The growl of the motorcycle intensified on approach, then slowed to a throaty rumble as it turned into the driveway.

"Here we go," Bruce muttered when it came to a stop in front of him.

The rider's visor was yanked open to reveal blue eyes with a killing look in their depths. "Come up to the house," was said in a tone matching the rage in those eyes. The visor was slammed shut and the bike stomped into gear before Bruce could even respond. He watched it tear the rest of the way up the driveway.

Mark was pacing in the living room like a caged animal when Bruce got there. "Tell me again."

Bruce gave his version of the story, trying to avoid being too vivid when it came to describing Virginia's terror. Mark plowed into his bedroom when the briefing came to an end, and Bruce followed. They both stared down at the blood stain.

"Goddamn it! Why wasn't I here! I should have killed that fucker!"

Probably just as well, Bruce thought. Otherwise we'd be picking pieces of Walt off the wall right now.

"Why did she leave? Was she upset?"

"No . . . no, not really. She had calmed down quite a bit while I was here. Then Captain Beal came over and I left her with him." He shrugged. "She was"—he paused, looking for the right word—"incredible."

Mark's head whipped around and Bruce turned away, worried his expression would reveal too much. There was an awkward, drawn-out silence before Mark went back to pounding a trench in the carpet.

Bruce spotted the papers scattered across the dresser. "Maybe she left a note?"

They rushed over. Picking up the two halves of the torn picture, Mark cursed under his breath while Bruce read the card and ran his finger along the Rolex.

It came out of nowhere, an overpowering anger that tightened his gut but loosened his mouth, and before Bruce could stop the words, he had blurted, "You had better not screw this up. There are plenty of men out there who would love to take your place."

Mark turned on him, his tone accusing. "You wouldn't happen to be one of those men, would you, Bruce?"

Bruce glared back, feeling the tension oscillate between them.

After doing a reality check—questioning this sudden need to stand up for a woman that wasn't even his—he backed off. "If that's all, I'd better get back to my post."

He had made it to the bedroom door before Mark called out, "Bruce!"

He froze, steeling himself for a confrontation. As Mark crossed the distance between them, Bruce turned to meet the aggression head on.

A hand came up to grip his shoulder. "I want to thank you for what you did today. I don't know how I can repay you, but I want you to know that you saved two people here in this room."

He knows! Bruce thought.

Mark paused, and the sentiment in his eyes reflected his next words. "I love her. I would die without her." He dropped his hand and backed away, looking to the ground as emotion seemed to threaten his stability.

Bruce watched his boss struggle for composure, envious of the ability to feel such devotion for another. He stayed silent, wanting to share in the sensation, even if only for a brief moment. And although his chest felt hollow inside, he held no resentment toward the man in front of him. His longtime friend deserved a chance at happiness, a chance to prove that a person's past does not define their future. He will make a great father, popped into his head with an indescribable mixture of both joy and sadness.

Deciding it was time to get out of there before he opened his big mouth again, Bruce nodded his acceptance of the gratitude offered. "You are one lucky bastard," he muttered as he turned and left without voicing his suspicion.

It was her secret to tell.

)l(

Gus walked off the elevator, impatient and ill-tempered. He'd been scrambling most of the day to get shipments out. Enzo may have been a kowtowing fool, but he had proven himself efficient when it came to meeting deadlines. Fucking Spinelli. He's going to pay for this. If Gus had to hunt down that cunt girlfriend of his and kill her himself, it would be worth it just to watch Spinelli suffer.

He rubbed a hand over the few days' worth of facial fuzz that had its own daily routine. Being summoned up here to his father's office like a child hadn't helped his mood. All Augustus ever did was lecture him about how easy his son's life was in comparison to his own upbringing and what a disappointment he had turned out to be. So what is the complaint this time, daddy dearest? he wondered as he looked around the expansive space with its lavish decor.

Empty.

He gave it five minutes before deciding it was a waste of time. "Fuck it," he muttered, turning to leave.

The elevator doors slid open. His father walked off, Louis right behind him. Augustus strode over to him, his grey stare cold and soulless. Gus felt himself shiver under the relentless glare. There was a pause. Then his father slapped him hard across the face, the loud crack echoing around the room. Gus bowed to the side under the onslaught, and Augustus bent with him, keeping his face only inches away from his son's. "If you weren't of my blood, you would be dead now," he hissed.

Gus straightened, bringing his hand up to rub his cheek as he glanced at Louis and caught the man's smirk. The embarrassment of having a witness, especially one of Spinelli's men, left more of a sting than the hit itself. "Don't believe their lies—"

"Do not insult me by making excuses!" Augustus wheeled away from him and walked to his desk. "I have to admit, trying to overthrow me demonstrates a set of balls I didn't think you'd inherited, but alas, you should have had the good judgment to exploit somebody whose brain is bigger than his mouth."

