Page 56 of Claiming Genevieve

“Keep an eye on her,” he says firmly. “Make sure no one bothers her.”

“You got it, boss.” Rory throws him a two-fingered salute and follows me out as I leave the penthouse.

Dahlia and Evelyn are already waiting for me at the tapas dessert bar where they wanted to meet, a bright pastel confectionery that is a good substitute for anactualbar, since neither of them can drink right now.I, on the other hand, still can, and I waste no time ordering a white Russian when we sit down at the pink-and-yellow velvet booth near a window that the hostess leads us over to. Rory finds a seat on the opposite side, choosing to sit with the two bodyguards who came along with Dahlia and Evelyn.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” I ask as we look over the flowery printed menus that the hostess left us with. “Having people watching you all of the time?”

Evelyn laughs softly as Dahlia shrugs. “I hated it at first,” she admits. “But I got used to it. I do feel safer, now. Especially since I know the kind of danger that can come along with Dimitri’s position.”

“It’s just one of the downsides,” Dahlia says. “But they’re good at staying out of the way. Sometimes I forget there’s always someone watching me.”

“How are you feeling?” Evelyn asks, changing the subject. “You said the appointment went okay?”

I nod. “It was fine. I’m fine, so long as I follow all the instructions they gave me. I just…” I reach for my drink, taking a sip of it. “I’m still wrapping my head around what this means. What I’m going to do with my life now.”

“You have time to decide,” Dahlia reassures me. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

“I know.” I manage a smile. “What have the two of you been up to while I’ve been adjusting to married life?”

The two of them fill me in on their lives—on Evelyn’s shop and Dahlia’s newest exhibit that she’s overseeing at the museum, and how they’re preparing for the babies, everything that they’re excited for. We talk and laugh and eat our way through an astonishing variety of tiny desserts, until Dahlia finally glances at the time.

“We should probably head out,” she says regretfully. “I have an appointment in the morning.”

We pay the check and get up, saying our goodbyes and making plans as Rory and the other two bodyguards head over to join us. And then, just as we step outside into the warm summer night, I hear a sudden, high-pitched sound whiz past my ear, and the brick of the wall just behind me explodes into a handful of shards that sting against the back of my neck.

“Get down!” Rory’s voice is suddenly right there, loud in my ear, and I feel his hand on my back, pushing me down into a bent-over position as he pulls me closer to him and starts to run with me toward where the car is parked. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dahlia and Evelyn’s bodyguards doing the same, and I start to turn to call out to them.

Just as I do, I hear anotherthunkas something hits the wall behind me again. Rory curses aloud in Gaelic, half-dragging me down the sidewalk as we run toward the car. My ankle aches, the pressure and speed more taxing than anything it’s been asked to support in weeks, but I don’t stop. I don’t know what’s happening, but something is wrong, and I feel like I can hardly breathe. My heart is hammering against my ribs.

Rory yanks the passenger door open, shoving me in unceremoniously as he runs to the other side. Something strikes the windshield, cracks spidering out, and he swears again, yanking the steering wheel to one side as he hits the gas and lurches out into the road.

“Dahlia—Evelyn—” I push myself up, grabbing for my seatbelt as I try to see where they’ve gone. “Rory!”

“They’ll be fine,” he says through gritted teeth, flooring the gas. “Their guys will take care of them. I’ve got to get you back to Rowan in one piece, or he’ll have my fuckin’ head.”

There’s real worry in his voice, and I swallow hard, twisting back to see if we’re being pursued. I don’t see anyone. “What’s happening?” I ask in a small voice, and Rory shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Someone with a vendetta against one of you, or someone who wanted to strike at Rowan or the Yashkov boys.” He shrugs, his gaze fixed on the road. “You bet your ass Rowan will find out, though.”

A vendetta against one of you.“It can’t be Chris,” I whisper to myself, too low for Rory to hear. But a nagging worry sticks in the back of my head, and it doesn’t leave.

The moment Rory and I burst into the penthouse, Rowan is on his feet. He looks at me—sees my pale face and messed-up hair, the scratches on my neck from the brick shards—and his own face drains of blood.

“What the fuck happened?” His voice is deadly as he looks at Rory, who also looks a little green around the edges.

“Gunshots,” Rory says simply. “Someone took aim at her, boss. Couldn’t see where they were. A sniper in the building across from us, I think.”

“I thought—” My voice trembles. “I thought you said it could have been any of us?—”

“I said that to keep you from panicking.” Rory looks back at Rowan. “It was aimed at her. Then at our car. Someone pissed about you coming back and taking up the mantle, boss?”

Rowan presses his lips together. “Maybe,” he says slowly. “There is someone in my father’s will who inherits if I back out, or if—” He stops before sayingif Genevieve doesn’t get pregnant,which I appreciate. It’s not really something I want Rory thinking about. “Maybe them? But I doubt it. My father wouldn’t choose someone who was likely to betray him in that way. And he’d likely not even let them know they were in the will, to avoid exactly this. They wouldn’t know they were going to inherit until the conditions for it had already been met.”

Rory rubs the back of his neck. “Then who?—”

I swallow hard. Guilt crawls through me, and I dig my phone out of my pocket, holding it out toward Rowan. “You should probably see these.” I open it to the text message thread from Chris and let Rowan see the phone.

His face darkens as he reads. “Fuck, Genevieve—” He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

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