18. Harrison

I've been workingall night to ensure this hand off went smoothly and without incident. Anything even remotely on the less than legal side has been removed so a raid wouldn't amount to much. The hard drives, backups, files, folders, burner phones, you name it, it's gone.

Waving bye to my parents, who have been up all night as well, we are all weary, but I sharpen up as I climb back into Aaron's Chiron and fire up the engine. I just want to get back to Vogue, kiss her, and crash for a week. It's afternoon now, and I know the guys are back on campus plotting and putting plans into motion. I should join them, but I really just can't be bothered right now.

The Chiron purrs beneath me, a monster ready to devour miles in minutes. Streets blur as I drive, the city oblivious to the game being played in its underbelly. My phone is constantly buzzing with updates, but I ignore it for now; every muscle in my body aches for a break from this relentless tug-of-war between loyalty and law.

As Aaron's mansion comes into view, the gates open, and I drive through, parking up slowly and neatly. Aaron waits for me, unimpressed by the long delay.

"Back in one piece," I say, handing him the keys.

He takes them with narrowed eyes. "And the hotel?"

"All clear."

"Good job." He turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving me to trail in his wake.

Vogue and Quen appear, holding hands and looking just as wrecked as I feel. Vogue's eyes meet mine. She doesn't have to say anything; that look tells me she's been holding down fortresses of her own.

She lets go of Quen and crosses the entrance hall, throwing herself into my arms, and for a moment, I let the world fall away. We're here, together in this madness, clinging to each other like nothing else matters.

"I missed you," she mumbles against my chest. "I was worried this morning when they told me you'd been gone all night."

"I missed you." I kiss her lips gently and quickly, still not sure if we are doing this in front of her dad or what.

"We good?" Quen asks, eyeing me for any sign of trouble.

I nod. "Handled it. For now."

Vogue pulls back slightly to look at me. "You can tell me about it later. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Will you join me?"

She shakes her head with regret. "Wish I could. Dad wants me to shower and change and attend a meeting with him in a bit."

I tilt my head, worried. "What kind of meeting?"

"The kind where moles get dug up," Quen murmurs.

"Ah fuck. Give me a few minutes to shower and change as well, and I'll come with you."

"Dad says he wants me there alone. He needs to see how I hold up without you guys there."

I exchange a glance with Quen, who is as worried about this as I am.

Vogue sees it and smiles, cupping my face. "I'll be with my dad. And Adam."

Snickering at the afterthought, I nod. "Well, there are worse people to be with."

"Exactly." She rises on her tiptoes to kiss me, and then she's gone.

"Guess there's nothing left to say," I mutter. "I'm showering then I guess we head to campus?"

"Yeah," he says and saunters off.

I head upstairs to the room I assigned myself and strip off the day-old clothes. The shower is a godsend. It streams hot, almost scalding, but it does fuck-all for the tension knotted in my muscles. My mind races, churning over the meeting Vogue's stepping into, alone. My gut churns with fear and pride. She's strong—fuck, she's one of the strongest people I know—but this is deep-end shit.

Aaron is not fucking about with this training. It's brutal. A baptism by fire.

Moments later, I step out, dry off, throw on the first clean set of clothes my hands find, and head out, trying to keep pace with the morning that seems hell-bent on outrunning me.

Quentin is waiting for me by the door, hovering uncertainly, which is very unlike him. He usually owns the room, not giving a single fuck about anything.

"You okay?" I ask, as it hits me that we are once again minus a set of wheels. This is getting ridiculous.

"Yeah, just this shit with the Duke. It's taking a mental toll that I need a fucking break from."

"Want my advice?" I venture.

His hard gaze pins mine, but I don't back down. Eventually, he sighs, "Sure. What can it hurt?"

"Forgive him. He tried, Quen. I know it doesn't help, and you still had to grow up in that hellhole, but he never stopped looking for you."

"Yeah. It doesn't help." He turns his back on me and strides off down the driveway towards the gates.

I rush to catch up. "Seriously?" I groan. "We're walking?"

