16. Marcus
SIXTEEN
MARCUS
The Summit’s ground floor lounge looks different in daylight. Quieter. More civilized. The dark wood paneling and leather chairs can almost fool you into thinking this is just another upscale restaurant, not the exclusive club where Cooper Heights’ elite come to indulge their darker appetites.
I scan the room automatically, marking exits and evaluating threats. Old habits. The lunch crowd is sparse. A few business types in suits huddle over contracts while society women pick at salads. No sign of Castellano yet, but Reign mentioned he’s been spending his afternoons in the private poker room upstairs.
Reign sits at our usual corner table, perfectly pressed suit making him look more like a CEO than the ruthless bastard I know him to be. His eyes track my approach, and I catch the slight tension in his shoulders that tells me he’s doing his own threat assessment. We’ve known each other too long to break those instincts.
“You’re late,” he says as I take the seat that gives me clear sightlines to both exits.
“Traffic.”
We both know it’s a lie. There’s no real traffic in Cooper Heights. But saying ‘I drove past the diner three times hoping to catch a glimpse of her’ sounds pathetic even in my head.
“Castellano still upstairs?” I ask.
“Game’s been going since ten.” Reign studies his own menu with practiced casualness. “Your girl’s brother’s taking quite a beating.”
“Derrick’s here?” The menu crinkles in my grip.
“Lost thirty grand in the first hour alone.” Reign sets his menu down. “Down another twenty since then. Castellano keeps dealing him in.”
“Where’s he getting that kind of money? Buy-in for Castellano’s games isn’t cheap.”
“That’s what caught my attention.” Reign gestures to the waitress. We pause to order, and I use the moment to consider what he’s telling me. When she walks away, Reign continues. “Twenty-five grand to even sit at the table.”
“Castellano floating that too?”
“Initial buy-in was cash.” Reign leans back. “Then Castellano started extending credit. Lot of credit.”
Shit.
“How deep is he in?”
“Close to two hundred grand.”
The number lands like a sucker punch. Two hundred thousand dollars. The waitress returns with our food. Steak for me, salmon for Reign. The routine of cutting into my steak gives me a moment to process.
“Lainey know about this?” Reign asks between bites.
“No.” She’s got enough on her shoulders without worrying about her brother’s gambling debts. Every morning I watch her get up before dawn, determined to keep that diner running, to honor her father’s legacy. The last thing she needs is this shit.
“Speaking of Lainey.” Reign sets down his fork. “How are things going?”
“Good.” The warmth in my chest has nothing to do with the food. “She moved in last week.”
Reign’s eyebrows lift. “That’s a big step.”
“It is.”
I think about Lainey in my space, the way she’s transformed my isolated cabin into something else entirely. Her coffee cup in my kitchen. Her books scattered across my living room. The sound of her humming while she cooks.
My whole adult life I’ve kept people at arm’s length, built walls between myself and the world. The Marines taught me control. The Pack taught me power. But it was losing Shadow that truly sealed me off.
I built that cabin as a fortress, positioned to watch over Cooper Heights while keeping myself separate from it. Reign’s the only one I’ve ever let close, and even he knows there are lines he can’t cross.
But Lainey walked right through every barrier I constructed. She fills my space with her warmth, leaves traces of herself everywhere. Her vanilla lotion in my bathroom. Her fuzzy socks under my couch. Her grocery lists on my fridge. Small things that tell me she’s not just passing through. She’s making a home. And instead of feeling trapped like I always imagined, I find myself wanting more.
“Never thought I’d see Marcus Ruins settling down,” Reign says.
“Neither did I.” Until her.
“I’m guessing you still haven’t told Axel.”
The mention of my son shifts something in my chest. “No.”
“He’s going to find out.” Reign cuts another piece of salmon. “Small town.”
“I know.” Things between Axel and me have always been complicated. Years of missed birthdays and supervised visits left their mark. We’re finally building something real, and I can’t help but worry this will undo all that progress.
“And when he does?”
“Then I’ll handle it.”
Movement near the stairs catches my eye. The game must be over. The private gaming room empties in a predictable order. First the losers, then the winners, then Castellano.
Derrick Daniels emerges first, shoulders slumped, face gray with exhaustion. His expensive suit looks wrinkled now, his collar damp with sweat. He moves like a man who’s just lost everything. Which, technically, he has.
