10. Chapter 10

10

I laria took a seat at gate 17 to wait for the flight that departed Chicago and arrived in Edinburgh and placed her carry-on bag in the seat next to her. She was early, and not many passengers had arrived yet, so she had her pick of seats. A seat against the window offered the best vantage point for people-watching.

She had purchased a flight, leaving that same day, on her phone right after leaving Silas's house. Then she went straight home, packed enough clothes for a week, and left for the airport.

The last text conversation with Soren both annoyed and invigorated her. Annoyed because of his gall; they weren't even acquaintances, let alone friends, and he was telling her what to do. Invigorated because it just plain felt good to flatly ignore his demands, which she knew would piss him off.

And if she was honest, she was halfway looking forward to seeing how he would react when she showed up. But she intended to maintain her indifferent demeanor with him just to prove to him—and herself—that what happened two years ago no longer affected her.

Her phone beeped a notification, interrupting her satisfying daydream that she would come out on top in her battle of wills against Soren.

Noe: Ilaria, where are you?

Ilaria: I was just about to text you guys. I'm flying out to Edinburgh tonight.

Emmy: Why??

Ilaria: I have to take care of some stuff regarding my parents. I shouldn't be too long. A few days.

Emmy: Hope everything's okay?

Ilaria: Just need to talk to Galen. Everything's fine.

Noe: Hmm…if you see Soren, what are you going to do?

Ilaria: Ignore the bastard and pretend he doesn't exist.

Emmy: Please be careful, sweetie.

Noe: Not sure this is a good idea, but okay. Watch your back.

Ilaria: Thanks guys, I promise I'll be careful. Also, just keep this between us. If anyone asks.

Emmy: Of course.

Noe: This conversation never happened.

Emmy: But can you still text us every day to let us know you're okay?

Ilaria: I will. Love you guys.

Noe: Love you too.

Emmy: Love you.

Ilaria took a quick scan around the gate waiting area. More people were filing in. A little girl about five years old with blond ringlets was skipping down the corridor, clutching a worn rabbit stuffed animal. Her mother, looking a little harried, was carrying a toddler with a pacifier in his mouth.

The father, rolling a small carry-on, called, "Olivia, over here," and motioned to a bank of empty seats directly across from Ilaria, looking out the window. The little girl ran over and plopped onto a seat with a five-year-old's enthusiasm.

Her mother took the next seat with a sigh, settling the fussy toddler on her lap.

"Babe, can you hand me a juice pouch?" she said to her husband, pointing to a blue bag. "It's in the snack bag."

Her husband rummaged around. "I don't see it."

The toddler wailed. The mother looked exasperated. "Check the side pockets."

He unzipped the pocket, grabbed a punch, and handed it to her. She quickly opened it and placed it in the toddler's chubby hands. He brought it up to his mouth and sucked on it greedily. Relief passed over both of their faces.

"Daddy, are we there yet?" The little girl looked up at her father with complete trust.

He looked amused as he sat down and handed her a sliced apple. "Not yet, sweetie. We have to get on the plane first." He pointed out the window. "You see that over there? We're getting on that plane."

She jumped off her seat and clambered onto the empty seat next to Ilaria and, eyes wide, stuck her nose to the window.

Ilaria watched her with a pang, and she suddenly realized she wanted this. She wanted all of this: to be the tired parent holding a fussy baby; to field incessant questions from a little girl with curly hair; to bicker with a husband who still kissed her every night and told her he loved her.

Her throat tightened and eyes pricked. Would she ever have this? She'd had a boyfriend right after college who she felt great affection for but knew she would never marry. Since then, most of the men she dated were uninspiring. Even the ones that lasted a few months ended up fizzling out.

The only man who had ever fired up more than a passing interest in her was Soren. He was the only one who stimulated, exhilarated, and riveted her, that made her want more. The only time she had felt real passion was the kiss with Soren.

