I fell.

  Totally. I couldn’t stop myself.

  Erik. Oh thank God.

  Peter grabbed me, hauling me up, and I was surprised at how strong my dad was.

  The guard kept on. “And Fitz. They thought it was weird to get that text, so they called in, and as far as we can tell they were directed to a dummy operator. You know what that is?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s what scammers set in place. They hijack the call, direct it to their partner, and if they know all the proper protocols, then they can con whoever is on the other end of the phone. Erik and Fitz were conned. They came in. We’re looking at their phones. It seems their phones got swiped. They were given copycat phones.”

  Oh jeez. He didn’t need to fill in the blanks. I knew exactly what happened.

  Their phones were copied. Stolen. Replaced. The security protocol would look the same on their phones, but the actual line would be sent somewhere else.

  I was shaking my head. “When they check in, they must have codes or something to identify themselves? The guards calling in and the security headquarters they’re calling into. Right?”

  “They did. They called in and were given the passcode from yesterday. Both called in early in the morning, so they didn’t question the same code, just thought things were lax since Mr. Colello has been overseas since Saturday.”

  But … why?

  The guard got a suddenly bleak look on his face. He lowered his head, his eyes intent on me. “We are down guards. We need to move, and me saying that means we should’ve moved before we even arrived here. We need to move that fast.”

  I didn’t notice the guards.

  I’d been distracted with thoughts of Victoria and Kash together all day.

  I ignored the feeling of impending doom.

  And I let myself believe that everything was going to be fine.

  Three mistakes. Three grave mistakes.

  A guard suddenly came barreling from around the corner, waving at us and shouting, “Get inside! Now!”

  We didn’t get the chance.

  The ground shook beneath us, and the windows exploded over us.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Kash

  The second we touched ground, my phone started blowing up.

  I glanced at the number calling and my world shifted.

  Ignoring how my phone kept buzzing from all the notifications streaming in, I answered.

  “You’re kidding me calling me from this number.”

  He laughed.

  I stopped, knowing.

  My grandfather had done something.

  A sick, twisted sensation sidled right alongside that feeling. All of that happened when I heard him laugh, as we were stepping off the plane and I saw my security staff already waiting for me at the car parked on the tarmac.

  “I left her for you.”

  Her. Not my mother, whose number he was calling from, which I had programmed into my phone as “Mom” and which I transferred over each time I got a new phone, because a part of me couldn’t bring myself to delete it.

  He wasn’t referring to her. And I wanted him dead. Not now. Not in the future. I wanted him dead eighteen years ago.

  Why the fuck had I been waiting so long?

  I stopped, head bent, phone to my ear, and I was aware that my guards paused just beyond.

  I grated out, “What did you do?”

  “I left your girlfriend for you. I wanted you to feel what I felt, losing my little girl. She pulled away from me. It was slow at first, then she moved away, and then she completely stopped talking to me. That’s what your girl is going to do to you.”

  God. What had he done?

  “She’s going to blame you, you know. If she doesn’t at first, it’ll slowly come out. It’ll build. Day after day. A little more each day. She won’t reach for you. She won’t respond when you kiss her. She’ll flinch when you touch her. She’ll lie there, dead, like a corpse, when you fuck her. And then she’ll pack her bags one day and move out, and that’s the day she’ll tell you that she blames you because, grandson, it is your fault.”

  “What did you do?” I roared, my hand gripping the phone so tight I was surprised I didn’t break it.

  But he laughed.

  He only laughed before he said, so fucking smug, “I broke her. That’s what I did.”

  Then …

  Dial tone.

  FORTY-SIX

  Bailey

  Déjà vu.

  I was experiencing it. Not shock. Not grief.

  I didn’t know who they were. The two police detectives had introduced themselves after I’d been checked out of the hospital. Because of who my father was, because of who I shared my bed with, they decided the paramedics weren’t certified enough to clear my health, to let me go to the police to give a statement. The top doctor at the Aspen Medical Center had been called in. He looked over all of us, or most of all of us.

  They cleared me and I was brought here. The detectives explained that they didn’t want to walk me through the events in a sterile environment, so here we were.

  Another dark room. A single table. No windows except the two-way mirror. But I wasn’t at the Phoenix Tech headquarters; I was at the Aspen Police Department. And it wasn’t Bright and Wilson sitting across from me.

  Like I said, déjà vu.

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  No.

  God.

  I closed my eyes.

  They had come in, set a recording device on the table, and pressed Record.

  They would make me tell them, but everything was hurting me. Everything. Little knives had slipped under my skin and were burrowing into every organ, every vein, every ligament, every cell, and they were destroying me from the inside out.

  “Miss Francis.” That was Detective 1.

  “Hayes,” I rasped out.

  “Excuse me?” Detective 2 leaned forward.

  They would call me by my name.

  “My name is Bailey Hayes.”

  “Right.” They shared a look.

  Detective 1 tugged at his collar, his pen tapping a nervous beat on the table, before he cleared his throat. He scooted his chair closer, and here we go again.

