Page 73 of A Game of Deception
The threat was thinly veiled. My position, my career, my life’s work—all of it hung in the balance. He was reminding me of his power, of how much I stood to lose if I pushed this further.
I walked past him without another word, my head held high. I didn’t run. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me flee.
The door of the study clicked shut behind me, the sound unnervingly final.
The second I was out of his sight, the strength drained from my legs. I leaned against the cool wood, the polished surface doing little to calm the tremor in my hands. The air I sucked into my lungs felt thin, useless. It was over. Not the search for the truth, but the lifelong, fruitless campaign for his approval. The man I had worshipped was a fabrication. A ghost. A single, hot tear escaped, and I swiped it away with a viciousness that surprised me. No more.
I took one more deep, shuddering breath, straightened my shoulders, and turned toward the dining room, my face a carefully constructed mask of indifference.
Diego was still there, nursing a glass of wine. He rose when he saw me, a smile spreading across his face.
“Feeling better?” he asked, moving to intercept me.
“No,” I replied, not breaking stride. “I’m leaving.”
His smile faltered. “What? But we haven’t even had coffee yet. Your father said?—”
“My father doesn’t speak for me,” I cut him off, already reaching for my purse on the side table. “Goodnight, Mr. Mano.”
I was out the front door before he could respond, the cool night air hitting my face like a blessing after the suffocating atmosphere inside. I slid behind the wheel of my car, and pulled away from the house before my father could emerge to try to stop me.
Only when I turned the corner, when the house was no longer visible, did the first crack appear in my composure. A tremor in my hands. A tightness in my chest that made it hard to breathe, as I pulled over to the side of the road.
The tears came suddenly, violently, wracking sobs that bent me double over the steering wheel. I cried for the brother I’d lost. For the years wasted on a misplaced vendetta. For the father I’d thought I had—strict but loving, controlling but protective—who had never really existed at all.
I’d promisedto meet Xander at his penthouse after dinner, and I parked in the visitor’s section of his building’s garage and took the private elevator directly to his floor, grateful that I didn’t have to pass through the lobby in my current state.
I knew the code to his door, of course, and I stepped inside to find Xander standing on the balcony, his back to me, a drink in his hand. Leo was nowhere in sight.
I closed the door behind me, and he turned, his eyes finding mine across the room. He didn’t speak, just watched as I crossed the space between us and stepped out onto the balcony.
He took in my tear-stained face, my disheveled appearance, and without a word, set his glass down and opened his arms. I stepped into them, burying my face against his chest, breathing in his scent—something uniquely him that I’d come to associate with safety.
“Hey,” he murmured against my hair, his arms tightening around me. “I’ve got you.”
Those simple words broke something loose inside me. I clung to him, allowing myself this moment of vulnerability.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
I took a deep breath. “I found the file on Jimmy’s accident in my father’s study. He caught me looking at it.”
Xander’s body tensed, but he didn’t interrupt, giving me space to continue at my own pace.
“When I mentioned Detective Morrison, there was a reaction. Just for a second, but it was there. He knows him. He did something… bribed him, threatened him, I don’t know… but I’m sure he tampered with the official record so it would be ambiguous. And then he could spin the narrative any way he wanted.”
Xander’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Did he admit it outright?”
“No,” I shook my head. “He stonewalled me. Ordered me out of the house. Threatened my position with the team, indirectly.”
“Bastard,” Xander muttered, his hands gentle on my arms despite the anger in his voice. “Are you okay?”
The question was simple, but was I okay? How could I possibly answer that?
“No,” I said honestly. “I’m not okay. But I will be.” I met his gaze directly. “We’re going to uncover the truth, Xander. All of it. No matter what it takes.”
He studied my face for a long moment, as if searching for something. Whatever he saw there must have reassured him, because he nodded once, decisively.
“We will,” he promised.
