Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
T he room is still dark when I stir. A soft crack of light peeks through the curtains, slicing a golden line across the floor. I’m groggy but not hungover, the kind of fog that comes from too much whiskey and not enough sleep. The kind that settles in your chest instead of your head.
My arm stretches out automatically, hand brushing the empty cushion where Cassie had been last night. Where her warmth should still be. I sit up slowly, head turning toward the soft rustle of movement near the front door.
She’s there—half-shadowed, barefoot, her shoes dangling from her fingers, her dress draped over one arm as she moves quietly toward the bedroom door.
“Going somewhere?” My voice is rough from sleep and smoke, and the things I didn’t say last night.
Cassie freezes, her back to me for a beat too long. Then she turns, her clutch tightening my shirt around her body like it’s armor.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she replies, soft but steady.
“Didn’t want to say goodbye either?” I accuse, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. The sheets slip to my waist, baring my chest .
“I thought it would be easier this way,” she murmurs. “No morning after awkwardness. No... expectations.”
I rise slowly, crossing the room until I’m standing in front of her. I’d had the decency to throw on a pair of shorts last night, though I probably still look like hell. Still, she watches me like I’m something worth unraveling. “You think I expected something?”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer. Not right away. Her eyes flick up to mine and stay there, searching, maybe hoping I’ll make it easier for her. But I’m not the one trying to disappear.
“I don’t know,” she admits finally, voice quiet.
“This looks good on you,” I say, nodding to the shirt hanging off her frame.
Her eyes widen, catching the edge of something she’s not sure how to handle. “Did we…?” she asks hesitantly.
I shake my head, dragging a hand down my face, trying to scrub away the irritation before it seeps into my voice. “No.”
Her shoulders loosen slightly, but there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes—relief, maybe. Or regret.
I step closer, close enough that the space between us could vanish with one decision. “If I wanted something from you, Cassie... you'd remember.”
She watches me with that same guarded expression, like she’s not sure if I’m about to pull her in or let her go. “I don’t remember much of last night,” she croaks, rubbing her palm over her face.
“You know what I remember?” I ask, voice hushed. “The way you kissed me.” I place a finger beneath her chin and tilt her face to meet mine, my lips barely an inch from hers.
Her expression softens.
“The way you begged me to kiss you back.”
Her fingers twitch at her side, like she wants to reach out but doesn’t trust herself to. Or maybe doesn’t trust me not to pull away .
“I remember the way you looked at me when I told you what I wanted.”
She swallows heavily, and my eyes track the movement. One decision could drive this moment. One action could move this in another direction.
“I wasn’t lying,” I whisper.
Cassie’s eyes search mine. “I know,” she replies, voice barely audible. She exhales slowly, and I watch the fight drain from her shoulders. I can tell she’s tired. Not just from the alcohol, but from whatever walls she’s been holding up since the moment we met.
I reach out, fingers brushing against her wrist. She lets me. The contact is small, but it grounds me.
“Stay,” I say. It’s not a command. It’s a quiet plea dressed in vulnerability I can barely name.
She looks down at my hand, then back up at me. Her lips part, sadness fills her gaze even though I can’t see the depths of her green eyes. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
For a moment, Cassie stares at me, completely silent. It’s like she’s searching for a reason to stay, or maybe a reason to go.
Finally, she responds. “You know why, Axel.”
The way my name rolls over her tongue, parting her lips, it does something to me. I forget about her answer. I forget about the walls between us, about the blood on my hands that’ll stain her if I’m not careful.
All I see is her—this woman who’s got my ribs in a vice and doesn’t even know it. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s why she’s pulling back now, while there’s still something left of me she hasn’t ruined. Or saved.
I reach for her wrist, fingers brushing her skin like I’m not sure I have the right. “Cassie?—”
She flinches—not away from me, but from herself, like she hates that she wants to lean in. Like she’s fighting it as hard as I am .
