Chapter 8

The festival was in full swing.

Children laughed as they ran between the booths. Live music drifted through the waterfront park, blending with the aroma of grilled meat, fresh pastries, and roasted coffee.

At Booth Twenty-One, a line of customers stretched farther than Meera had ever imagined.

"I need four beef tacos!"

"Two chicken!"

"Can I have extra salsa?"

Meera moved quickly, her hands working with practiced precision. Tortillas warmed on the grill while Rosa packaged completed orders.

"We're running out of steak," Rosa whispered.

"I'll prepare another batch."

Just as Meera reached for the cooler, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"You've been busy."

She turned.

Grant.

This time, he wasn't alone.

Three foreign businessmen stood beside him, all dressed in expensive suits.

"Mr. Nakamura," Grant said, "these are the tacos I told you about."

Meera blinked.

"You... told people about us?"

"I don't recommend things I don't believe in."

Mr. Nakamura smiled politely.

"So you are Miss Andrews."

She nodded shyly.

"It's nice to meet you."

"We've heard your tacos are the best in San Diego."

Meera laughed nervously.

"I hope they don't disappoint."

"They won't," Grant answered before anyone else could.

For a second, their eyes met.

Meera quickly looked away, suddenly very aware of the warmth rising to her cheeks.

---

Half an hour later, every taco they had prepared was sold out.

Every single one.

Meera stared at the empty trays in disbelief.

"We... sold everything?"

Rosa grinned.

"We've never done that before."

An event organizer approached with an envelope.

"Miss Andrews?"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Gonas asked me to give you this."

She frowned.

"What is it?"

"It's today's payment from the festival, along with a bonus."

Meera opened the envelope.

Her breath caught.

The amount written on the cheque was more money than she'd earned in nearly four months.

Her hands trembled.

"There has to be a mistake."

"There isn't."

The organizer smiled.

"Mr. Gonas insisted."

---

Grant stood on the balcony overlooking the festival, watching the crowd below.

Damien joined him.

"You've done enough."

Grant didn't look away.

"Enough?"

"For the girl."

"I paid her for her work."

"You also made sure every investor visited her booth."

Grant remained silent.

"And you doubled her appearance f*e."

Still nothing.

Damien folded his arms.

"You've never gone out of your way for anyone outside the Family."

Grant finally spoke.

"She earned it."

"That's what you're telling yourself?"

Grant's icy gaze shifted toward him.

"What exactly are you implying?"

Damien sighed.

"I'm saying you're beginning to care."

Before Grant could respond, his phone vibrated.

Unknown Number.

He answered.

"Grant Gonas."

A distorted voice spoke.

"You've become careless."

Grant's expression hardened.

"Who is this?"

"The Frozen Beast... smiling at a street vendor."

Silence.

"You've always protected your empire."

The caller laughed softly.

"But can you protect her?"

The line went dead.

---

At the taco booth, Meera tucked the envelope safely into her bag.

She couldn't stop smiling.

"Grandma..."

"Hm?"

"We can pay the rent."

Rosa's eyes filled with tears.

"And your medicine."

"And fix the cart."

"And maybe..." Meera whispered, "...take a day off."

Rosa laughed.

"A whole day?"

"A whole day."

For the first time in years, the future didn't seem quite so frightening.

She had no idea that only a few hundred meters away, Grant stood with his jaw clenched, replaying the anonymous call in his mind.

Someone had been watching.

Not just him.

Meera.

---

As the sun began to set, guests slowly left the festival.

Meera and Rosa packed the remaining supplies into the cart.

Grant approached once more.

"I wanted to congratulate you."

She smiled.

"I should be thanking you."

"You already did."

"I don't think once is enough."

Grant looked at the now-empty booth.

"You've got talent."

"You really think so?"

"I don't waste compliments."

She laughed.

"I've noticed."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

It was the first time they had stood together without arguing.

Then Grant's phone buzzed again.

A text from Damien.

We've identified the caller. Leave the festival now. It's a trap.

Grant's eyes instantly searched the crowd.

Nothing looked unusual.

Families were leaving.

Workers were dismantling decorations.

Musicians packed away their instruments.

Too normal.

His instincts screamed otherwise.

He looked back at Meera.

"Go home."

She frowned.

"What?"

"Now."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

Before she could ask another question—

BANG!

A gunshot shattered the evening air.

Screams erupted across the park.

People ran in every direction.

Grant's head snapped toward the sound.

