Chapter 138 Daddy
Greyson
My father's summons had come at dawn,a terse text that brooked no argument: New York. Today. Non-negotiable. Now, I was throwing clothes into a bag with a reluctance that felt like a physical weight, each folded shirt another step away from Cass.
Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to protect what we'd just built. Whatever fragile thing had taken root between us last night felt too new, too vulnerable to leave unguarded. The Massas had their photographed proof of my weakness, as my father would call it. Proof of my humanity, as I saw it. Either way, it made Cassie a target, and the thought of her facing that alone while I played family politics in New York made my hands shake as I packed.
I grabbed my phone, pulled up her contact, and hesitated. What could I say? Sorry, the family business calls, but by the way, you might be in danger from a rival crime family because you were photographed with me? She didn't even know the full extent of what my family was, what I was. She thought we were legitimate businessmen with questionable ethics, not the architects of an empire built on blood and leverage.
The door to my bedroom opened without a knock. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person walked into my private space with that kind of presumption.
Owen O'Malley stood there, a silhouette of imposed authority against the morning light streaming through the hallway windows. He surveyed the scene, his gaze missing nothing My father had always had a gift for reading rooms and people, for finding the vulnerabilities and exploiting them. It was what made him so effective and so dangerous.
"The flight to New York is waiting," he said, his voice flat and businesslike. No good morning, no acknowledgment of the early hour or the abruptness of his summons.
"This trip is timely. The Massas are overextended. They need more teritory We increase our territory control while they're weak. Strike when the iron is hot, as they say."
I zipped my bag with more force than necessary, not looking at him. My father's strategic mind was something I'd inherited, something I usually appreciated. I was thinking of Cassie's warmth still a memory on my skin, his cold calculation felt obscene. "You said it was a review of the waterfront holdings. Due diligence on the shipping contracts."
"It is. seizing the opportunity those holdings present." He stepped further into the room, and I could feel his presence like a change in atmospheric pressure. Owen O'Malley didn't just occupy space; he dominated it. "The waterfront is just the beginning. With the Massas weakened, we can renegotiate terms with the Rossi's, bring the distribution networks under our direct control, maybe even acquire that warehouse they've been using for their import operations, it requires your complete focus."
He paused, and I felt the weight of what was coming next.
"This is about focus, Greyson. This family's future. Nothing can distract from that. Not business rivals, not momentary pleasures, not..." he let the word hang there, heavy with implication,
"complications."
I knew the subtext. Hell, it wasn't even subtext; it was text. This was about Cassie. He'd seen the vulnerability the Massas had photographed,me, walking with her, my guard down, my attention divided. To Owen O'Malley, that made her more than just a woman I was seeing. It made her a liability, a weakness to be exploited by enemies or excised like a tumor, this trip? This wasn't just about business. This was his solution: remove me from temptation, remind me of who I was and what I owed the family, re-harden me into the weapon he'd spent twenty-eight years forging.
I refused to give him the words. I wouldn't speak her name in this conversation and let him taint it with his pragmatism and strategy. Cassie existed in a different space in my mind, a clean space untouched by the bloody machinery of family business.
"I'll handle the meetings," I said finally, lifting my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. My voice came out harder than I'd intended, each word clipped. "The Jennings Group has expressed interest in a partnership. We'll tour the facilities, review the contracts, discuss terms. I know what needs to be done."
Owen's hand on my arm stopped me before I could move toward the door. His grip was firm, fingers pressing into the muscle of my bicep not painful, but insistent. A reminder of lessons learned in childhood, when his disappointment came with consequences more severe than words. I'd learned early that Owen O'Malley's love was conditional, measured out in proportion to my usefulness to the family. Performance was everything. Weakness was unforgivable.
"Talk to the Hunter girl when you land," he said, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that would have made lesser men look away. I held his gaze, refusing to give him even that small victory. "Make it clean. End it. A marketing position with the family is beneath you, and her continued presence is a risk we cannot carry. The Massas know about her she knows nothing about teritory. They'll use her against us,against you,if given the opportunity. Better to cut ties now, cleanly, before there's real damage."
He released my arm, but the impression of his fingers remained, ghost pressure on my skin.
"Do you understand me, Greyson?"
"Perfectly," I said, the word tasting like ash.
He didn't wait for more. He left, his footsteps measured and deliberate down the hallway, the order hanging in the air like smoke. I stood there for a long moment after he was gone, my jaw clenched so tight it ached, my teeth grinding together with a pressure that would probably give me a headache later. The bag felt heavier now, weighted with more than just clothes and toiletries.