Chapter 10
ALESSANDRA
For so long, I avoided Pope, tried to run from him each time there was even a flicker of a chance of us being within ten feet of each other because every time I saw him, I was dragged back to that day.
To those four words: It was a mistake.
The instant he said them, I shut down completely. Didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Not his stupid explanation. Not his excuses for what he was doing to me.
Pope was right—I did block him out.
I never gave him a chance to explain back then or any time since. And now that he has, now that we’ve cleared the air and I know the truth, things are far from fixed between us. If anything, it’s only made it worse.
The past several days since our conversation, he’s grown more nervous, appears increasingly exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all in the almost two weeks we’ve been here.
For all I know, he hasn’t.
I’ve been so drained since the moment we set foot in this house—physically and emotionally—that other than that nightmare and a few others, I’ve slept like a rock. Dead to anything outside my room. Only Benjamin’s cries have woken me, and even then, it felt like I was only half awake, going through the motions necessary to get him fed and changed and back to sleep without fully coming back to the world myself.
Maybe Pope hasn’t slept.
Knowing him, he’s been pacing and worrying, trying to work out some logical way out of this situation and letting it control his thoughts day and night.
He was always an overthinker, one who would study all the angles and try to solve a riddle or problem the way no one else could. Even now, as he watches me load Benjamin into his car seat, his knee bounces incessantly, where he leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. That dark, penetrating gaze of his never leaves me and the baby as he tries to work out our current predicament.
I click the final buckle on the car seat, securing Benjamin, and climb to my feet. “All right. Ready to go.”
Pope presses his lips together, his forehead creasing. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”
Here we go again.
“Look, you’ve been debating this for days.” I motion toward the kitchen behind him. “But we’re almost out of food. No one thought we would be here this long. If you don’t think it’s safe for anyone to drive it up to us like Bishop suggested last week, then we have to go to a store. Unless you want to reconsider and let me stay here with the baby and you just go.”
He shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplates our options, none of which seem particularly great. “I don’t want to leave you two alone here.”
I scowl at him, starting to feel like this man sees me as some breakable thing made of glass. “I can handle a gun, Pope. You know that. If anybody comes within five feet of this place—I shoot first and ask questions later.”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin at my words. Still, he shakes his head. “Not leaving you. We’ll go. I just need to make a decision on where. If we head into Shreveport, there’ll be a lot more people. It might be easier to blend in without anyone really noticing us. But if we go to one of the smaller towns, it means less exposure overall and less of a chance someone might recognize us.”
“I’m good with whatever you want to do, Pope.” Again, neither seems like one we want to leap at. “It’s your call.”
He rubs at the back of his neck, staring down at Benjamin, who has resettled and fallen back to sleep already. “Shreveport. I feel like the three of us would stick out like a sore thumb in some tiny town where they’re not used to strangers and everyone knows everyone.”
I reach down to grab the car seat, but Pope pushes off the counter and almost beats me to it with his long arms, his hand wrapping around the handle next to mine. Skin brushes skin, and heat travels up my arm and through my body in an instant.
We both lift our heads, and our eyes meet. So close I can smell his crisp soap and a faint whiff of his morning coffee—which we used the last of, so we definitely need to make this grocery run.
A clock in the living room ticks off a few seconds, and we stand frozen, examining each other like we haven’t spent our entire lives together before he gently urges my hand off.
I pull it back slowly, my eyes never leaving his as he stands to his full height, lifting Benjamin easily.
He clears his throat. “You have the list?”
What?
Oh, the list. For food. Because that’s what we were doing…
I reach into my pocket to pull out the scrap of paper. “Yep.”
Everything we need—at least in the food department—is neatly listed in Pope’s meticulously perfect handwriting. Although, it would be nice to know how much we need to get and how much longer we’ll be here.
The uncertainty of it all makes planning for anything nearly impossible, and with Dan in the wind, it’s starting to feel like we may be stuck here forever.
Don’t even think that, Al.
If I can’t get home and see everyone soon, I might have a full-blown breakdown.
