4. Chapter 4

4

I t was late afternoon when Soren walked into the boxing gym. He scanned the crowd. Half of his soldiers were already here, working out by themselves or with a trainer. The other half, he expected, would be coming in later tonight.

Soren normally came in after dark but wanted to get in a training session before Ilaria and her parents were due to arrive. A lesser man would have avoided her altogether, but he was Galen's second-in-command; he was no coward. Besides, he did the disappearing act last time. This time, he was determined to face her, no matter how tortured he felt.

Soren glanced around the facility, already feeling calmer and more reassured. He had been sixteen when Galen brought him to the little boxing gym in Inverwick, the town in which the mansion was located, just outside of Edinburgh. Alistair, the gym's owner, took him under his wing and trained him personally. Over the years, the gym earned more clientele, the MacGregor soldiers started training there, and the facility was upgraded and expanded. But Soren continued to train with Alistair three times a week without fail, a constant in a world of change.

"Mr. Soren," Alistair called from the side of the ring as he watched one of his trainers spar with Rowan. He jumped down and shook hands with Soren.

"Rowan is looking really strong," his trainer said as he led Soren to an empty ring at the far end of the gym.

"Good," Soren responded. "Tell your guy to work Rowan even harder."

Alistair grabbed a roll of tape out of his pocket and wrapped up Soren's hands.

"Who's not looking so good?" Soren asked. Ever since Soren started sending the MacGregor team to train at this gym, Alistair has been giving him updates on his people's progress, saving him time from having to monitor each person individually. He trusted Alistair's input on his people implicitly. His absence also served to identify those who tended to slack when the boss wasn't looking, which was then reported back to him.

"A few of your new guys, Nick and Billy, are starting up a little slow." Alistair spoke under his breath even though no one was close enough to overhear. "Nick's working hard, just needs some extra work to unlearn some bad habits."

Alistair finished wrapping Soren's right hand and moved to his left. "Billy, on the other hand, has ingrained laziness that's becoming more and more apparent. It's a shame, really, because he's got talent."

Soren put on his headgear, inserted his mouth guard, and pulled on his gloves. "I'll talk to him. How about the women?"

"They're dream clients. They're hardworking and always listen. I definitely don't mind working with people who have something to prove."

"Good."

Several years ago, Soren had decided to open up his soldier recruitment to both men and women. His evaluation criteria—which tested for skill, strength, agility, intelligence, emotional maturity, and grit—was notoriously stringent, and anyone who could ace them, man or woman, would have a place on his team, he reasoned.

His decision turned out to be a good one. Women now made up fifty-one percent of his team; women whose skills the MacGregors would never have been able to utilize otherwise.

He'd had to raise the selection criteria twice since women were included in recruitment just to narrow the field to the top. The men realized they had to step up to compete with women who were hungry and determined. The result being the MacGregors had the most elite and lethal soldiers in all of Scotland.

This, and Soren's reputation as both a fair and ruthless leader, had spread so far and wide that he never had to actively recruit. The best came to him.

Soren and Alistair climbed into the ring and faced each other. Alistair held up his hands covered by practice mitts. Soren raised his gloves to his face, and in one quick crossover snap he struck the trainer's right mitt.

Alistair raised his brows. "Someone came ready to work."

Soren didn't mention that all the coiled, pent-up energy about Ilaria's visit had been gathering inside him, and he was ready to unleash it all in the gym.

He went through his routine drills with that extra energy powering his punches such that even Alistair was sweating more than usual in order to hold his ground as Soren's partner. But the trainer was heavily sought after for this main reason: he sensed where his client's limits were and didn't let him stop until he had laid it all out in the ring.

When Alistair said Soren was done, he was truly done. Only pride prevented him from laying down and gasping for air right in the middle of the gym in front of his people.

He would be deathly sore tomorrow, he knew that. But if this kept his emotions in check when he saw Ilaria, it was worth it.

After Soren took a long, cold shower, he got dressed and headed toward the gym exit. He nodded to his people who were still there. Those who had seen his workout nodded in return with even greater respect than usual. If they only knew the real reason, Soren thought wryly.

