Page 4 of Fired at the Heart

A thumbs-up appears in response.

I slip the phone back into my pocket and turn to Cassian.

He takes in my expression and smiles back. “Got another job for us?”

“Oh, yes.” Vindictive anger coils in my gut. “Someone from back in the day is asking for a favor.”

His head tilts in speculation. “Are we heading uptown?”

“It appears so. Make sure your best suit is clean.” I touch the back of my neck, where a permanent Mark brands me as an Alpha’s Omega. “It’s time we visit my old family.”

2

My boots tap on the ornate stone walkway leading up to the grand entrance to Rockford Manor, and Cassian’s footsteps echo behind me.

Even in winter, the hedges are neatly trimmed, crushed rose petals mix with the quartz surrounding their base, and pots with fresh flowers line the steps. Being back here fills me with an unwelcome blend of nostalgia that I can’t shake, and I take a deep breath, willing my pounding heart to slow.

My pride bristles at the thought of setting foot inside, of facing the man who shattered my trust. But curiosity draws me back to this place like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of unfinished business.

At our approach, the carved wooden door on the right swings open, and an unfamiliar servant beckons us inside.

The scent of old, polished wood and aging paper fills my nostrils, both comforting and suffocating at the same time. My footsteps echo on the marble floor as I take in the subtle changes. A new vase here, a different painting there. Yet beneath the surface-level alterations, the essence of Rockford Manor remains unchanged, a mask this family has worn for generations.

I scan the lavish surroundings, moving from detail to detail, hunting for any trace of the man who once defined my world. But the halls are empty, the silence broken only by the ticking of an antique clock.

I square my shoulders, projecting an air of confidence I don’t quite feel.

We follow the servant through the meandering halls, memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises flickering through my mind like a reel of film. Every instinct screams at me to turn back, to not open this door to my past when my life is going so well right now.

Even the expected betrayal of the buyer a couple of days ago had gone as expected, netting me a profit while I retained the guns to sell to a new client.

Why rock the boat now just because a Rockford reached out after so many years of silence?

The servant pauses before a familiar door and bows before retreating, leaving us to enter on our own.

My hand hovers over the polished brass knob. Behind this threshold lies a reckoning long overdue, a confrontation that could shatter the fragile peace I’ve fought so hard to maintain. But I’ll be damned if I let fear hold me back now when it never has before.

With a deep breath and a muttered curse, I twist the handle and step inside.

The banquet hall is as cavernous as I remember, a table fit to hold the entire Rockford clan and their mates for the one time a year when everyone gathers.

Aaiden sits at the head of the table, his salt-and-pepper hair gleaming under the chandelier’s golden light. He regards me with cool appraisal, as if weighing the value of an intriguing chess piece, while I note the signs of strain on him, the wrinkles in his suit, and his bloodshot eyes.

“Avery,” he greets me. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Aaiden.” I incline my head in a gesture of respect that scrapes my pride. “It’s been a while.”

Raphael rises from his seat to Aaiden’s right, his hazel gaze burning with an intensity that sends a shiver through me. He appears every inch the Alpha heir—or the spare, since Aaiden would have to kick it for him to inherit the estate. His tailored suit hugs the lean lines of his body, his chiseled features set in a mask of polite interest.

“Avery.” His lips twitch into a soft expression that stirs a primal urge within me to do violence. “You look well.”

My fingers twitch at his casual greeting, as if he didn’t shred my heart to pieces when he left. “Raphael. You look…older.”

And it’s true. Five years have aged him, adding silver to his temples that he didn’t have the last time we parted. Working in a passionless job he detests has worn on him.

Good.

I turn to the third Rockford in the room. Caleb, my old comrade, the man I did training with. Why would the family assassin be at this meeting?

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