34. AUDRA first sex
The next day…
I'm standing by the large balcony doors, staring out at Vegas as it sprawls behind the glass, muted and dipped in shadow from the tinted windows. The city pulses down there like a living thing, all neon and sin and secrets, but I barely see it. My mind is one huge jumble, a storm I can't outrun.
The night at the poker table keeps looping through my head on repeat.
The way Gabe looked at me when I took my place behind the felt, like I was the only thing worth watching in a room full of dangerous men.
He made my stupid, half-forgotten dream come true.
Gave me the cards, the table, the power.
For those few hours, I wasn't the exhausted widow, daughter, vet tech—wasn't the woman whose life had been shattered and taped back together wrong. I was alive. Confident. Desired.
I never would have dealt in a game like that if it weren't for him.
Everything now is because of him. The thought sits heavy in my chest, twisting tighter with every breath.
What does he want from me? Really? Because men like Gabriel D'Amato don't do anything for free.
Not the private penthouse, not the top specialists for Mom, not the way he looks at me like I already belong to him.
He's been making it impossible not to want him back; every dark glance, every possessive touch, every growled word makes my body ache in ways I didn't know it could.
I press my forehead to the cool glass and close my eyes.
I'm not calling it love. No way. That would be insane.
I loved Pete. Loving him took months to form, slow and steady and safe.
This thing with Gabe is nothing like that.
It's fire and violence, and a hunger that scares the hell out of me.
I'm more than attracted to him. I'm consumed by him.
And that terrifies me most of all. Because he's a mob boss. A criminal. A killer.
I've seen him end lives without blinking.
I watched him drag that bleeding doctor across the carpet like he was nothing.
And the worst part? I haven't even thought about that doctor since.
Not really. I try to dig deep, to find some scrap of horror or guilt or basic human decency…
but it's just not there. The man was a jerk, sure, but still, he didn't deserve to die for it, if that's what happened to him.
The truth is, I don't know his fate, nor do I want to.
What does it say about me that I can't find it in myself to care?
Probably the same thing it says about the rest of my life right now: completely, irreversibly messed up. Right. That has to be it. I exhale shakily, watching my breath fog the glass. Behind me, the door opens, and the reflection of the room shifts.
I feel him before I see him. My body is too aware of his now, too in tune. A low hum under my skin, a pull low in my belly that has nothing to do with reason. In a way I never was with Pete. And that truth only adds fuel to the fire already burning inside me.
Why him? Why now?
His reflection fills the glass, tall, dark, and lethal in that black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his corded forearms. He stops a few feet behind me, eyes locked on mine in the window like he can read every chaotic thought racing through my head.
"Audra."
Just my name. Low. Rough. Possessive.
I don't turn around. Not yet. Because the second I do, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep pretending I don't already know the answer to every question currently tearing me apart.
Earlier this morning, I opened our bank apps. I didn't want to, but I had to see exactly how bad a shape our finances were in. My heart nearly stopped when I saw a balance of over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in Mom's account and over ten million in mine. Dollars!
Mom's account showed a deposit of one million, followed by a series of recent transactions that brought the balance down by two hundred and fifty thousand.
Right around the amount that she owed in back taxes, doctor's bills, property taxes, and so on.
I knew that number by heart, because it had been a staggering weight hanging over me for years.
Sooner or later, we would have had to sell Mom's rental house to pay the bills.
Which would have taken the only source of income she has.
I have a pretty good idea where the money came from, but I don't know what to think about it. About any of this.
"Audra?" he says again, stepping behind me.
"Don't." My voice cracks as I whirl around.
"You've been paying for everything," I whisper, my voice trembling with fury, insecurity, and confusion. "The hospital bills. Back taxes. Even our house is paid off."
He doesn't deny it. "Yes."
"Why?" The word rips out of me. "Why are you doing all this, Gabe? What the hell do you want from me?"
He puts his hands into his pockets and stares into my eyes with an intensity that makes me take a step back.
"I want you," he says as he takes a step forward, and I take another step back. "All of you. Not just your body. Not just one night. I want you here, in my world, where I can keep you safe. Where no one can touch you. Where you finally stop running from what you feel when I look at you."
