Chapter 145 Watchers
They weren't just neighborhood residents. They were too coordinated, too alert. They were watching this building. Watching for something. Or someone.
I paid the driver, adding a generous tip, and stepped out of the car. The morning air was cool, carrying the smell of coffee and car exhaust and something else—something sharp and dangerous that I couldn't quite identify.
As I walked up the steps to Matt's door, I heard one of the men across the street say something to his companion. I didn't catch the words, but the tone was clear enough. They knew I didn't belong here. And they weren't happy about it.
I rang the doorbell, my phone still buzzing incessantly in my bag, my instincts screaming at me to leave. The door opened almost immediately, and Matt stood there looking haggard and worried.
"Cassie. Thank you for coming." He glanced past me at the street, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. Recognition. Concern. Fear. "Come in. Quickly."
I stepped inside and he shut the door behind me, engaging no less than three locks a deadbolt, a chain, and something that looked more industrial than residential. The interior of the brownstone was exactly as I'd imagined from Greyson's descriptions—comfortable chaos, a home lived in rather than staged. But Matt's tension was palpable, radiating off him in waves.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Yeah, it's just..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "This neighborhood isn't exactly friendly territory right now. I should have thought about that before I had you come here. Should have suggested we meet somewhere else. Somewhere safer."
"What do you mean, not friendly territory?"
Matt hesitated, clearly weighing how much to tell me. Then he seemed to make a decision, his shoulders sagging slightly with resignation. "You know how the city works, right? Different areas are controlled by different... interests. This is O'Malley territory. Has been for twenty years. And they're not particularly welcoming to outsiders, especially ones who arrive in town cars and look like money."
The name O'Malley sent a chill down my spine. Even in Miami, I'd heard of them. One of the old Irish families that controlled parts of Brooklyn through a combination of legitimate businesses and less legitimate activities. Protection rackets, loan sharking, smuggling. My father had always warned me to steer clear of certain neighborhoods, certain names. O'Malley had been on that list.
"I didn't know," I said quietly, my mind racing. The men outside. The watching. The tension in the air. They'd seen me arrive. Seen the town car, the expensive clothes, the phone that probably cost more than most people made in a month. I'd marked myself as and outsider. As someone who didn't belong. "The men outside "
"Yeah."
Matt's jaw tightened. "They're watchers. The O'Malleys have had extra security on this street for the past week. There's been tension with a rival family, some dispute over territory in Red Hook. They're on high alert, suspicious of anyone new. And you..."
He gestured at me, taking in my appearance. "You look like exactly the kind of person they'd be worried about. Corporate. Connected. Potentially dangerous."
"I'm not..."
"I know.They don't,with that article that just dropped about you..." He'd seen it too, then. Probably had alerts set up for my name, trying to stay informed about the woman his best friend had assaulted. "You just became one of the most visible business figures in New York. Everyone knows who you are now. What you're worth. What you represent."
The implications settled over me like a weight. I'd walked into O'Malley territory, announced myself with a town car and designer clothes, while simultaneously being outed as a major player in New York's business world. To the men outside, I wasn't just an outsider. I was a potential threat. Or worse a potential target.
"I should go," I said, already turning back toward the door.
"No." Matt put a hand on my arm gently, nothing like Greyson's grip and I saw genuine fear in his eyes. "It's too late for that. They saw you come in. If you leave now, looking scared, they might think you're running from something. Might think we're running some kind of operation out of here. It's better if you stay, have your meeting with Grey, and leave calmly. Like you're just visiting a friend."
"This is insane."
"Welcome to Brooklyn." Matt tried for a smile but it didn't reach his eyes. "Look, you're here now, and we should talk before Grey comes down. He's upstairs. Hasn't slept. Been rehearsing what he wants to say to you all night. Probably gone through it a hundred times."
I followed him into the living room, my skin prickling with awareness of the men outside, of the danger I'd stumbled into. I took in the law books mixed with science fiction novels, the cold coffee cups, the evidence of a man who worked from home and didn't worry too much about tidiness. Under other circumstances, I might have found it charming.
"Before he comes down," Matt said, settling into his armchair and gesturing for me to take the couch,
"I need to say something, I know I don't have the right to advocate for him after what he did, but I've known Grey for fifteen years. Since law school. And I've never, ever seen him lay a hand on anyone in anger. Never. What happened yesterday... that's not who he is."