What was wrong with her that the only man she had ever wanted didn't want her, and, in fact, treated her like the dirt on the bottom of his shoe? Was there something broken in her that compelled her to desire someone she couldn't have, someone who clearly wouldn't be good for her?

She wasn't normally one to fall into the chasm of self-pity, but this time she wanted to give into its pull. If she were alone at home, she would have.

Instead, the voice of the desk agent rang out over the loudspeaker, announcing the start of boarding, jarring her out of her train of thoughts. She wiped her eyes and stood up.

The little girl shifted around, stared at Ilaria, and waved. Ilaria smiled and waved back.

As she stood in line to board, she resolved to herself: she would have a family one day soon. No more wasted attention or energy on unavailable men. And once she said goodbye to her parents, she would start the next chapter in her life.

***

It was three-thirty A.M. when Ilaria landed in Edinburgh. Bleary-eyed, having slept only a few hours, she rented a car from the cheery, twenty-something rental agent who was probably bright-eyed no matter what time of day it was or how many hours of sleep she got.

She still had a forty-five minute drive to Galen's mansion in a small town just on the outskirts of Edinburgh. For a brief minute, she debated calling Soren for a ride and then quickly dismissed it from her mind, remembering her resolution.

She entered the address of Galen's mansion into her phone and turned on the navigation. She knew the way, having visited many times over the years, but it was still dark out, and the latter part of the trip would be up a windy road.

Ilaria wound the white Mercedes out of the airport and onto the highway, suddenly feeling glad to be back in Scotland. It was her mother's birth country, and she herself had always felt an affinity for it, feeling a sense of shared heritage. It was also a beautiful country, and she wished she had more time to revisit her mother's favorite places.

As she drove, she wondered what she would say when she appeared at Galen's front door, out of the blue. Hi Galen, it's good to see you. Did you have my parents killed? might be too abrupt of a greeting.

But she did expect to be reassured that he was, in fact, not responsible. She'd seen her father and Galen over the years, and they were as close as two people could be without being related. Deep down, she knew Galen couldn't have hurt her parents.

But she needed to hear him say it. Then they could move on and find who was actually responsible.

Her hands gripped the wheel. Her parents had been killed in Edinburgh, somewhere along this route, in fact. The killer was probably still here. And whoever hired him to do the dirty work was probably here.

She would find out who it was, and she would make them pay.

And Galen was the best person to help her.

As she came to the start of the windy section of the road leading into Inverwick, she noticed headlights directly behind her. Vehicles were on the highway at all hours, so she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. But Inverwick was a small town, so the chances of another vehicle headed in that direction at this time of night was unlikely.

She mentally kicked herself for not paying attention. Being a mafia daughter meant she always had to take precautions. Her father had insisted she learn how to spot a tail and to take defensive driving classes. They were fun, and she did well, if only because they weren't real situations.

Very alert now, she watched the headlights directly behind her. She kept her speed constant, watching the behavior of the car. It maintained the same distance between them.

The road sloped upward and twisted even more, snaking along the side of a hill. On the other side of the road was a cliff with only a flimsy guardrail to provide the illusion of safety.

She considered pulling over to see if the other driver was merely impatient and would pass her immediately. But she didn't want to give a potential assassin easy access to kill her.

As she neared the top of the hill, the road straightened out a bit. She pressed on the accelerator to speed up. The car behind her did the same.

Dammit.

The road rounded the side of the hill up ahead. She went into the turn without slowing down, going faster than she was comfortable with, relieved that the Mercedes felt solid against the road. Most drivers would slow down around that turn.

The vehicle behind her didn't slow down. It sped around the turn, keeping up with her. Then it sped up even more, its headlights glaring into her rearview mirror.

Her heart pounding, she tried to estimate how much further she had to go before she got into Inverwick. She had only just passed the top of the hill, and the road came down the hill in a series of twists and turns.

