10. Braken

I barely hear my bodyguard Jasper call for me over the sound of the power drills.

Construction for my newest hotel only started yesterday. Delay after delay set back my plans. First, it was convincing the old asshole to sell me his broken-down, unusable parking garage and land, and I paid way too much for it. Then it was getting approval for the restaurant I planned for the first-floor lobby. I hate red tape and dealing with the government, but I'm the only one who can get this shit done. And the truth is I really prefer to spend my time on Heathens Hollow and running The Vault, but family loyalty still is a fucking noose around my neck.

Then came the death of Mason Godwin on our fucking turf. We own that stadium, and what happens there falls on us. His murder does make us look shady as fuck.

There are clear boundaries between the Frost family businesses and the Godwins. Seattle is the prime area for hotels, but so much of it belongs to the Godwins. But somehow the two families have been able to live in peace.

But now…

All that burned to a crisp, along with Mason Godwin.

Now my father thinks we all need bodyguards. Hello, Jasper.

Jasper calls my name again and flashes my phone. I grimace. I gave it to him earlier because I didn't want any more interruptions on the first day of work in what feels like forever. If another setback springs up, I will bulldoze the damn cement parking garage myself.

"Your father, sir," Jasper says with a bow of his head.

This can't be good. Ever since news of Mason's death, he's been on edge. Silvano is not an easy man to shake. He has my grandfather's stubbornness and my grandmother's temper, making him a walking time bomb. Usually, it's directed at my brother Sam, but I've been on the tail end of his fists a few too many times. For him to be this affected signals bad news.

I walk away from the machinery to hear better.

"This is Braken."

"Are you in Heathens Hollow or Seattle?"

"Seattle working on the?—"

"Good. Come to Mastro's by noon," he orders. "Don't be late."

The command is simple yet fills me with dread. A last-minute demand like this means something is wrong.

I check the time on my watch. I have forty-five minutes to get to downtown Seattle, so I'll be cutting it close with afternoon traffic. I unbuckle my hard hat and pass it to Jasper, ordering him to grab the car and get going ASAP. Getting an earful from my father is not how I want to start this week.

Mastro's is completely empty.The steakhouse doesn't open for lunch, but money talks, and my father has plenty of it. An attractive waitress who offers me a flirtatious smile as I pass by leads me upstairs. My father sits at his usual table by the window overlooking the classic brick buildings that make up the charming neighborhood. When he's here for dinner, he reserves the other ten seats to have a little privacy during a good meal. A lunch booking is for private Frost business.

Today's business is none other than Hector Godwin.

I try to keep my shock from appearing on my face. I can't remember the last time the two of them met. There hasn't been any reason. We stick to our territory; the Godwins stick to theirs. That was how it was supposed to be until the heir of the Godwins became nothing more than dust in the wind.

"Braken, there you are." My father gestures to the open seat next to him.

I don't see any signs of distress or annoyance on his face, but he's always been hard to read. Especially during negotiations, which I have a funny feeling is happening now.

But what's that have to do with me?

Before I can slip into my chair, Hector stands and offers his hand. "Braken."

"Hector," I answer politely and shake it. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Trust me when I say I felt the same until last week." Hector's smile is shrewd as he gestures to the empty chair. "Sit."

I sit next to my father, and a waiter is immediately next to me with a bottle of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon Special Selection. There is no menu, wine list, or pricing. All my father does is hand over his black card, and everything's taken care of.

Which means business can proceed.

"I want to thank you for coming to Mason's funeral." Hector sets down his wine glass and swirls it a few times. "Especially under the circumstances."

Hector's dark brown eyes flick between the two of us. He's reading all he can in the way we move, speak, and act. Waiting for us to crack. Maybe hoping for us to slip up. Unfortunately for him, that won't happen because we're as clueless and pissed off as he is.

"The circumstances?" My father's lips quirk down into his typical pondering frown.

Hector leans back in his chair and gestures toward us with both hands. "The way I see it, there are two reasons you showed up. Either you're with us in standing against whoever ordered the hit, or you're against us and were there to gloat. Seeing as how my boy died on your soil…"

He clicks his tongue. The answer is obvious anyway. He doesn't trust that we didn't have a hand in Mason's death. The waiter brings out the appetizers of sautéed shrimp and a dozen half-shell oysters, but none of us makes a move to grab any. Tensions are so tight that one sudden movement will snap the wire and send it all tumbling down. Even the smallest misunderstanding can start an all-out war. All over some fucking over-priced oysters.

