Page 6 of Fractured Onyx

"It's bad for the mission," I continue, crossing my arms in front of my chest, as if that gesture gives any more authority to my words.

"As you said, we need to trust each other for this to work. And... well, while this mission isn't exactly in my interest as much as it is in yours—still, if I am forced to do it, I want to make sure to get out of it alive. Or at least...try to."

I'm rambling, and my head is spinning as if I was under the influence. My heart is racing, driving the urge to go on with my silly string of words as I continue trying to dig myself out of a hole.

As if I didn't have any other, bigger problems to be concerned about right now.

"You know, I still doubt that I can do it, maybe even more so now that I've met Lailah," I add in a lower voice. "She's so much stronger and so skilled... so tough, even now."

The expression on his face softens as I talk. He was originally nodding and grinning widely, not even trying to hide his amusement at my rambling.

But now his expression fades, the smile first losing its condescending note, and then disappearing completely. He's still nodding, but this time it's an earnest gesture, accompanied by concern and compassion.

"She grew up with this," he says, in an obvious attempt at consoling me. "You shouldn't compare yourself to her."

"I'm not comparing," I hiss. "This is not an ego thing, Nate. I'm saying I can't take the place of someone like her. I'll die trying-"

"We'lldie," he corrects me. "You're not going in there all by yourself. Even when you don't see us, the Covey will always be at your side to make sure everything goes according to plan."

"According to plan," I mock. "No part of this is going according to plan. You've said so yourself a million times."

"It's still the same plan," he says, winking. "We just need to adjust it on the go—and more than we thought we would have to."

"And where's that plan at right now?" I prompt, jutting my chin forward defiantly. He better not deny me an answer to that one.

To my surprise, he doesn't.

"Big George is talking to the Scivolas as we speak," he tells me straight out. "We were supposed to meet up with them this week, and until a couple of days ago, we thought it'd be the day when we tell them that the deal is off—and prepared for the fight that would most certainly ensue. But, now that things have changed, we're trying to push the date back, so we have more time to recollect."

"Mhm," I murmur, all too aware that everything is resting on me. It's too much weight for my weak shoulders to bear, but it doesn't seem like anyone cares about that. Especially not Nate.

He says everything will work out. So it will. As simple as that.

Chapter 4

Nate

It's just the two of us as we sit down at a dining table downstairs that could easily seat a dozen people, if not more. It's a massive piece of wood furniture, varnished in a dark mahogany hue, and looking so sturdy and heavy that it looks impossible to move. How the hell anyone ever got it in here, I have no idea. I've been in this mansion many times, but never paid much attention to the details of its interior before.

Not until today, that is, when my eyes follow her curious glances as I lead her through the house and into the dining room.

The dining room is on the other end of the mansion, far away from Big George's office. It's so big and has such high ceilings that it deserves the name hall instead of room. Two floor-length windows on two walls let in the remaining light of the day, the last violet and dark orange stripes of the setting sun marking the horizon far away.

I know the guys will all come together to eat later, but I didn't want to overtax her with a get-together of this magnitude on her very first night in this place. She's barely gotten used to the presence of just Daveed and Mike, but a dinner with almost a dozen brutes of the Covey would be a challenge on a different level—one that she doesn't have to face. From what I gathered earlier, it wouldn't even help if Lailah was able to join us at the dinner table. She showcases the same unyielding roughness that comes with being a long-standing Covey member, the very same attitude that's so unsettling for Malia to absorb in the first place.

Big George has always emphasized maintaining his big boss image and delivering an image to the Covey that reflects our alleged standing in this region. We're a fairly successful crime syndicate all right, but even the size of this mansion, the expensive cars and the pricey decor don't belie the fact that we're still highly dependent on the local mafia's benevolence.

This house is way too big for George and his second—or third—and current wife, but it's never just them living here. They always give refuge to guests, friends, or associates of the Covey. Anybody who isn't our enemy and needs a safe place to stay for a while is welcome.

That's why no one even bats an eye at the idea of hosting Malia here, a civilian and complete stranger to the Covey. To most, she is nothing more than a pawn in Mission Onyx—a majorly important pawn, but still a pawn.

Her eyes widen when the meal is brought to us, and I get to enjoy the sight of one of those rare smiles on her face, an expression that she hasn't displayed often since we met. Of course, I can't blame her for that. George hired a private cook when he instated this mansion as his new home and the Covey's headquarters. The man is an excellent chef, still young and impressionable, which is why it was easy to lure him into this job with a hefty sum of money that ensured he would keep his mouth shut.

"Real food," she sighs, her eyes trained on the simple meal plated in front of us—pork tenders with potatoes and greens. It's nothing fancy, but I share her sentiment. For the past couple of days, it has been nothing but sandwiches and instant ramen. Even a simple dish such as this tops that by far.

"Enjoy," I say, sounding a bit too patronizing for my own taste. For a moment there, it seems I've tricked myself into believing that this is just a regular dinner date and I'm the nice guy paying the bill.

She doesn't deign my invitation with a response, but starts digging in to the freshly prepared food right away. I can see the wave of relief and satisfaction traveling through her entire body as her shoulders sink and her spine curves slightly. She closes her eyes while chewing, looking so deeply content and blissful that it only highlights how miserable she must have been all this time.

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