"Unless you have a car shoved up your ass, yeah, we're walking. I'm not borrowing one when we have three at the penthouse. Why did no one have the foresight to drive at least another one here yesterday?"

The answer is simple. "We all wanted to be with Vogue."

He acknowledges the truth in that, and we head out through the gates that magically open for us.

"What's with these fucking things?"

"Fuck knows," he grunts, and that's the end of that conversation, or any conversation as we start the half an hour walk back to the campus.

By the time we hit the edge of the campus, I can feel the sweat sticking my shirt to my back. It's a good kind of exhaustion, though; makes me feel alive and reminds me we're still free to walk the streets despite the shitstorm swirling around us.

Quentin's been silent the whole way, lost in his thoughts. I've known him long enough to know when to leave him be. When we finally reach the penthouse, there's a sense of relief as we step inside.

I head straight for the fridge, grab a couple of bottles of water and toss one to Quen. He catches it without looking, his reflexes never dulled even when he's this deep in his head.

"You think she'll be okay?" I ask after taking a long swig from my bottle.

Quentin pops the cap off his own and takes a gulp before answering. "She's tough. You should've seen her this morning. Adam is teaching her how to fight. I sparred with her. She's got fire."

I nod. "Come on, we'd better find Cal and Thayer. See what they're up to with organising an event that will rock Crestmont to its fucking core."

We scoop up the keys and head out, leaving the cars for now as we cross over the road and onto the Crestmont campus.

We find Callum and Thayer in the café, logged into their laptops. Their focus is so intense that the clatter of cups and the low rumble of conversations around us don't even register on their radar.

"Hey," I call out, dropping into a chair across from them, the sound of my voice finally breaking through their concentration.

Cal's eyes flicker up, a grin tugging at his lips. "You two look like you've been dragged backwards through hell. Nice walk?"

Thayer snorts, not lifting his gaze from the screen. "They're training for a marathon. Didn't you hear? It's the latest in mafia fitness regimes."

Quen drops into the seat beside me, rolling his eyes. "If we're done with the comedy routine, maybe we can get down to business?"

"Yeah, how did you two assholes get here this morning, hmm?"

They exchange a grim look.

"Exactly, so shut the fuck up and fill us in."

"How are we meant to do both?" Cal asks with a snicker.

He's in a weird mood. Too lively. He's usually more brooding than this. It has me worried. But I ignore it for now and instead lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Talk to us. What's going down?"

Callum closes his laptop with a decisive click. "We've got a plan. It's bold, risky as all fuck, but it could work."

Thayer finally looks up, dark eyes serious. "We're throwing a party. Not just any party—a fucking spectacle designed to draw out any rats from their hidey-holes."

Quen grunts in approval. "Baiting them with social chaos? I like it."

"Yeah," Callum affirms with a nod. "We'll need to pull it off seamlessly, make things look irresistible."

"And have everyone in place," Thayer adds, "ready to strike when we spot our targets."

I rub at my chin, feeling the stubble rasp beneath my fingers. "Alright, what's the play then? How elaborate are we talking?"

Cal leans forward, the grin wiped clean from his face, replaced by the cold, calculating look of the mafia Earl we often forget he is. "A masked, black-tie affair, invite-only, but with enough leaks to ensure those we want to take notice do."

Quen looks between them and then at me before a smirk plays at his lips. "Sounds like a fucking blast."

"So, when's this party going down?" I ask, already calculating who needs to be where and when.

"In a week" Cal replies. "That gives us enough time to plan every detail and set up the security measures we'll need and keep Aaron happy with the timescale."

Thayer murmurs, "It's short enough notice to keep our enemies off balance. They won't have time to prepare."

I nod, feeling the weight of what we're about to do settle on my shoulders. The conversation shifts to logistics, security details, guest lists with hidden agendas, and the coded invitations that will serve as our little Trojan horses.

We spend hours in the café until the blueprints of our masquerade are etched not only into our laptops but also into our minds. It has to be flawless because a single misstep doesn't just mean a bad night—it means not making it through the night at all.