"If it was us, you would have known by now," my father offers. "We're too busy with our own shit to start some with your family."

Hector reaches out to pick up his steak knife, turning the blade back and forth a few times. "Forgive me if I say I can't trust it. There was no secret you didn't care for Mason and the way he did business in this city. The murder happened in your territory, after all, so you either prove your loyalty, or we're going to have a problem."

My father mutters an Italian curse word under his breath. That's the first sign his anger is spiking. The second is a pink tint to his neck, which springs up just above the collar of his black shirt. If he opens his mouth now, whatever peace we had over the past decade will be as cooked as the uneaten shrimp.

I speak for the first time since the conversation began. "Father, if I may."

Silvano looks at me and gives me a terse nod.

"We want to find the culprit as much as you do," I offer Hector with an easygoing smile. "We don't take too kindly to people who use Frost property to do their business. If the stadium gets labeled as a bad neighborhood, then that doesn't help us, now does it?"

"What's your offer?" Hector challenges, still holding onto the knife.

"We'll look into the murder ourselves, find the culprit, and dispose of them."

"The police are already looking into it."

My father laughs so loud it's like a bark. "That's a good one, Hector. Police actually doing their jobs?"

"Trying to lighten the mood," he shoots in return before gesturing his chin toward me. "You'll be on it yourself."

I nod. "You have my word."

"Words don't mean shit without a little collateral."

Hector opens his phone, fishes through a few things, then pushes the phone across the table.

On the screen is his eldest daughter, Fiora Godwin.

I recognize her immediately. How can I not remember the woman who has damn near been haunting me since I first hunted her in Heathens Hollow? Her narrowed dark eyes were full of lust and wild abandon. Here, they're more playful and happy. Her long black hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and her white shirt fits to her full, perfect frame. She is an attractive woman, someone who is worthy of being on my arm.

But women like her are a dime a dozen in Seattle. Rich women with too much money and too much time. Women who call the paps just to keep their names in the tabloids. I can name two off the top of my head who would practically jump on my dick if I gave the word. Yes, she has something darker and more interesting lurking beneath the surface. Something that had her participating in The Hunt and even hiding out from the Godwin family. But the fact remains—she's still a spoiled rich girl belonging to a family with far too much power.

When I take too long to answer, Hector taps Fiora's face. "Here's how you prove your loyalty."

I know what he means immediately. Tying our two families together with an arranged marriage. It's an enticing offer. The Frosts have a lot of Seattle, but the Godwins have more. Much more. Meaning, with a direct tie to the family, I could expand our line of hotels further. Sam and Dad could get a few extra businesses to ship their goods. The Frosts would have extra backup with the Godwin name behind us.

But it also means answering to Hector Godwin.

"How's this prove our loyalty?" I ask.

"By putting up a united front." Hector skewers a shrimp with his fork before taking a bite, speaking between mouthfuls. "Cementing power over most of Seattle. I offer my daughter; you offer your pledge to my family."

"Does she know about this?"

"She doesn't need to," he answers with a laugh. "It's my call to make, not hers. You know how this is done, and so does she."

I turn in my chair to regard my father. He's been awfully silent, but that's no surprise. He and my mother had an arranged marriage that brought him to the city in the first place. Marriage in wealthy families doesn't mean love, butterflies, or any of that bullshit. It means money, power, and the right to rule.

I've somehow avoided marriage at my age, but doesn't mean it's avoidable forever. When I turned forty, my mother cried and lectured me on the importance of bloodline and lineage and other bullshit I tried to block out of my head. Owning The Vault and marriage don't exactly go hand in hand.

But things could turn awful, and fast, if I refuse.

The Godwins own Heathens Hollow. We simply lease the space. They could destroy The Vault, and my business partners would suffer all because I couldn't follow through on something that is inevitably my fate.

Fiora's stare flashes through my mind again. She's got a fire to her—one I can't wait to tame if I am truly honest. One that, when she becomes my girl, can be used in plenty of creative ways.

I smirk. "Set it up."

This is going to be fun.