A masked man stood near the entrance, raising a pistol for a second shot.

Without thinking, Grant grabbed Meera's wrist and pulled her behind the taco booth.

"Stay down!"

Meera's heart pounded violently.

"What is happening?"

Grant's voice turned cold—the same coldness that had earned him the nickname The Frozen Beast.

"They've found us."

The second gunshot never came.

Instead, chaos erupted.

Children cried as parents rushed them toward the exits. Vendors abandoned their booths, and the cheerful music that had filled the festival moments earlier was swallowed by terrified screams.

"Stay down!" Grant ordered.

Meera's knees hit the ground behind the taco cart. Her breathing became shallow as she instinctively pulled Rosa beside her.

"Grandma, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Rosa whispered, though her trembling hands said otherwise.

Grant cautiously peered over the counter.

The gunman had disappeared into the panicked crowd.

"Damn it."

Within seconds, four men dressed in black suits appeared from different directions. They moved with practiced precision, forming a protective circle around Grant.

One of them pressed a finger to his earpiece.

"Area One secure."

"Area Two clear."

"We've lost visual on the shooter."

Meera stared at them in disbelief.

They weren't police.

They weren't festival staff.

And they all seemed to be taking orders from one person.

Grant.

One of the men turned to him.

"Boss, the vehicle is ready."

Grant shook his head.

"Not until every civilian is out."

"Sir, you could still be the target."

Grant's expression hardened.

"I gave you an order."

The guard lowered his head.

"Yes, Boss."

Meera looked from Grant to the men surrounding him.

"Who... are these people?"

Grant didn't answer.

Instead, he crouched beside Rosa.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded.

"I think so."

"Good."

He offered his hand.

Rosa accepted it with a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

Grant helped her to her feet before turning to Meera.

"You too."

She ignored his hand and stood on her own.

"I can manage."

"I never said you couldn't."

Despite the danger, she rolled her eyes.

"You always sound so serious."

"And you always choose the strangest moments to argue."

"I learned from the best."

For the briefest moment, Grant almost smiled.

Then Damien came running toward them.

"Grant."

"What?"

"We searched the perimeter."

"And?"

"No casualties."

Grant released a quiet breath.

"The shooter?"

"Gone."

Damien's eyes shifted to Meera and Rosa.

"We need to leave."

Grant nodded.

"Take them."

Meera frowned.

"Take us where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"I'm going home."

"No."

His voice was calm, but final.

"I said I'm going home."

"And I said no."

She stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated.

"You don't get to tell me what to do."

Damien blinked.

He had seen world leaders hesitate before speaking to Grant Gonas.

This woman...

She argued with him as if he were an ordinary man.

Grant met her stubborn gaze.

"Someone fired a gun less than two minutes ago."

"And?"

"And I'm not letting you walk home."

"I've walked home every day for years."

"Today is different."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?"

Grant fell silent.

He couldn't tell her about Victor Romano.

He couldn't tell her she'd unknowingly stepped into the middle of a mafia war.

Not yet.

Before either of them could speak again, Rosa gently touched Meera's arm.

"Sweetheart."

Meera looked at her.

"Let's hear him out."

"But Grandma—"

"If he wanted to harm us, he had plenty of chances."

Meera sighed.

She hated admitting it.

Rosa was right.

Grant looked at Damien.

"Have one of the SUVs bring them."

Damien nodded and walked away to make the arrangements.

As the festival grounds slowly emptied, Meera looked back at her taco booth.

The banner fluttered gently in the evening breeze.

Only an hour ago, it had been the happiest day of her life.

Now it was surrounded by police tape.

Grant noticed where she was looking.

"We'll recover everything."

She laughed bitterly.

"You make everything sound so easy."

"No."

He looked at the abandoned festival.

"I just don't panic."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Meera asked the question that had been bothering her since the shooting.

"Grant..."

He turned.

"Were they trying to kill you?"

His expression became unreadable.

"...I don't know."

It was the first lie he had told her.

Far away, inside a black sedan overlooking the waterfront, Victor Romano lowered a pair of binoculars.

A satisfied smile spread across his face.

"So..."

He set the binoculars on the passenger seat.

"You chose to protect her."

His phone buzzed.

"Boss?" one of his men asked.

Victor looked back toward the festival lights.

"Don't touch the girl."

"Not yet?"

"Not yet."

He smiled coldly.

"Sometimes the quickest way to destroy a powerful man... is to let him fall in love first."