How did I ever think I could leave New Orleans and the rest of the family? I can barely make it two weeks without them…
If Pope weren’t here, I wouldn’t have even gotten this far.
He takes a hesitant step toward me and uses his free hand against my lower back to walk me toward the front of the house. His large palm radiates his familiar heat into me, and I almost whimper at the loss of his touch when he removes it to unlock and open the door to the porch.
Knock it off, Al.
This isn’t the time or place, and Pope made it very clear the other night that this isn’t happening. Even if I could get past the years of pain and the animosity I’ve harbored toward him, my current anger at myself for letting it be that way for so long seems unsurmountable.
All that time lost.
So many years have gone by with him letting me believe a lie.
It’s all so twisted up inside me now—like my own little hurricane of uncertainty and complications named Pope that has already hit and is wreaking havoc on me.
I step out into the warm morning air and inhale a long, deep breath of the heavily woodsy scent, hoping it will replace Pope’s still lingering in my lungs.
It doesn’t.
Aside from occasionally coming out here or on the back patio with Pope right at my side to break up the monotony of being in this house the last few weeks, it feels like it’s been years since I’ve experienced the outside world.
My chest starts to tighten—a combination of excitement to be getting out of here, even if only for a short while, and the constant fear that we might be recognized and word would somehow get to the very person we’re trying to hide from swirl inside me. Caught up in the blustering winds of uncertainty Hurricane Pope has already brought.
Pope moves past me and down the steps toward the SUV with long, fluid strides, seemingly unaffected by what happened in the kitchen. He pulls open the rear door, secures Benjamin’s car seat, and turns back to me. His brows rise when he finds me still standing motionless on the porch. “Al?”
Shit.
I shake my head to clear away the lingering thoughts that will only drive me mad if I let them and descend the steps toward him. He opens my door, watching me carefully, his always observant eyes taking in every nuance of my movement and expression.
His lips part like he’s about to say something, but before he can, the sound of tires on gravel echoes down the road.
Pope freezes, immediately switching his intense focus on the path leading through the trees that we were just about to take out of here. “Get in the car.”
“What?”
“Get in the car and get down.”
Oh, God…
I quickly scramble into the passenger seat and duck down as low as I can into the floorboard. Pope closes my door and the rear one, securing Benjamin inside, and I watch through the window as he reaches for his gun in the holster he attached to his jeans earlier.
He remains on my side of the vehicle, partially obscured by my door, peeking over the hood, using the SUV as a shield against whoever is coming our way.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Pope raises the gun, aiming it toward the end of the road that will soon be filled by someone.
Please don’t let it be Dan. Please. Please. Please.
My heart hammers against my ribs, blood rushing in my ears, making it impossible to hear anything else. The edges of my vision blur, my breaths coming shorter and harder.
No.
Not now.
I press my hand over my chest, trying to stop my stupid heart from exploding or making me pass out again, and I blink through the fog, straining to see Pope.
With his eyes locked on the approaching intruder, he keeps the gun far steadier than I could right now. Despite not being able to hear anything over my own body’s attempt to have a damn heart attack, I know the moment the other vehicle reaches the clearing because Pope’s shoulders sag, and he relaxes completely.
What the hell?
He smacks his free hand against my door. “It’s safe. Come out.”
I scramble up and look out the driver’s side window to see who’s here.
Saint’s familiar Land Rover pulls up alongside our SUV, Pope’s father at the wheel and Uncle Gabe in the passenger seat.
Oh, thank God.
All the air whooshes from my lungs on a relieved cry. I reach for the handle with a trembling hand, but Pope pops my door and holds it open for me, the rush of fresh air helping to clear my spinning head.
Saint turns off his vehicle, and Gabe climbs from it first.
Pope approaches him, some of the tension returning to his shoulders given the unexpected visit. “What are you doing here?”
Gabe exchanges a look with Saint as he rounds the hood, but before they can say anything, I make it to them and throw my arms around Gabe.
“I’m so happy to see you, but I thought it was too dangerous for anyone to come up here.”
He squeezes me tightly. “It is.”