I pulled up my sleeve slowly, deliberately, showing him the bruises. Five perfect fingerprints in varying shades of purple and blue. Dark enough to photograph well. Dark enough to press charges. "This says otherwise."
Matt's face went pale, the color draining from his cheeks as he stared at the evidence of his friend's violence. "Oh my word..."
"He did this, Matt. I don't care that it's out of character. I don't care that he was angry or hurt or whatever excuse he's come up with. He did this to me."
I pulled my sleeve back down, covering the marks.
" You know what? I work in a male-dominated industry. I've dealt with condescension, with men who think I got my position because of my father, with executives who've tried to intimidate me. But none of them ever actually laid hands on me. Greyson is the only one who crossed that line."
"You're right. You're absolutely right." Matt leaned forward, his expression earnest, almost desperate.
" I'm not trying to excuse it. I'm not trying to minimize it. What he did was unforgivable. , Cassie... he loves you. I've watched him fall in love with you over these past eight months, watched him become someone better because of you. Yesterday, when he realized what he'd done, it destroyed him. Completely destroyed him. I've never seen anyone hate themselves as much as he hated himself last night."
"Good," I said coldly, my voice flat and emotionless.
"He should hate himself. He should understand what he did. What he took from me."
"He does. And he knows that loving you doesn't excuse what he did. He knows that being sorry doesn't undo it. But he needs to say that to you himself. He needs to take responsibility and let you decide what happens next. Whether that's pressing charges or walking away or... I don't know. Whatever you need to do to move forward."
I sat down on the couch, suddenly exhausted. The sleepless night, the tension of the morning, the news article, the dangerous neighborhood it was all crashing down on me at once.
"Why did you really ask me to come here, Matt? To give him closure? To make him feel better about being a monster?"
"No." Matt's voice was firm, almost fierce. "I asked you to come because you deserve a real apology,you deserve to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what he took from you when he put his hands on you, and you deserve to have power in this situation instead of being left wondering and waiting for him to show up at your door. This is for you, Cassie. Not for him. You get to decide what happens next. You're in control here."
Before I could respond, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Slow, heavy, reluctant. The sound of someone walking toward their own execution.
then Greyson appeared in the doorway.
He looked terrible. Worse than I'd ever seen him. Dark circles under his eyes that looked almost like bruises themselves. Hair disheveled, sticking up at odd angles like he'd been running his hands through it all night. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday—wrinkled now, stained with what might have been coffee or tears or both. But it was his eyes that stopped me. They were red-rimmed and hollow, filled with a self-loathing so profound it was almost physical. Like he was carrying a weight that was crushing him from the inside out.
"Cassie," he said, his voice hoarse and raw. "Thank you for coming. I didn't think you would. I don't think I deserved it."
I didn't respond. Just looked at him, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, oppressive. Let him feel the weight of what he'd done, of what stood between us now.
Matt stood up, breaking the tension.
"I'll give you two some privacy. I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything." He paused at the doorway, looking at Greyson with a warning in his eyes. Clear and unmistakable. "Remember what we talked about."
Then he was gone, and it was just us.
The air felt thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Greyson moved into the room slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any sudden movement. He didn't try to sit near me stayed standing near the bookshelf, maintaining distance. Giving me space. Acknowledging, perhaps, that he'd already violated my boundaries in the worst possible way.
"I don't even know where to start," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
I could have made it easy for him. Could have invited him to sit, offered some opening that would let him ease into his apology. But I didn't. I just looked at him, my expression carefully blank, and waited. Let him struggle with it. Let him feel even a fraction of the discomfort I'd felt yesterday, pinned between him and that heavy bag, his fingers digging into my arm.
He seemed to understand. Seemed to realize that he'd get no help from me. That he'd have to do this entirely on his own.
"Then don't," I said, my voice flat and cold. "Don't start with the apology. Start with the truth. Tell me what you were doing with Dante."
Confusion flickered across his face. "What?"
"Dante." I leaned forward slightly, pinning him with my gaze. "You called him yesterday, didn't you? After you assaulted me. Or maybe before. What were you two planning?"
Greyson's face went even paler, if that was possible. All the blood seeming to drain away, leaving him ashen. "How did you—"
"Answer the question, Greyson."