One of Castellano’s men materializes beside him. He catches Derrick’s arm just above the elbow, speaking close to his ear. From this distance I can’t make out the words, but Derrick’s face tells me everything I need to know.
Wilson releases Derrick’s arm with what looks like a friendly pat. Anyone watching might mistake it for a casual goodbye between associates. But I recognize the controlled pressure of his fingers, the way he positions his body to block Derrick’s path.
Derrick straightens his jacket, a futile attempt to reclaim some dignity. But his hands shake as he fixes his cuffs. When he finally heads for the exit, his steps are just a little too fast. A man trying very hard not to look like he’s running.
Enzo Castellano appears at the top of the stairs, surveying his domain. His salt and pepper hair is perfectly styled, his custom suit unwrinkled despite hours at the poker table. The flash of his platinum watch catches the light as he grips the railing.
He descends with the confidence of a man who owns not just the ground beneath his feet, but everything else in sight. Two more of his security team flank him, their eyes scanning the room with mechanical precision. Professional. Military trained. Nothing like Wilson and his crude intimidation tactics.
“Ready?” Reign asks quietly.
“Yes.”
Reign pulls out his wallet and drops three hundred-dollar bills on the table. We stand in unison, a movement practiced over years of working together. I register the subtle shift in the room - conversations quieting, silverware stilling against plates. The lunch crowd sensing predators in their midst.
Castellano heads for the back hallway, toward the restrooms. His security team splits up efficiently - one man taking the east corridor, another circling toward the kitchens. Standard procedure. Only one guard remains, hovering outside the bathroom door.
As I approach the hallway, I catch the fluid motion of Reign sliding behind the guard. One arm locks around the man’s throat, the other hand clamping over his mouth. A practiced move. Silent. Efficient.
The guard goes limp within seconds.
I slip past them into the bathroom. Castellano stands at the sink, washing his hands with deliberate care.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“Mr. Ruins.” He reaches for a paper towel. “I wondered when you would show up.”
“Stay away from Lainey Daniels.”
His lips curve into an amused smile.
“Straight to the point. I’ve always appreciated that about you.” He turns, studying my face with genuine fascination. “Though I must admit, I didn’t expect you to be quite so... invested in the charming Miss Daniels.”
“I’m only going to say this once.” Everything in me wants to wipe that smile off his face. But this isn’t about my pride. It’s about keeping her safe. “Whatever you’re planning, whatever game you’re playing, you leave her out of it.”
“How fascinating.” Castellano’s eyes gleam with newfound interest, like he’s just discovered something valuable. “The great Marcus Ruins, brought low by a girl who serves coffee for a living.” He adjusts his cuffs, supremely unconcerned by my presence. “Tell me, does she know what you really are? What you do for a living?”
“You go near her, and what I do for a living becomes your primary concern.”
“Protective. Possessive, even.” His smile widens, genuinely delighted by this turn of events. “I have to wonder what your son would think about this... development.”
Of course Castellano knows about Axel. He would have done his research, traced every connection to Lainey. The brief relationship between her and my son would have been easy to uncover in a town this size.
The knowledge should bother me. Should make me question what else he might know, what other cards he holds. But right now, all I feel is cold certainty. Let him dig up whatever dirt he wants. Let him try to use Axel against me.
“Her brother seems to enjoy our little games.” Castellano smooths his tie. “High stakes. But then, some things are worth the risk.”
“Cut the bullshit.”
“Such hostility.” He moves toward the door. “When I’m merely providing what he asks for. The chance to play. The money to stay in the game.” His smile sharpens. “Family obligations can be so complex.”
My hand catches his shoulder. Not rough, but firm enough to stop him. “You even look at Lainey again, there won’t be enough money in the world to fix what happens next.”
Castellano glances at my hand, then back to my face. His amusement finally fades. “Careful, Marcus. Love makes men do foolish things.”
“So does greed.” I release his shoulder. “Remember that.”
He straightens his jacket and slips out the door. I give him thirty seconds, then follow. Reign stands in the hallway, his back to the wall, looking bored. The guard’s nowhere in sight.
“Everything settled?” Reign asks.
“For now.”
We move through the dining room. The lunch crowd has thinned, but heads still turn as we pass. Castellano sits at a corner table with his security team, already deep in conversation. He doesn’t look up as we walk by.