Alistair walked him to the exit. "Wanted to mention something to you before I forget. I have another client who comes in the same days you do. Tall, blond hair, the fitness model. You know who she is?"

Soren nodded; he made a point of seeing his surroundings, and all the people in it, at all times. "What is it, old man? I'm in a hurry."

The trainer glowered at him, not intimidated one bit. "Boy, I've known you since you were sixteen. Don't rush me." Soren smirked. "And here I am, trying to set you up with a nice lady friend. This client of mine asked me to pass along her number. She's asking you to call her." He held out a slip of paper with a cell number written on it.

Soren grimaced. He didn't want to give this woman the wrong idea by accepting her number, but he also didn't want to insult Alistair by refusing. "Alistair, I appreciate you trying to play matchmaker. Between us, I'm not interested. But if she keeps hounding you, tell her to come talk to me directly."

Then he gave Alistair a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "I'll see you next week."

The trainer stood in the doorway as Soren walked out. "Don't forget to ice, or you'll be sorry tomorrow."

Soren gave him a thumbs up in response.

As he drove home, it struck him that he had barely been on any dates in the last few years. Though not for any lack of attention from women. He noticed women admiring him all the time, the bolder ones placing themselves in his view to catch his eye. The problem was, he just wasn't interested. He convinced himself to go out on dates here and there—a man had physical needs, after all—but none of them warranted a second date or even a follow up call.

The Soren three years ago would have had dates lined up every weekend. A fitness model giving him her number would have been par for the course. She would have been slotted into the schedule; placed at the back of the line; waited for her name to be called next.

He had told himself he was too busy with work. He was setting the trajectory for the rest of his life. That was his priority.

But now he wondered if he was just fooling himself. Because it wasn't as if every woman was dismissed from his mind the instant she would land in his awareness.

Oh no, not every woman. One female in particular landed in his awareness when he was sixteen and she was thirteen, and she had taken up residence ever since.

Sure, over the years she would retreat into the recesses of his mind, giving him a measure of peace.

But two years ago, after sharing a kiss with this woman, she was permanently seared into his brain, never to retreat again, never to go quietly into the night.

And he was going to see her again. Tonight.

He was so fucked.

***

Soren pulled through the gates of the mansion, inevitably struck again by the beauty and luxury of the place. When he had first seen it, it had reminded him of a castle. With its stone facade, climbing ivy, dozens of rooms, a real turret, and acres of manicured gardens, it was as close to a castle that Soren would ever see.

Galen: Are you around? Wanted to talk to you before the Carosis arrive. Come by my office.

He parked by the side entrance and walked into Galen's office. With high ceilings, dark, rich, wood paneling, a bookshelf covering an entire wall, tall, glass windows on the opposite wall, and a portrait of the family sitting over a massive stone fireplace, the office and his uncle were direct reflections of each other. Calm, unflappable, and steady in any situation.

Galen stood from behind his heavy mahogany desk when Soren walked in slowly, already feeling the effects of soreness, and gave him a studied look. "Good workout?"

Soren gave a huff of laughter as he sat down in an armchair by the fireplace. "You could say that."

Galen came around to the front of the desk and perched on the edge. He looked at Soren with blue-gray eyes which looked so much like his own. Along with his uncle's black hair, Soren looked more like his uncle than he did his own father.

"I wanted to bring up something specific before the Carosis get here," said Galen. "About the partnership."

Soren nodded. He knew how important this partnership was to his uncle, not just professionally but personally.

"I know you're already aware that it's important to me. But you don't know all the reasons." Galen stood and walked to the windows that overlooked the gardens. His shoulders looked tense.

"I was an awkward kid. And I mean, really awkward. I didn't have a lot of friends here in Edinburgh."

Soren's brows rose in surprise. His uncle had always been the epitome of self-assurance and confidence.

