Savage Queen (The Dark Elite #3) - Eva Ashwood

1

Grace

Sunlight streams through the kitchen window, catching the gold highlights in my blonde hair as it falls around my face. I tuck a lock behind my ear and lean over my open textbook on the table in front of me.

“Studying on a Saturday morning?”

My mother’s voice catches my attention, and I look up as she enters the large kitchen. Our house is big but not ostentatious—Dad wants us to have the best, but it’s important that we don’t stand out too much or draw unwanted attention to ourselves. He may work as a captain to one of the most powerful mafia dons in the country, but as far as the neighbors know, he’s just a normal, law-abiding citizen.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’m going out later, so I figured I’d get it done now so I can enjoy the rest of the weekend without worrying about it.”

She pauses in the act of slinging her purse over her shoulder, catching my gaze. She looks perfectly styled as usual. Appearances matter to her, and I rarely see her in anything less than full makeup and designer clothes.

“You’re a smart girl, Grace,” she says, smiling at me. “Motivated. Determined. Those qualities will get you far in life.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Her praise makes me blush a little, but at sixteen, I’m not exactly focused on what will ‘get me far in life.’ I’m more focused on the present, on the here and now. The rest of my life? The future? That all seems so distant.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

With her purse tucked neatly under one arm, she walks over and presses a kiss to the top of my head. I squirm a little, uncomfortable with the overt gesture of affection. I know my mom loves me, but she’s usually not big on emotional displays. She shows me in other ways.

As if she’s guessed my thoughts, she chuckles lightly and steps back, stroking my hair. “I’m going to get my hair done, and I’ll stop at the store on the way back. Anything you need?”

“Um…” I tap my fingers on my textbook, thinking. “More mint chip ice cream.”

“All right.” She smiles. “Be good.”

With that, she turns and leaves the kitchen. Her heels click across the floor, and then I hear the garage door open and close in the distance. Resting my chin in my palm, I return to studying.

“Grace?”

A gentle voice brings me out of my thoughts.

Slowly, the world falls back into place around me, dragging me out of my memories. That was the last time I saw my mother. The last words I ever said to her were “mint chip ice cream.” I never went out that night. And I never finished studying either. Two hours after she left, my father strode into the kitchen looking like his legs could barely support his weight. His face was pale and his eyes were bloodshot as he explained to me that my mother had died.

But he was wrong.

So wrong.

My gaze flickers to the living room doorway where Hale stands, watching me with an uncertainty that seems out of place on his features.

None of them know what to do with our recent discovery any more than I do. I can tell all the men are on edge, worried for me and concerned about what this new enemy to the Novak Syndicate could mean for all of us.

“You all right?” he asks, his dark blue eyes scanning my face. I know it’s a rhetorical question, because I’m positive he already knows the answer.

No. I’m not all right.

None of this is all right.

I nod anyway, and he lets out a small huff of air before striding into the room. He catches my hand and tugs me away from the window, sitting down on the couch and pulling me onto his lap. I don’t resist, straddling his hips as he pulls me close. The connection between our bodies soothes me instantly, slowing my heart even if it doesn’t manage to slow my racing mind.

The clock on the wall ticks away steadily, the only noise that seems to fill this part of the house. It can be deadly quiet here at times, especially when the men are all hiding away doing their own things, or—as is the case right now—down in the basement with their prisoner.

I haven’t been able to stomach the thought of going back down there. Not since I heard my mother’s name come from Leland Bennett’s cracked and bloodied lips.

Camilla.

Mom.

You were supposed to be dead.

I