Chapter 5

"Who," Alexander asked again, "put their hands on you?"

Thalia's first instinct was to lie, to say it was nothing, to keep some scrap of control over a night that had already taken everything else. But his eyes hadn't moved from the marks on her wrist, and something in his stillness told her a lie wouldn't survive contact with him.

"Drayle's men," she said. "One of them, outside my office."

Something shifted in Alexander's expression — not quite anger, something colder and more controlled than that.

"Which one."

"I don't know his name."

"Describe him."

"Mid-forties. Cigarette smoke. He knew my father's schedule, my office, which street I park on." Her voice was steadier than she felt. "He grabbed my wrist and told me the company was the first thing Drayle would take. Then the people."

Alexander crossed the room and picked up the phone on his desk without dialing anything, just holding it, thumb resting on the button like it was taking real effort not to press it yet.

"Silas," he said into it. "Every man on Halden Street this evening. I want names by morning."

He set the phone down.

"You didn't come here to tell me about a man in a parking lot," he said. "You came here to say yes."

Thalia's jaw tightened. "I came here because my father told me not to come home. Because the police looked at that car and drove away. Because you're the only name in this city Drayle's men still flinch at."

"That's not a yes."

"It's the closest thing to one you're getting tonight."

Alexander studied her for a long moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.

"Then let's discuss terms," he said, "before you change your mind and go back out to whatever's still waiting for you on that street."

Thalia's stomach dropped. She hadn't thought about the sedan since she'd walked through the gate.

"Is it still out there?"

Alexander didn't answer right away, which was answer enough.

"You're not leaving tonight," he said. "Not until I know exactly who sent him, and exactly what they think they can still take from you."

"State your terms," Alexander said, "before I state mine."

Thalia crossed her arms, needing something to hold onto. "My father stays out of your world. Whatever you are, whatever this protection costs you, he doesn't become part of it. No debts to you. No favors owed on his side."

"Agreed." Alexander didn't even pause. "What else."

"On paper, this ends in a year. I don't care what it actually is by then. I want the exit written into the contract, not promised out loud where it means nothing."

Something flickered in his face — amusement, maybe insult, gone too fast to name. "Agreed."

"I keep my name. My work. Whatever I built before you walked into that office stays mine, not folded into anything with your name on it."

"Agreed." He said it simply this time, watching her. "Is that all?"

"That's all I came prepared to ask for."

"Then I'll add the one you didn't think to."

Thalia's stomach tightened. "What."

"You don't go home tonight." He said it flatly, already reaching for his phone. "Not to pack, not to say goodbye to a house Drayle's men already know the layout of. You stay here, under this roof, starting now."

"The wedding is in nine days—"

"The wedding is in nine days. Your safety isn't waiting nine days for anyone."

Thalia stared at him, every term she'd just won suddenly weighing less than the one he'd just taken back. "You can't just decide that."

"I already have." He held her eyes. "Silas's men found the sedan twenty minutes ago. Parked three streets from here."

Thalia's blood went cold. "Watching this building?"

Alexander didn't answer right away, which had become its own kind of answer with him.

"They're not watching the building," he said finally. "They're watching the gate. Which means they're waiting to see who leaves it."

"Watching the gate," Thalia repeated. "Waiting for who."

"For you." Alexander set the phone down without dialing. "Or for me, if I'm foolish enough to walk you out myself."

"Then send someone else. Have your men handle it."

"They will. That's not what worries me."

"Then what does?"

Alexander crossed to the window instead of answering, looking down at a street she couldn't see from where she stood. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped, quieter and more precise than anything he'd said all night.

"Drayle's men don't sit outside a building for no reason," he said. "They sit because they were told to. Which means someone already knew you'd come here tonight."

Thalia's pulse jumped. "That's not possible. I didn't know I was coming here until an hour ago."

"Then someone else did."

The room went very still.

"Are you saying," Thalia said slowly, "that someone told them where I'd end up before I decided it myself?"

Alexander turned from the window, and for the first time since she'd walked in, something like genuine unease crossed his face.

"I'm saying," he said, "that either Drayle has men inside my organization, or he has one inside yours."

Thalia's mouth had gone dry. "Someone inside my organization. You mean my father's company."

"I mean anyone close enough to know your movements before you knew them yourself." Alexander's eyes hadn't left her. "Who else knew you left that parking lot tonight?"

"No one. I didn't tell anyone I was coming here."

"Your father."

"He told me not to come home. He didn't say where to go instead."

"Then he already assumes you have somewhere to run to." Alexander's voice stayed level, but something underneath it had sharpened. "Which means either he guessed correctly, or he already knew."

Thalia's stomach turned over. "You think my father—"

"I think your father has kept one secret from you for thirty years," Alexander said. "I don't assume that's the only one."

She wanted to argue. The words wouldn't come, because some small, ugly part of her had already wondered the same thing on the drive over and refused to look at it directly.

"Call him," she said. "Call my father right now."

"I already tried." Alexander didn't look up from his phone. "It rang out."

"That doesn't mean anything. He could be asleep, he could—"

"He didn't answer you either. Twice." Alexander's voice was quiet, controlled, worse for it. "A man who told his daughter not to come home doesn't sleep through his phone ringing an hour later."

Thalia's throat tightened. Neither of them said what they were both already thinking.

Alexander's phone lit up on the desk between them. He glanced at it, and whatever he read made his jaw tighten in a way she hadn't seen from him yet — not calculation this time, something closer to alarm.

"What," Thalia said.

"The sedan," Alexander said slowly, "just moved."

"Moved where?"

He turned the screen so she could see it. A single line of text from Silas.

It's not watching the gate anymore. It's parked outside your father's house.