Gabe lifts his head and scans the surrounding woods. Always vigilant. That sixth sense of his undoubtedly picks up everything around us, taking in all the variables and calculating plans.
Pulling back slightly, he motions to the house. “Let’s go inside and talk.”
My stomach drops as he fully releases me. Pope appears to share my unease, his back stiff as he gives them a sharp nod, then pops the back door and grabs Benjamin.
Saint smiles and takes the carrier from him. “Hey, little guy. Wow, you’ve grown a lot since I saw you last.” He looks up at me with a grin. “What are you feeding this kid?”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better, to calm some of the anxiety their sudden arrival has brought up, so I force a smile through the panic still coursing through my veins as we all climb the steps.
Pope leads everyone back to the kitchen, and Gabe continues examining the place like he’s searching for faults or hidden dangers. Not being able to check it out before they sent us here has likely been driving the former Army Ranger mad.
Saint sets Benjamin on the floor, unbuckles him, and pulls him out gently—his massive hands so huge he could hold him in one if he wants to. He cradles him against his chest. One of the biggest and sweetest men I’ve ever met with the tiniest baby…
Pope watches his father and leans back against the counter in the exact place he just vacated. “So, what’s going on? Why did you two come up?”
Gabe wanders around the table and stops at the head of it, gripping the top of the wooden chair. “Savage and I got a call this morning.”
I suck in a sharp breath, grabbing the counter next to me to keep from passing out as my world keeps going fuzzy at the edges. “From Dan?”
Offering a sympathetic look, Gabe shakes his head. “No, from someone we never expected to hear from. At least, not this way.” He looks from Saint to Pope, then finally back to me, his green eyes hard. “Satriano.”
“What?” Pope’s body stiffens as mine does. “Why the hell did he call?”
Benjamin releases a little noise, finally starting to wake up at the most inopportune time, and Saint begins pacing around the kitchen, rocking the baby.
“This is where it gets…interesting.”
Gabe sighs and runs a hand back through blond hair starting to gray at the temples. “That’s an interesting way to put it.” His hands tighten on the chair back, his knuckles whitening. “Satriano said that he was aware that you had your baby.” He clears his throat. “And that he knows the father is Daniele Roselli.”
It takes a second for his words to process through the fog that’s trying to envelop my brain. “What? How could he possibly know that?”
We all know the only people I told sit around Nana’s dinner table with us on Sunday and would never utter it to another soul—certainly not the mobster who has not only caused so much destruction and turmoil for us but also threatened to do a lot more.
So how could he know?
Gabe grimaces. “That’s the most concerning part of all this. We don’t know where he is getting his information.”
“Shit.” I wince and waver slightly on my feet, fumbling to get my hand around the lip of the counter again.
Pope’s hand wraps around my arm, keeping me upright, and he lowers his face to my level, his eyes meeting mine. “Al, you feeling okay?”
I nod and take several deep breaths—or as deep as my chest will allow at the moment.
“You need to sit.” He ushers me to one of the chairs around the table, pulls it out, and helps me lower myself onto it. Squatting in front of me, he takes my wrist between his hands and presses his fingers to it. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Pain anywhere?”
I wave my free hand at him absently. “I’m fine, just…a little lightheaded with all the excitement.” And until I get some answers, I am not letting him shift the focus to me instead of what they drove up here to tell us. “So, he was just calling to let us know he knew?”
Saint gives me a tight, almost smile. “Not exactly. He wants to have a sit-down.”
Pope scowls, releasing my wrist, apparently—at least temporarily—appeased with the stability of my medical situation. “What, with you and Savage?”
Gabe shakes his head. “No, with Allie, and he told her to come alone.”
An arctic chill washes over me, initiating a full-body shiver, and Pope pushes up to his full height.
“No fucking way that’s happening.” Jaw locked, Pope storms over to the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, slams the door, and twists off the cap as he returns to the table. He hands it to me, giving me a concerned look. “Drink.”
This isn’t the time to argue with him, so I accept the bottle and force myself to take several sips. The cold doesn’t help with the icy chill raising goosebumps on my kin, but the water does help clear my head and even out my breathing a bit.
