"Known her a long time, then."
"Since third grade. Her parents were..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "They weren't great. My mom kind of took her under her wing. Before I knew it, she pretty much lived with us."
"That's good. Having someone like that." His voice softened almost imperceptibly.
"Yeah." I studied his profile in the dim light. "What about you? Any family?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "Not really. Not anymore."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He made a turn, expertly navigating the slick roads. "It was a long time ago."
We fell into silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The rain drummed on the roof, creating a soothing rhythm.
"How are you finding the job so far?" he asked after a while.
"It's good. Challenging, but in a good way." I hesitated. "Macey's been great—patient but doesn't sugarcoat things."
"That's Macey. She's been with the family for a long time, guess it hardens some people in ways, makes them more blunt when it comes to what they care about. She's loyal and cares about the company and the family."
"Seems like people tend to stay with the Donatis."
Jackson's eyes flicked to me briefly. "They inspire loyalty."
"What about you? How long have you been with them?"
"Three years." He slowed for a red light. "After I left the service, they found me. Offered me a position in security."
"They found you?"
His lips quirked up slightly. "I had skills they needed."
"From Special Ops?"
He nodded. "I was happy to have a purpose again. They're honorable people."
The light changed, and we continued through the rain-soaked streets. I noticed his hands on the steering wheel—strong, with calluses that spoke of hard work beyond typing on keyboards.
"Is everything okay?" I asked. "You left suddenly yesterday."
"Something came up. Part of my job is general security for the family."
"Sounds like a lot of work between that and IT."
He shrugged. "Keeps me busy. Occupied."
"How long were you in the service before joining the Donatis?" I asked, curious about the man behind the intense exterior.
"Six years in, three years out." His voice remained neutral, but I sensed the subject wasn't one he enjoyed discussing.
"That's a long time to serve."
"Not long enough for some things. Too long for others." His cryptic response hung between us.
We turned onto my street, and I pointed out my building, the three-story walk-up with peeling paint and a flickering exterior light.
"That's me. The charming one with the broken gutter." Which was gushing almost directly over the path in. Typical.