  “Can you take us through the events that happened at the cabin your family was renting?”

  I wanted to laugh.

  He was framing it as a question, as if I had a choice. I had no choice. That was a lie. They would make me stay. They would make me tell them what happened, even though they knew, even though there were security cameras, even though I knew the others had all given their own accounts. But mine. They wanted my words. Me. Because this had happened because of me.

  I was the target.

  Those knives were in my throat. All of them surged through my body, attaching and piercing me. They didn’t want those words to come out.

  I drew a breath, feeling the knives sink in even further, tighter. And as if I were tasting my own blood—or maybe it wasn’t mine—I started.

  “We were in the hallway—”

  Detective 2 mirrored his partner, putting his elbows on the table. His shoulders hunched forward. His head inclined, and he read from the paper. “It says here that you and your mother and your sister had been talking in your bedroom. Is that correct?”

  I swallowed my own blood.

  Those knives wouldn’t stop cutting at me.

  I whispered the word, “Yes.”

  “They’d only arrived thirty minutes before that?”

  Another whisper, this one quieter. “Yes.”

  “You and Matthew Francis, your brother, though you don’t have the same last name, had been at the house all day?”

  “Yes.” Barely a sound from me.

  “That you guys hadn’t noticed there were no security guards on duty that day?”

  Three mistakes.

  I could barely answer. “Yes.”

  Detective 1 took over, his tone one of disbelief. “Why hadn’t you noticed? Seems you would’ve, you know, since according to everything the others have said, you travel with guards all the time.”

  “I was distracted.”

  “Right.” Detective 2 shuffled his papers, pulling out a different file. “Your brother mentioned that a Victoria had flown in and ‘went at you like a starving wolf.’ Those were his words.”

  My breath was ragged.

  “Yes. She said some things that got in my head.”

  “That she had slept with Kashton Colello, your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you think it was a lie?”

  “Yes.” A hiss from me.

  “And you think she only said that to you because she wanted to hurt you?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”

  “So there’s no chance Kashton Colello actually slept with her?”

  “No.”

  They stared at me, falling silent.

  They shared a look.

  Neither expressed anything. Both faces were hard, guarded.

  Detective 1 reached under the pile of files and pulled out a piece of paper. He showed it to me. “Do you know who Griogos Maragos is?”

  MILLIONAIRE DEAD! MAFIA CONNECTED.

  I read the headline. “He’s a millionaire that’s dead.” I nodded at the paper. “Says the Mafia did it.”

  They both frowned before Detective 1 looked at the printed article from an online newspaper. He chuckled slightly before taking the paper back and putting it under the pile once again. “Are you aware that Griogos Maragos is Victoria’s grandfather?”

  My chair shifted.

  I didn’t move. My chair didn’t actually move, but it shifted nonetheless. I was looking at them sideways, upside down. “What?”

  “He was found dead in his Greece home, and after we reached out, shared that his granddaughter had made a visit to a residence in our district, and that there’d been an attack there twelve hours later, they were willing to share a few facts. Seems there’s some travel logs saying that your boyfriend and Victoria flew to Greece this weekend. Victoria also flew straight to Aspen, while your boyfriend took a flight an hour later for Berlin. Can you tell us how this is all connected?”

  Calhoun.

  It was Calhoun.

  I was reeling, but something had happened. Something bad. Kash couldn’t talk over the phone. He was going to Berlin.

  I couldn’t let myself even think about Victoria.

  He knew.

  He knew that he’d have to take that trip, and he hadn’t given me the heads-up when it was actually happening.

  Why?

  Jesus.

  Why?

  To protect me.

  Not to lie to me.

  To keep me in the dark.

  And he’d only do that if …

  To protect me.

  Because he knew he was going to do something illegal, something bad. I looked to where that paper was again, the Greece story, and I brought it up in my mind.

  MILLIONAIRE DEAD! MAFIA CONNECTED.

  I had skimmed the first few paragraphs, though I hadn’t read them. It didn’t matter, with my mind, and I was reading them now.

  “That article says it’s believed to be a self-inflicted gunshot.”

  They shared a look. Detective 1 grabbed the article and pulled it out.

  They didn’t think I could’ve read that fast, or that far down. I told them, “Fourth paragraph. Second sentence: ‘Greece authorities broached the home of Griogos Maragos. His body was located with a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He is believed to have ties to the Bennett Family and the Makarov Family, Mafia families from Russia and Calgary. He is also known to have associations with Calhoun Bastian, a billionaire—’” I stopped and locked eyes with both of them, ignoring their surprise. “Want me to keep going?”

  Detective 2 coughed, folding his hands together on the table. “How about we talk about what happened at your cabin tonight?”

  Jesus.

  No.

  Please no.

  I shot back, “How about we keep talking about a death on the other side of world?” I couldn’t stop it. Dammit. A tear slipped out. My voice broke. “Because that’s way easier for me to process than what you’re asking me to tell you, which you already know.”

  Pity flashed in Detective 1’s eyes.

  Finally.