Galen's eyes glazed over with the memories. "When it came time to go to university, I really wanted to go somewhere new, somewhere I didn't know anyone. I wanted to be a different person and try out a different life." He chuckled. "Maybe finally find a girlfriend. Your grandfather was in full support. He never said so, but I know he didn't see me as a shining example of what a MacGregor should have been."

Soren was glued to the chair. He had never heard this version of the story before.

"When I arrived in Chicago, I had really high hopes. But changing who I was at my core was difficult. How do I unlearn years of physical awkwardness, years of beliefs that I wasn't good enough for people to be friends with?"

Galen's expression was pained. "Even with my best intentions, I couldn't change who I was overnight. But God knows I tried. One night, soon after I arrived in Chicago, I went with my classmates to a bar near campus."

Soren's stomach grew tight, anticipating a negative turn to his uncle's story.

"I drank too much, trying to force myself to loosen up. Unfortunately, I caught the attention of a group of guys much bigger than me. The kind of guys who were loud and liked to be the center of attention."

Galen paced in front of the fireplace. Soren couldn't take his eyes off his uncle.

"And they decided that night to make me their target. Initially it was just light jokes. Then it turned into ridicule. I was drunk but not so much that I've blanked any of this out, unfortunately. Then it turned physical. A couple of light shoves." Galen took a deep breath. "Since I had decided I was going to be a different person—someone who was confident, not awkward; courageous, not cowardly—I shoved one of them back."

Soren could hardly breathe, feeling rage rising on behalf of the younger Galen.

"He laughed as if he had been waiting for an opportunity. He and his friends grabbed my arms and dragged me to the alley behind the bar. Everyone in the bar followed. Only to spectate, of course. Not to get involved."

Soren sat forward, his hands fisting. Galen continued to pace.

"They began to pummel me. My head, my chest, my stomach. When I fell to the ground, they kicked me." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "This part I don't remember as well. Only pain. That's what I remember."

Soren had to remind himself that his uncle was fine, that the younger Galen had clearly survived.

Galen stopped pacing and looked at Soren. "Then it all stopped suddenly. I had my head covered in my arms so I didn't know why. When I looked up, this guy was pounding on my attackers. And if I thought the first three were hitting me hard, this one was landing fists like lead blocks. One punch they were down, and another punch they were out."

Soren was able to take a deep breath.

"Stefano helped me get back home. Then he took me under his wing. Signed me up at his gym so I could learn to fight. We were inseparable the entire time we were in school. Nobody ever bothered me again."

Galen sat down on the leather sofa opposite Soren. "So now you understand why Stefano is my closest friend. I owe him my life. I would not be who I am if not for him. I would do anything for him."

"And that's why this partnership is so important to you," Soren said, realization dawning.

"Yes," Galen nodded. "Now don't get me wrong. I would have just given Stefano money outright, without a partnership, if I knew he would accept it. But I found a way to help him and benefit us, which is the only way he would have accepted my help. So a partnership is what we have. And as the heir to this family, I'm asking you to make this your top priority."

Soren nodded. "Of course. You can count on me."

Galen gazed at him sharply. "Let me be more clear. There is clearly some conflict going on between you and Ilaria." He held up a hand. "I don't need to know what it is. What I'm asking you to do is move past it. She's the heir to the Carosis, and this partnership will require both of you to work closely together. I don't want your personal issues with each other to get in the way."

Soren swallowed. His uncle was right. "Nothing will get in the way," he said firmly. "Whatever conflicts we had in the past were trivial. I promise we'll get it all resolved this week."

Galen studied him and nodded. "I trust you." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I wish your grandfather had known you. He would have been proud."

Soren's throat tightened. After a long beat, he said, "I wish I'd known him, too."

They sat in silence, relishing the quiet before their visitors arrived and the hum of activity took over. Soren ruminated over his uncle's story. If it was possible, he felt greater respect for the man. What Galen had achieved for the family was even more extraordinary in light of his struggles in the early part of his life.

And if Galen felt he owed Stefano everything, then Soren also felt a measure of indebtedness for the Carosi head. For the hand Stefano had played in Galen's life and, by extension, the destiny of the MacGregor family.