I could give her a thousand reasons to stay. I could promise her a thousand things if it meant she wouldn’t leave. But we both know it’d be a lie.
So I just hold her gaze, letting the silence say everything I can’t. Please don’t go. Please don’t make me watch you walk away.
She steps back. One step. Two. And I let her. Because if I don’t, I’ll drag her so deep into my world she’ll never claw her way out.
When the door clicks shut behind her, I stay exactly where I am—fist clenched around nothing but air, her ghost warm on my skin.
I turn away, putting as much distance between me and that door so I don’t go running after her.
I pace the bathroom like a caged animal, trying to get a grip on the storm twisting in my gut.
Disappointment, irritation… humiliation.
After last night, I thought we’d broken through something real. But now? Now I know her head’s back on that idiot she calls a boyfriend, and I’m nothing more than a temporary escape.
I'm the head of the Bonanno family. I don’t take second place.
I don’t play safe. I take what I want—and I don’t make room for regret.
I grit my teeth and move on, letting the scalding shower burn away whatever frustration’s still clinging to me.
By the time I’m done, there’s no sign of Cassie—no note, no goodbye—and I’m already regretting how I handled things.
But I barely make it down the stairs before I hear her laugh—light, musical, like it belongs to another world. It stops me in my tracks.
I follow the sound into the living room, where I find her perched on the edge of the couch, coffee in hand, laughing at something Hunter just said. They look like a pair of gossiping teenagers. Cozy and far too comfortable.
“What the fuck?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Cassie jolts upright, her coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Hunter just leans back, smirking like he’s been waiting for this exact reaction. There's a pause—sharp, tense, vibrating with the kind of silence that speaks volumes.
Cassie won’t look at me. She’s fidgeting, guilty as hell, trying to shrink out of the moment. Meanwhile, Hunter’s doing everything he can to stir the pot, even wiggling his brows like a smug bastard.
“I gotta go,” Cassie says quickly, grabbing her things and bolting, leaving me standing there, jaw tight, eyes locked on Hunter.
“Chill out,” Hunter says, finally breaking the silent standoff. He rolls his eyes and straightens, casually brushing off his suit jacket like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I was just keeping her company.”
“Whatever,” I mutter.
“I convinced her to stay,” he adds, more seriously now. “But you just scared her off.”
That stalls me. My steps falter mid-stride, and I turn back, narrowing my eyes at him.
“So what gives?” he asks, tone edging toward concern beneath the sarcasm.
“Like I’d fucking tell you,” I grunt, brushing past him and retreating into my office.
It’s a joke—mostly. But I’m not about to open up, not even to Hunter. The truth is, I don’t fully understand what the hell I’m feeling. Everything’s a mess. Cassie’s in the middle of it, and her dipshit of a boyfriend just blew the whole situation wide open.
Still... I’m glad she told me. Even if it took a push from her friend, the honesty matters. It’s the only thing that feels real in the middle of all this chaos.
When I step into my office, Trigger and Max are already in place, lounging in their usual spots like the kings of familiar territory.
Trigger leans back, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, fingers drumming against the armrest with that barely-contained energy he always carries.
Max is the opposite—stone-still, composed, scanning the room like he’s analyzing every inch for potential threat.
Always the quiet one, but never not watching.
Hunter strolls in behind me, all swagger and ease, and takes the opposite end of the couch from Trigger, stretching out like he owns the place.
He’s smirking like he knows something we don’t, like every meeting is just another game to play.
I don’t bother telling him to take this seriously—he’ll show up when it counts. That’s always been his way.
We’re still one short. Ryder hasn’t shown yet.
No surprise there. If I know him—and I do—he’s either brooding over a text from his old man or rehearsing how to tell us bad news.
Probably both. Either way, the tension in the room is already building, and the longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get.
I slouch into my chair behind my desk, already dreading the morning. It started off bad and it’s only going to get worse. I should’ve forced Cassie to stay—maybe she could’ve helped—but this is Five business. I can’t afford distractions.