  I felt an ease in the pressure on my shoulders.

  “Okay.” Even his tone gentled, and that did wonders. But no. So no. More tears were sliding out now, and I hated it, because it’s one thing I felt I shouldn’t do. We Hayes women …

  Seeing those tears, he said, “Look, we need a statement from you on the record. You have to tell us something, so as much as you can, just walk us through what happened.”

  Two breaths.

  Two pauses.

  Two heartbeats.

  And I started.

  “We were in the hallway. They told us the night guards were gone and the day guards had been told not to come in.”

  The ground shook beneath us, and the windows exploded over us.

  “They blew up the garage and then began shooting into the house.”

  “Get down!”

  “My dad threw me on the ground.”

  Bang! Bang!

  “The guard with him began to exchange gunfire with whoever was shooting from outside.”

  “Bailey!”

  “My mom started screaming from inside the bedroom.”

  “Are you okay? Are you okay? Oh my God. Bailey. Are you okay?”

  “My dad started patting me down, making sure I hadn’t been shot.”

  “You have to get in that room.”

  “He dragged me into the room.”

  “Oh my God, Bailey! Thank God. Oh, my baby.”

  “My mom crawled over to me and wrapped her arms around me.”

  Sobbing.

  “She was rocking me back and forth.”

  “Ser, honey. Honey. Sweetheart.”

  “My dad went over to Seraphina, and he was trying to calm her down.”

  Bang! Bang! Boom!

  “The gunfire suddenly stopped, and then there was another explosion. It felt like the ground was breaking apart underneath us.”

  Detective 1 said quietly, “One of your father’s guards blew up the propane tank on the property. He killed four of their men in that explosion.”

  I hadn’t known. I knew now. And good.

  I let that process, then I was back in that room.

  Footsteps were stampeding. Yelling. Shouting. “No, no—” Bang!

  “They got inside and they killed the guard that was in the hallway.”

  It happened so fast after that. It’d been a blur.

  The door was kicked open.

  “My dad must’ve shut the door. I don’t remember when he did that, but they rushed inside.”

  I had to stop.

  The room was swirling around.

  My chair felt like it was tipping over.

  I grasped the table to keep my balance, and I kept talking, but I sounded drunk, even to myself.

  “They were wearing black masks.”

  Like when I’d been kidnapped. Like Arcane.

  I had razor blades in my throat. I swallowed, talking, my tongue scraping over them.

  “My dad didn’t have a gun. None of us did.”

  They rushed inside.

  “Hey!” Peter stood up. His hand shooting out. “You can’t—” Smack!

  “They knocked him out.”

  “Aaah!” Bloodcurdling screams punctured my eardrums.

  “Seraphina was screaming.” My voice was so low, so quiet. I could barely hear myself. “She was so scared.”

  I was being shaken, but it wasn’t me.

  “My mom was still holding me.”

  My voice gave out.

  I couldn’t keep going.

  A hand touched mine. One of the detectives said to me, “Take your time.”

  Now they were being kind. Now, when they knew what I had to say.

  “They—” I swallowed my blood, and I pushed forward, because I was a fucking Hayes and that’s what we did. “They pointed the gun at me.”

  “No! NO!”

  “My mom shoved me behind her, and she stood up.”

  I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

  “Seraphina was so scared by now, but she was whimpering.” I could taste my tears. The salt slipped into my mouth, mingling with my own blood. “She peed herself, she was that scared.”

  “Miss Francis—”

  “I’m a fucking Hayes!” I pounded on the table, not knowing there was a snap, not knowing that both detectives stilled, both had heard it, and both looked at my hands. Neither said a word. “Call me by my name!”

  “Miss Hayes—”

  I rushed out, because I wanted this to be done, “They ignored Seraphina.” I was grinding my teeth so hard. My fists were grinding into the table at the same time. I never felt that pain, not at all. “They shoved my mother aside, pointed their guns at me. Three of them were in the room by now, and then they pulled the trigger.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  I flinched now, remembering. “They purposely emptied their barrels, and when no bullets came out, one of them laughed. He said, ‘Remember that sound, ’cause it won’t happen the next time. That’s your gift from him.’

  “Then one used his gun to hit my mother across the face. They grabbed her, dragged her behind them.”

  “No, no, no! Mom!”

  “They kicked me aside, barred the door, and we could hear my mom screaming the entire time. They had dragged a security guard’s body in front of the door.”

  I didn’t tell them how heavy the guard’s body had been, or how my hands had been shaking because I was suddenly too weak to push his body and that door open.

  I didn’t tell them any of that.

  “When I got into the hallway, they were dragging her to their vehicles outside. All of them were loading back up.”

  No.

  I locked down.

  I stopped feeling.

  I was no longer in my body, and I watched myself from the corner of the room as I sat there.

  “They took my mother to their vehicle, then turned to the house. They made sure I could see. I will never forget him. I will never forget his eyes. He shoved her to the ground, to her knees, put the gun to her head, and he pulled the trigger.” I saw myself flinch before finishing. “They killed my mother.”