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His date wiped her puffy lips with the back of her hand while he tucked his still-erect penis into his pants. No way was he going to answer the phone with his cock hanging out, but then it would serve whoever called right for interrupting him.
Grant couldn’t continue to ignore his work phone. His call log showed Drago’s name. It came to life again in his hand. A distraught voice greeted him on the other end when he brought it to his ear.
“What happened?” Grant asked, his irritation replaced by concern in an instant.
“Alessandra had a panic attack. She needs medical attention.”
“I’ll call it in and call you right back.”
Grant ended the call without another word. He dropped the cigar into an ashtray since it had already extinguished in his hand.
He reported the incident, and EMS was dispatched to bring Alessandra to the same facility as before. It was important that she be treated at their clinic where associates of her father couldn’t find her.
Once the arrangements were made, he called Drago back. The man answered on the first ring.
“They’re en route. Tell me what happened.”
“Alessandra broke into my office and found the dossiers we compiled on her and her family.”
“Did she find the classified files?” Grant asked impatiently.
“I don’t think so. She trashed the office and destroyed my laptop.”
“Fuck! If we’re compromised—”
“I know.” Drake cut him off.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
* * *
Drake sat in the now-familiar waiting room at the private hospital where Alessandra was being treated.
Jerry and his husband, Noah, sat in seats opposite him. Though they had come to support him, Noah’s scathing expression was laced with judgment. Drake didn’t need it; he was already beating himself up.
“You could’ve avoided this by being honest with her. If something happens to her, Drake—”
“Noah,” Jerry warned.
“No, he needs to hear this. Someone needs to kick his ass!” Noah exclaimed, exasperated, crossing his arms and staring daggers at Drake.
“Control your husband,” Drake told Jerry.
“Control is for the bedroom, not in situations like this.”
“Noah has overstepped his boundaries with my wife.”
Noah snorted angrily. “Alessandra needs someone in her corner. You’re driving her away. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” Drake sighed. “Things are more complicated than even you know.”
“What I know is what I see. You’re a damn coward. This excuse of yours is becoming tiresome. Your wife is desperate for the truth, and it needs to come out. I’m done covering for you.”
Even though the word coward hit Drake right in the gut, Noah was right. He hadn’t told Alessandra the truth because he was afraid of how she would react and how it would color the way she saw him.
The scene he’d observed that evening told him he was out of time. They were on the precipice of a mafia war. The only way to protect Alessandra was with the truth. She had suffered so much that Drake didn’t want to hurt her anymore. That shit needed to stop because he wasn’t able to walk away.
Grant’s permanent scowl was deeper than usual. He didn’t appear to be his normal polished self. His coiffed sandy hair fell flat, he remained unshaven, and the scar that obscured his brow looked angry.