Right on cue, Ryder storms in, his footsteps heavy with frustration. He slams the door, arms crossed and scowl deep—like a kid told no one’s coming to his birthday party.
I see too much of myself in Ryder. The pushy family, the rules, the expectations shoved down his throat since birth. He’s the heir to an empire his father refuses to relinquish. Just like mine. Trained from day one to rule—but only after bleeding for it. No wonder the guy’s always pissed.
With a brief nod in his direction, I start the meeting. The guys give their usual updates. Trigger’s talking about the Santos Gang down in Brooklyn. NYPD’s sniffing around, so he’s keeping his head down. That means we all need to stay sharp.
We’ve had a few scraps with Santos’ Gang—Colombian cartel. It’s nothing worth losing sleep over, but something in Trigger’s voice tells me this time might be different.
Hunter shifts the subject to another club opening. Max just shrugs when I glance his way. That’s as good as a green light from him, so I let it go .
I turn to Ryder, who’s furiously tapping at his phone. “Any news on when your old man’s stepping down?”
He pockets the phone and shoves a hand through his hair. “He keeps changing the benchmark,” he mutters.
“What is it this time?” I ask with a sigh.
He hesitates, casting a side-eye at Hunter—who’s now watching him like a hawk. Hunter knows something.
“Ryder?” I press, sharper this time.
He steps forward, palms flat on the desk, eyes locked on mine. There’s something unspoken behind them. A silent plea. I nod once—message received.
“We’ll talk later,” I say, and he steps back without another word.
“We done here?” Trigger asks, already half-rising. I get it. He doesn’t do well sitting still, and he’s got that itch to keep moving.
“One last thing,” I add, pulling them back in. “Cassie warned me there might be an article coming out. Cooper’s behind it. She says it could ruin her, and from what I know, he’s got a personal vendetta against me.”
Trigger cracks his knuckles like he’s ready to hunt Cooper down right now. Hunter’s wide-eyed, alert. Max doesn’t say a word, but the color in his face shifts—he’s taking it personally too. They all nod without hesitation.
Good . I can’t risk the Five for one woman—but I also won’t let her get torn apart.
“What do you need from us?” Ryder asks, his voice steady, eager to help when he’s not leashed by his father’s games.
“Just a message. A soft one. Enough to spook him.” I flash a grin. “He’ll get the point.”
Ryder squints. “You sure that’s all it’ll take? He’s going after you in print. Guy must have a death wish.”
“He’s testing the waters,” I reply, rubbing my face, already exhausted by the circus. “Didn’t expect Cassie to tell me. But she did. That says enough. ”
Ryder nods, accepting the task. I turn to Max, who slides an envelope across the table. He doesn’t say anything, but the tight set of his jaw tells me I was right about what’s inside.
I smirk and pick up the envelope, leaving it unopened for now. Whatever’s in it just gave me leverage. All that’s left is deciding how to use it.
An hour later, everyone’s clearing out. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork and a headache fighting for dominance. I don’t make it far into either—my thoughts keep circling back to Cassie and that red dress.
The way it clung to her, the way she looked at me like she wasn’t sure whether to run or lean in closer.
Like she didn’t know if she was about to drown or be saved.
Hell, maybe both. I should be focused on logistics, deals, the fallout from Cooper’s little vendetta.
Instead, I’m picturing her laugh echoing through this house like it belonged here. Like she belonged here.
I rub a hand over my face, trying to shake her off, but she’s everywhere.
In the scent still lingering in the sheets, in the lipstick stain on the coffee mug she didn’t take with her, in the heat that hasn’t quite left my skin.
I’m used to distractions, but not like this.
Not the kind that leaves me feeling like I missed something important the second she walked out that door.
The worst part? I let her go. I let her think she was just passing through.
And now I can’t stop wondering if she will.