Enzo. That stupid, fucking idiot. "He wasn't—"

"Silence!" Turning to Louis, Augustus gave a nod of his head.

The man raised something in his hand toward the television on the wall across the room, and suddenly, Enzo, Spinelli, and that cop bitch appeared in low-res black and white, video footage from inside the warehouse. An on-screen display flashed numbers as Louis turned up the volume, and Enzo's voice filled the room. " . . . Augustus is the fool. Hiding away in that ivory tower of his while Gus has been making deals of his own right under his nose. Very profitable deals I might add . . ."

Augustus pointed at the screen as Louis phased out the sound. "That is my favorite part."

Dropping his head, Augustus thrust his hands in his pockets with an exaggerated sigh and started a stroll, returning to his position in front of Gus. And as that wolf-like stare came up to meet his once again, Gus held his breath, knowing he had underestimated his own father.

Augustus cocked his head. "Disloyalty to your own family is an unforgivable desecration. You insult the very name that you bear."

Gus stiffened, aware of what was coming next. Dread churned through his veins with the knowledge that his life was about to change-for the worse. His body twitched as it juiced itself up, having no outlet with which to vent its panic.

"Your responsibilities have been stripped away. From now on you don't wipe your ass unless I tell you to."

"No . . ." Gus breathed.

"Louis here will assign men to guard you. They will report your every move to me." Augustus turned away and waved his hand in silent dismissal.

Louis came up and grabbed onto Gus's arm with a smug smile. "Let's go, Junior."

"Don't touch me," Gus raged, jerking out of his grip.

Louis dropped the happy face, getting dead serious. A big hand latched onto Gus's bicep and squeezed. There would be no removing it this time.

He let himself be led onto the elevator. Numbed by his father's reaction, Gus stood silent and calm even as the panic roared, threatening to shatter him.

The doors started to close. Augustus did not look in his direction.

)l(

Mark sat on his bed to dial her number. "Pick up, baby. Pick up," he whispered while the ringing droned on. When it went to voice mail, his head dropped on his shoulders.

"Ginny, that note meant nothing, I hope you know that. She was referring to my dinner, remember? I wolfed it down that night to catch the earlier flight. Nothing happened between us. Nothing. I have no idea why she sent that watch, and I've been intending to send it back. I love you, Ginny. It's only been you since . . . since our first kiss in your kitchen when your arm was stuck in that sling."

Sweet Jesus. That was quite the revelation. Had he subconsciously devoted himself to her that soon? Obviously he had.

"I want to give you time to relax and think. I'll be right here, waiting for you. It's smart not to tell anyone where you're going—and try not to be too visible. Please call me back, though. I need to know you are safe."

He hung up and held the phone in his palm. All he could do now was hope.

His next call was to Captain Beal.

"She said she was leaving, taking me up on my offer for some vacation time. I couldn't get her to tell me where she was going, but I'm sure she'll be in touch."

"Will you let me know if she calls?"

The long pause had Mark's imagination working overtime. "Captain?"

When Captain Beal spoke again, his voice was laced with anger. "You should know . . . Walt killed Jack . . . That asshole really screwed with her mind."

Mark's hand squeezed the phone so tight he was surprised the thing didn't shatter. After finishing up the call, he lowered his head into his hands, aware of the pain she must be feeling. Desperate to find her, he thought of the one other person she might confide in. With a muttered curse, he headed back out to his motorcycle.

This wasn't going to be pretty.

Half an hour later he was in Virginia's driveway. He had made it to the top step of the porch when the front door was hauled open.

"Mr. Spinelli, what can I do for you today?" There was an element of contempt to Paul's tone as he stood with hands on hips and feet spread apart, filling the frame. The body language sent a clear message: He was not welcome past the front door.

"Do you know where she went?" Mark asked, annoyed that he had to look up at Paul due to the one final step separating porch from house.

"Nope. She came in here this afternoon, packed a couple of bags in record time, and left to pick up Janine at school. She wasn't much into talking, but I got the gist of what happened."

"Can you let me know if she contacts you?"

Paul looked over Mark's head as if the person in front of him was not worthy of full attention. "You're the last person she needs to see. You and your so-called family should stay away from her."

Mark held back his angry retort, figuring Paul was only acting out of love. "I would appreciate your help. I know you don't know me very well, but I do love your sister." He turned away, intending to leave before things got out of control.

"I'll think about it . . . Colonel."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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