amount. Nope, brother, I am not the man you are after. However, I might have given a little hand to someone who might have some connection with this job.”

“Rocco.” I screamed, keeping my voice as controlled as possible.

“45 million is a big loss for this family. How do you plan to help us recover from this loss?”

"Rocco, I will fucking kill you.” Words spilled through my clenched teeth.

“Yeah yeah. You are all talk and zero bite, cousin. So, yeah, I don't give a fuck about your threats. However, take my words pretty seriously, Dean. Because I am not as sane as you. I don't think; I just do it.” I remained silent, which gave him a reason to continue. "Because this time I will attack where it hurts most, Dean. And it won't be your sister. It will be Grace Hale. Your little cellist.”