My breath catches. Heat floods my cheeks, confusion and anger war with one another, but one thing stands out clearly.
"So this is what it is?" I laugh, bitter and broken.
"You've been buying me? Paying off my mother's treatments so I'd feel like I owed you?
So I'd fall into your bed out of gratitude? "
His jaw flexes. "That's not?—"
"I thought you were helping me because… because maybe you actually saw me. Not as some broken woman you could fix or own. But because you wanted me." My voice cracks. "Not as payment. Not as a transaction. But because you couldn't stay away."
He doesn't say anything. Which only makes it worse.
"I kissed you the other night because I wanted to. Because I couldn't stop myself. And now I find out this whole time you've been pulling every string, making sure I have nowhere else to go but you."
Gabe's eyes darken, and something dangerous and pained flashes across his face. He reaches for me, but I jerk back.
"Tell me the truth," I demand.
He stares at me for a long, heavy second. When he finally speaks, his voice is raw. "I want everything."
He takes another step, crowding me against the wall.
His voice drops to a growl. "I want you in my bed.
I want you wearing my ring. I want you safe from every piece of shit who's ever hurt you.
I want you to stop feeling guilty for wanting me.
I want you to choose me, even knowing exactly what I am. "
His hand cups my jaw, his thumb brushes my lower lip.
"And yes, Audra… I made sure you didn't have a choice but to see me. Because the second I saw you, I knew you were mine. And I don't lose what's mine."
He runs a hand through his hair again, before he rubs his neck. On an exhale, he starts. "After I saw you at the police station…"
I frown slightly. I do remember the police station. I remember it too well. The excitement. The way I felt alive for the first time in years.
"I made some inquiries," he continues.
"Inquiries?" I echo, the word tasting strange. My hand lifts automatically, a small, impatient gesture. Go on. Because that's vague. Something about the way he said it—calm, like it's nothing—stirs an uneasy feeling in my chest.
"I might have gone a bit overboard," he admits.
My stomach drops. My mind starts moving fast now, connecting dots I didn't even realize were there. Overboard. What does that even?—
The ball.
My eyes narrow.
"The ball?" I ask.
He nods. "Yeah. I sent the invitations."
For a second, I just stare at him. Because that? That doesn't make sense.
"Why would you do that?" I ask.
He rubs his chin, like he's searching for the answer himself. Shrugs slightly. Exhales. "Damned if I know."
That makes it worse.
"There was just…" He pauses, eyes locking on mine. "Something about you." My chest tightens. "From the moment I first saw you," he continues, quieter now, "you fascinated me."
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing, just blink a few times. "That's it? You—" I let out a short, disbelieving breath. "You looked at me once and decided to what? Send me tickets to a ball?"
He shrugs.
More things click into place. Shit. The damn handbag. All the stupid prizes I won lately. For contests I hadn't even entered… fuck!
"You sent me the handbag? You paid for my car repair? You paid for us to go to that ball?" My voice sharpens as more and more things come to mind. He doesn't deny any of it. Just tilts his head. Shrugs one more time.
"I was married… Why would you…" Another thought enters my head.
No. It's my turn to shake my head. No, that can't be.
He wouldn't… Pete dug into things he shouldn't have…
he poked the bear, so to speak. Right? But once the thought is there.
There are others. The timing of Gabe's entrance into the warehouse.
No. No. That can't be. I rein myself in.
I will think about it. But not right now.
"Look." Gabe, blissfully ignorant of the path my thoughts have taken, because… let me handle this… continues. "I know what it sounds like, what it looks like. After the ball… After I talked to you. I tried to keep my distance. I knew you were happily married and that Pete was a good guy…"
"A good guy?" I echo. A good guy?
The words sit heavy in my chest, twisting something sharp and painful.
Gabe—Gabe knew that. Knew enough to say it.
Knew enough to mean it. Which means… my stomach drops.
Cold. Because he didn't just watch me. He watched us.
For how long? And… how much? Now I'm starting to feel sick.
My pulse starts to pick up. Thoughts spiral faster, slip out of my control.
"You knew that," I say slowly. "How?"