When she had a clear view of the road and saw that no one was coming on the other side in the opposite direction, she moved into that lane, giving the car another chance to pass her.

The car stuck with her, headlights glaring. Then, in a burst of speed, it hit her back bumper, causing her back tires to skid slightly.

Fuck, someone's trying to kill me.

Her heart now hammering wildly, she straightened out the car, trying to remember everything she had learned in her defensive driving course and cursing it at the same time that they had never practiced on a windy road.

The road was in a steep decline now, and every twist came close to the edge. As another turn came up, she moved to the outside of the lane and then yanked the wheel sharply into the turn, trying to maintain her speed, tires squealing. She stepped on the gas pedal coming out of the turn.

The other car kept pace. On the straightaway, it raced forward again and bumped her, harder this time. Her back wheels slid as she neared another twist in the road, and she gripped the steering wheel for control, getting so close to the cliff she held her breath.

If she was going over, she'd close her eyes and say a quick prayer before it all ended.

The wheels gripped the road just before they hit the edge. She released a shaky breath.

Soren. Call Soren.

Why didn't she think of that sooner? Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she pressed the button on her phone. "Call Soren," she yelled.

The phone dialed as she hugged the hillside around another turn.

Pick up, dammit!

Soren answered. "Ilaria, where are you?"

***

Soren sat in the front passenger seat as Elowine drove back to the mansion. It was after four A.M., and they had spent the evening meeting with the prominent members of other mafia families in Edinburgh at their respective nightclubs.

After the MacGregors and the Frasers, the rest of the families were much smaller, their combined revenue smaller than the MacGregors pulled in alone. But Soren didn't want to leave any stone unturned.

People talked, and someone was bound to have listened.

He was grateful for the extensive network to which he had access, even if they were all technically rivals and they were only talking to him because of the MacGregor name and fear of repercussions.

The second-in-command of the Ferguson family, Marco Ferguson, corroborated Angus's source, that the assassin was an outside hire and that it was an American who hired him. Marco suggested he might even be able to get the name of the assassin.

Soren wasn't fooled that Marco was doing him any favors; it was, after all, useful to have the MacGregors in the Ferguson's debt. But Soren would gladly take it for any solid leads of the murderer.

As Elowine wound the SUV through the road to Inverwick, they noticed an unmarked black SUV up ahead driving erratically.

Soren frowned. "Do either of you recognize that SUV?" Neither did.

"If they're not careful, they're going to go over the edge," Elowine observed.

"El, speed up a bit," Soren instructed. She stepped on the gas, expertly gliding through the turns to catch up with the SUV.

As they closed the distance, Soren saw a white Mercedes ahead of the SUV, also speeding. As they all watched, the SUV rammed into the back of the Mercedes, causing the back end to swerve.

"What the fuck," Rowan muttered from the back seat.

Soren felt his jaw clench. Galen had decided to build his mansion out in Inverwick, outside of Edinburgh, for the peace and quiet, preferring to leave the trouble in Edinburgh. Soren was damned if he would allow riffraff near his home.

"Catch up to them," Soren said, his voice hard.

The SUV struck the Mercedes again, and the back tires nearly cleared the edge of the cliff.

Suddenly, Soren's phone rang.

It was Ilaria.

Dammit, she had to pick this moment to call.

"Ilaria, where are you?" he barked. He heard the clip in his voice.

"Someone's trying to kill me!" Her breathing was ragged.

Soren's chest tightened. "Where are you?" he asked again, louder.

"I'm driving," she choked out. "The car behind me is trying to run me off the edge. Gah!"

Soren heard the squeal of tires through the phone, and in front of him he watched the Mercedes tear through a hairpin turn.

He swore. "Ilaria's driving the Mercedes."

Elowine needed no further instruction to speed up. Both Soren and Rowan pulled out their guns and opened their windows. As Elowine pulled up closer to the black SUV, they both leaned out the window and fired at the SUV's back windshield. The bullets bounced off. Bulletproof.