Gabe sighs, holding up his hands that look so innocuous but that have killed too many people to count—both during his time as a Ranger sniper and since. “Look, I understand your reluctance, believe me. But what if he has information on where to find Dan? It’s been almost two weeks, and we’ve come up with nothing despite using our best resources. Hell, I even called Cutter and had our buddy Preacher try to find him.”
And if one of the best hackers in the world can’t find the guy…what hope do we have?
Saint offers a shrug of his enormous shoulders, still cradling Benjamin against his chest. “If Allie goes and meets with Satriano, at least we’ll find out what he wants and what he knows.”
Pope shakes his head, glancing over at me as my entire body starts trembling again. “Absolutely not. Look at her! She has a form of heart failure and we’re going to send her into probably the single most stressful situation I can think of with the man who threatened all the Hawkes?”
Gabe steps away from the chair he’s been leaning on and squats in front of me. He rubs my shaking arms and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I promise you will be safe during the meeting, Al. We’ll pick somewhere public. Somewhere he wouldn’t dare try anything, and you know we’ll always be prepared for any scenario.”
Which likely means he, Bishop, and Saint—the three people with the best shots and most time on the range—with rifles trained on Satriano from multiple points.
Saint approaches Pope and squeezes his shoulder. “Son, think about this rationally. You know we’d never put Alessandra in danger, and if Satriano can help us keep her and Benjamin safe, then we have to consider if we have any better options. And none have presented themselves.”
“Fuck!” Pope throws up his hands and paces away, scrubbing them over his face and muttering something under his breath he probably doesn’t want to say out loud in front of his father. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Gabe squeezes my arms. “If you don’t want to do this, we’ll find another way to—”
“No.” I shake my head, clearing the last remaining cobwebs and doubts about whether I really have the strength to face that man. “We can’t go on like this. We have to try something. I’ll do it.”
* * *
POPE
Staringout the window with the binoculars, I watch Allie pace along Fulton Alley, watching for any signs that she may be in any sort of medical distress. Her heart may be slowly recovering, but this is precisely the type of situation that could send her spiraling again.
And it isn’t good for mine, either.
The popular tourist area bustles with visitors to New Orleans as well as the heavy lunch crowd, who are here to grab food at the various restaurants with patio seating.
Theoretically, it’s the perfect spot to meet Satriano.
Very public.
Somewhere he wouldn’t dare try anything.
Not with so many witnesses.
At least, that was the thought when we had the family meeting last night and discussed picking a location to meet.
But now that we’re here, I can’t shake the feeling that this could also be the perfect ambush spot. With so many people milling about, someone could grab her and get lost in the crowd before any of us could get to her. And even with three rifles at the ready to take out any threats, there are so many innocents that avoiding collateral damage could be impossible.
Something Satriano would know, too.
Allie scans the buildings rising on either side of the alley, searching for us, even though we specifically told her not to, her anxiety making her twist her hands in front of her and chew on her bottom lip.
“I don’t like this…”
Bishop glances up from the scope on her rifle, her braids pulled back in her usual bun to keep them out of her face. “Duly noted, and none of us do, but a little late to do anything about that, isn’t it?”
She’s right.
If anyone left their posts now to try to get her out of here before Satriano arrives, it will likely only make him even more of a threat to all of us. That man despises the Hawkes and everything we stand for and has big plans for his revenge against us for his brother’s death. The last thing we need to do is give him any more reason to act.
My in-ear radio crackles to life, and Gabe’s voice fills my head. “He’s here. Everyone be alert and ready.”
How can I ever be ready for this?
To have to stand in this building and watch Allie meet with such a dangerous man…
Even knowing Bishop, Dad, and Gabe already have him in their crosshairs can’t relieve the barely restrained panic engulfing my body right now.
Each step Satriano takes closer to Allie only makes it worse.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, Damiano Satriano approaches her with a grin and offers her his hand in greeting. “Alessandra, mia carissima, it is so lovely to see you again.”
