I should get out. I should get away. I should go to Thailand. Bali. Any end to this earth where he wouldn’t find me.

I didn’t because I knew that place didn’t exist.

Vincent Shade had lost nearly everything his father stole, dealt, stabbed, lied, tortured and killed to get.

But there were two pieces in the chess game he played very poorly, a game that just happened to be our livelihoods, pieces I’d learned without a doubt he’d never lose.

Not ever.

His girls.

Chapter Two

She’ll Have Company

Olivia

My phone was ringing as I drove into my garage.

After I turned off the car, I grabbed it and looked at the screen.

I took the call before I shifted out of my white Range Rover Evoque.

“Hello, Pam,” I greeted my real estate agent, moving to the door that led to the house, clutch under my phone arm, my other hand out to hit the button to close the garage door.

“Hey there, Olivia,” Pam replied. “Listen, that couple that looked at your house on Monday, they wanna come back tomorrow.”

I walked to my marble kitchen counter and dropped my clutch to it, responding, “Excellent.”

“They have to come in the evening. Around five thirty. Can you do something after work so they can see the house?”

Could I do something after my work of managing drug dealers—who these days had no drugs to deal—and keeping a variety of books for really not legitimate enterprises my father ran very poorly, considering we barely had any money—as well as laundering said money, how little of it there was?

“Yes,” I answered.

“Great!” she cried. “I’ll let them know and set it up. This is looking good. We haven’t had a second visit since we put your place on the market.”

That day was apparently my day for people to tell me things I already knew.

Because I already knew this, I had no reply.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed we’ll have an offer by Friday,” Pam carried on.

“I will too,” I said. “And if you can have their agent tell you when they’re done, I’d appreciate it if you’d text me when I’m good to come home.”

“Of course,” she stated.

“Wonderful. Thank you, Pam. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Olivia.”

I took the phone from my ear and disconnected.

Then I looked around my house.

From my position standing in the acres of extraordinary ivory, russet and bronze-veined marble countertops and custom-made cream cupboards, I could also see the kitchen seating area (which was not a place to eat…it was a place to sit on couches by a fireplace and converse). I could also see the great room, the formal dining room and vast expanses of wood-that-was-imported-from-Europe floors.