Soren aimed for the tires but missed, trying to maintain his balance and aim straight as Elowine weaved through the twisted road.

A shot rang out in their direction, flying past them. Soren and Rowan continued to fire on the back of the vehicle.

The black SUV suddenly veered to the left of the Mercedes, darted ahead, and flew past, leaving the scene. Seemed the hitman decided to quit while he was ahead.

Soren grabbed his phone again. Ilaria was still on the line. "Ilaria, he's gone. Stop the car now."

The brake lights on the Mercedes appeared, and the car slowly came to a halt in the middle of the road. Elowine pulled up behind her, and Soren jumped out.

He ran to the driver's side door and yanked it open.

Ilaria.

His heart thundered at his first sight at her. Shell-shocked and shaking, hands still gripping the wheel, she flicked a wild look at him. He cupped his hands around her jaw, scanning her face and down the rest of her body for injuries. Seeing none, he leaned down to release her seat belt. Then he pulled her out of the car and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"Soren," she said, her breathing still ragged.

He continued to hold her—strangely feeling as if his world was complete—his hand smoothing her hair until her breathing slowed and her shaking stopped.

He counted to twenty, letting himself breathe in her sweet scent. Then he pulled back and took a long look at her, taking his time to admire her coffee brown hair, matching eyes framed by thick lashes, model-like cheekbones, and full, sensual lips. Lips he remembered well.

God, she's beautiful.

The wild panic had receded from her eyes, leaving a mild shock.

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly, placing his hands on her upper arms. Only now, seeing her, touching her, he acknowledged he had never been more terrified.

She nodded. "I—I think so." She took a deep inhale.

"Good," he replied. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

She stiffened, and a flash of anger appeared in her eyes, he noted with satisfaction. Her eyes cleared, and she fully looked at him for the first time.

"I was just driving myself to the house," she said in a defensive tone. "Why would I expect someone to come after me?"

"Love," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, willing himself to be patient. Her eyes narrowed. "Why wouldn't the person who killed your parents come after you? He had an unfinished job, after all, and you walked right into it."

Her jaw set, and she straightened her spine. With her dark brown eyes blazing, she was breathtaking. "I don't have to explain myself to you," she retorted.

"Yes, you do," he countered. "I just saved your life."

Her lips thinned. "Thank you—" she said stiffly, not sounding thankful at all, "—for saving my life. I am grateful—" not sounding grateful at all, "—from the bottom of my heart. Now if you'll please excuse me, I'm going to see Galen. I promise I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine."

She turned on her heel to step back into the Mercedes. He took hold of her wrist, noticing how soft her skin felt under his fingers. "I don't think so, love," He pulled her arm until she looked at him. "You're in my town now, and you'll be sticking with me the rest of the time you're here." Her eyes widened in outrage.

Soren nodded at Rowan, who stepped around her to get into the driver's seat of the rental car.

"Hi, Rowan," she muttered.

"Ilaria," nodded Rowan.

Soren pulled her toward the MacGregor SUV.

"Hi, Elowine," she greeted the blond soldier.

"Hi, Ilaria." Elowine gave her a small smile.

Soren opened the door to the back seat of the gleaming black SUV, feeling irrationally aggravated. Apparently, she felt like being rude only to him. "Get in." His tone was curt.

Ilaria lifted her chin, flipped her hair, and gave him a frosty glare. Then she slid in and jerked herself away when he immediately slid in after her.

"Put your seatbelt on." Same curt tone.

She clucked her tongue. "I know." She tugged the seatbelt over herself and shoved the latch into the buckle.

As Elowine pulled back onto the road and followed Rowan to the mansion, Soren had the urge to laugh. He turned to look at Ilaria, drinking her in with his eyes. She angled her body away from him and pointedly looked out the window.

He was still furious that she hadn't listened to him and endangered her own life, but he was sure about one thing: he never felt more alive than when she was around.