His lightly accented words play in my ear, picked up through the hidden mic Gabe insisted she wear for the entire meeting so we can all hear what’s going on.
And hearing that man call her “my dear” makes me want to grab the gun from Bishop’s hands and empty the whole fucking magazine into him.
The fact that she served him coffee and exchanged pleasantries with him for so long before any of us knew his true identity was bad enough, but for this man to attempt to touch her and throw around terms of endearment is seriously making me consider crossing the line to use my hands for something other than saving lives.
Allie doesn’t accept his proffered hand. She just stares at it, then lifts her gaze to meet his. “Mr. Satriano…why did you want to meet?”
Good girl, Al.
Don’t give him any opening to get your guard down.
“Mr. Satriano?” He presses his hands to his chest in mock offense, shaking his head, making his perfectly coiffed silver hair shimmer in the sun. “Have we really come to that? You always used to call me Damon.”
She scowls at him, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “That was before I knew who and what you really are.”
His lips quirk slightly, and he crosses his arms behind his back, wrapping one hand around the other wrist—a casual move for a conversation that is far from it. “Fair enough.” He turns and scans the surrounding buildings on all sides. “Hello to the other Hawkes watching and listening from above…”
Shit.
We should have expected him to know we wouldn’t ever send her truly alone but hearing him call us out directly sends a shiver through me.
The silver-haired mobster is one smooth operator.
Don’t let him intimidate or charm you, Al.
She searches the hundreds of windows that line Fulton Alley, trying to locate us, but we didn’t tell her exactly where we would be for this very reason—so she couldn’t inadvertently give away our positions.
Finally, she returns her focus to Satriano. “Why did you want to meet?”
He motions toward one of the benches near them, and Allie gives one more uncertain look at the windows in search of us before she reluctantly walks over and takes a seat.
Satriano settles next to her, stretching one arm along the back, like they’re just two friends enjoying a chat on a pleasant morning. “First, I wanted to offer my congratulations on the birth of your son. And so soon after Giacomina gave Isaac a son. Such blessings for the Hawke family.”
Smug fucking bastard.
Letting us know he has been following exactly what’s happening with us, even if we haven’t heard from him in a while. A veiled threat wrapped in congratulations.
“Second, I wished to offer my assistance in dealing with your difficult situation with the father…”
He doesn’t say Roselli’s name, but he doesn’t have to for me to see how much Allie is affected by his words. Her body stiffens, and she twists her hands on her lap, averting her gaze from Satriano.
Come on, Al.
Savage, Gabe, Stone, Isaac, and Dad prepped her for this the best they could, going over every possible scenario for what Satriano could say. And she seemed ready. But now that she’s alone with him, I can see her nerves getting the better of her, even from here.
Some of the Hawkes are built for these types of situations—Isaac and Stone taking down opposition in court, Gabe and Dad assessing and neutralizing physical threats, Savage and Kennedy addressing business ones—but Allie has always stayed sheltered from those uncomfortable parts of running their empire.
Under normal circumstances, she might be able to handle it. That attitude that always seems to get her into trouble could be her best defense. But this is about her son, and that changes everything.
If she doesn’t get herself under control, this could go south very fast.
Her shoulders rise with her deep inhalation, and she clears her throat, like she’s trying to dispel the threat he just made. “Well, what is it you think you can assist with?”
Satriano grins—a slow, cold pull of his lips that doesn’t hold any actual humor or warmth. “I’m aware your family has been looking for him for several weeks without much luck. While I don’t typically like to make assumptions in my line of work, in this case, I can only presume this isn’t a manhunt to invite him into the Hawke fold with open arms.”
No, it sure as hell isn’t.
Allie shakes her head, confirming Satriano’s suspicions.
He nods slowly. “I know where Daniele Roselli is staying and how to arrange a meeting with him. I would be happy to provide that information to your family or even send some of my people to have a conversation with the father of your son.”
My hands tighten around the binoculars.
Satriano is offering to “take care” of our problem for us…which can only mean he expects something major in return. He isn’t the type of man you want to owe anything, but Allie is vulnerable right now. Perhaps in the most exposed position she’s ever been in her entire life. Which means she may be willing to do something stupid to protect Benjamin.
Allie seems to understand the situation as well as I do, narrowing her blue eyes on him. “And what would you expect us to do for this favor?”
That slow grin that seems to signal Satriano is contemplating something sinister makes an appearance. “Right now, all I would ask in return is that the Hawkes don’t get in my way.”
Her brow furrows. “In your way, how?”
He scans the buildings again. “I assume, at the very least, that your uncles, Savage and Gabe, are somewhere up there.” His gaze cuts back to hers. “And the former Ranger likely has a rifle aimed right at me. I’d be surprised if there weren’t at least one more, too.”
Allie smiles, the first genuine one I’ve seen from her today. “Two more, actually.”
Atta girl! Let him know we have him.
Satriano bobs his head. “Well prepared. I’m impressed. And despite our differences, I’ve also been impressed with the way the Hawkes have built this empire in New Orleans, only rivaled by that of the late Cristiano Roselli.”
“We aren’t criminals.”
His silver brows rise. “Aren’t you? From what I’ve observed since my arrival, it sure seems as though spilling blood, threatening or paying to get what you want, and any number of other questionable moves are all on the table for your family.”
He isn’t wrong about any of that. The Hawkes do whatever is necessary to protect our business and each other, but comparing us to the Rosellis is a far stretch.
We don’t blindly use violence without considering the consequences or collateral damage—something both the late Roselli and Satriano himself did frequently.
We look for ways to resolve difficult situations in a positive manner for all parties without the sort of bloodshed they so easily leap to.
Satriano is merely trying to get a rise out of Allie, but she doesn’t take the bait, remaining silent in the face of his hard stare.
The longer they hold the stalemate, the more I want to run to her rescue.
Before I can, Satriano grins again, almost like he appreciates Allie’s gusto.
“Daniele Roselli is young, inexperienced, nowhere even remotely on the level of his father. When Cristiano died, he left a power vacuum in New Orleans. His men still fight to this day over who should lead and take control—one camp supports his only son taking over, another rallied for his former right-hand man, Francis Gilardi. Neither has emerged victor yet, but I intend to ensure neither of them is sitting on his throne.”
And there it is.
Confirmation of exactly what we’ve all suspected since the moment Satriano revealed himself to us—he wants to control New Orleans, take over Roselli’s territory. Perhaps even expand beyond those current borders.
He certainly has the resources to do it.
Satriano waves out a hand. “If the Hawkes agree to stay out of my way as I make the necessary moves to achieve that end, removing Roselli will benefit us both.”
Self-serving piece of shit.
He gets an adversary removed and something he clearly wants from us.
Allie looks to the windows again, searching for guidance from Savage and Gabe, who are also listening in and hearing every word from their vantage point in the building across from us.
A moment of tomb-like silence settles over everyone before Savage’s voice comes through the comm. “Ask him if this would be a formal truce.”
We’ve spent months living in fear of that man, of the unknown, after he issued his vague threat and let us know he would be coming for us. He left us intentionally off-balance and paranoid so we are always looking over our shoulders, afraid of what he might do next.
A truce would mean relief from that—if we can trust a word he says.
Allie turns toward him again to relay the message from the man, who ultimately speaks for the family. “A truce?”
He grins again, his pleasure obvious. “For now…and I may also need to call in a favor from you from time to time. The Hawkes have a great deal of power in this city and connections I cannot ever hope to create. That could be beneficial to me in my new role.”
Fucking hell.
Satriano wants us to sell our souls to him to get Roselli out of the picture.
Watching from this distance, my hands itch to throttle the man for even suggesting it, but seeing Allie’s increased distress the longer this drags out, knowing her bone-deep fear for her son and herself, I already know what she wants to say.
She would agree—if it were up to her.
But it isn’t.
So, she waits until Savage’s voice comes through the comm again. “Tell him if it removes Roselli and he promises that you and Benjamin will be safe, he has a deal…”
We just signed our souls over to the devil himself.