Chapter 4
4
COEN
L uca stares me down with so much fire burning in his dark eyes that it’s a fucking miracle the entire room doesn’t burst into flames around me.
Well, fuck.
They didn’t send Dad, or Uncle Savage, or even Isaac. The Hawkes sent Luca fucking Abello. People routinely crumble under the scrutiny of Dad in the courtroom. People fear handling negotiations with Savage. Isaac has proven himself the best mix of both of them. But Luca personifies terror…wrapped in a $10,000 Italian silk suit.
He steps from the elevator in another perfectly tailored one that can’t hide the tension in his broad shoulders. Even with his hands relaxed at his sides, his stride casual, I know him well enough to understand it’s all an act.
A well-practiced one he perfected over many decades.
One meant to lull unsuspecting targets into a false sense of security before he strikes.
And right now, I am squarely in his sights.
Fuck.
I knew it was only a matter of time until they found me, but I thought I’d have a plan figured out by the time they did. Some way to explain what I did that they could understand.
Right now, I have exactly jack shit…
Plus, Allegra stands only a few feet from me, barely concealed from his view, for only a few more steps into the suite.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I clear my throat, actually afraid of the approaching man for the first time in my life, despite always knowing who and what he was. “Luca…”
His eyes rake over me and land on the glass in my hand?—
“Is everything all right?”
Shiiiiit .
Allegra’s sultry voice floats over me, and she steps up to me, putting herself directly in Luca’s line of sight—and him in hers. She takes in the man in front of her with wide eyes. “Oh, I…didn’t realize you were expecting company.”
My grip on the glass tightens. “I wasn’t .”
Her confused gaze cuts to mine, and I can see her discomfort with the tension permeating the air between Luca and me. It would be impossible to miss it, the way it practically vibrates and becomes its own living thing the longer he stands there.
“Umm…I should go.”
I turn fully toward her, giving my back to the type of threat everything in me says I shouldn’t. “Don’t. He’ll be leaving in a minute.”
Luca closes the distance between us with three big steps and leans in, dropping his voice so she won’t hear from where she stands only a few feet away. “I highly suggest you get your friend out of here before we have what is going to be a very uncomfortable conversation.”
Fuck.
A shiver rolls down my spine at what is as close to a threat as I’ve ever had directed at me from Luca.
For all the knowledge we all grew up with about Luca’s history, for all the things we witnessed as we got older, he has always been kind, caring, loving with all of us. He’s been a member of the Hawke family as much as anyone else who sits at Nana’s Sunday table—regardless of what lies in his past.
And he certainly never directed any of the violence he’s so capable of at us.
I down the rest of my drink and turn to lock gazes with Allegra again. “We’ll pick up where we left off after my friend leaves.”
She eyes him suspiciously and shifts in her heels, then slides her half-drunk bourbon into my hand, leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll see you around.”
Hell .
That sounded a lot like a permanent goodbye rather than the “see you later” I had hoped for, but before I can try to persuade her to wait while Luca and I take this conversation elsewhere—or to return to her room where I could meet her later—she offers a tight smile to Luca, then saunters past toward the elevator.
She doesn’t even look back; she just hits the button and disappears into the still-waiting elevator cab.
The moment the doors slide shut, I whirl to face him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Okay, that was dumb.
No one talks to Luca Abello like that and lives to tell about it.
He merely raises dark brows at me, unaffected by my vibrating anger. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
Offering an annoyed huff, I storm away from him, back into the suite, and directly to the bar. I down Allegra’s remaining bourbon, pour myself another scotch and one for him, then nudge it toward the edge in offering, before I go and lean against the windows overlooking Monaco. “How’d you find me?”
He smirks as he wanders over and lifts the glass, taking a sip of it. “When the ceremony ended and nobody could find you…”—he glares at me in a way that ensures I feel every single bit of the reproach in it—“there was a panic, as you can imagine.”
I definitely never intended that.
Though, I should have known it would be the result. Despite my text to everyone when I left that I knew what I was doing and not to look for me. Despite insisting I was going to fix things and to just let me do it…
I still left.
I simply disappeared during Cass and Kennedy’s reception.
One minute, I was there, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching Atlas propose to Wren, and the next, I was slipping past security and everyone else while they were distracted and making my escape during the only chance I knew I would ever get.
My texts wouldn’t have done anything to quell their fears or anger at my disappearance.
And the fact that I turned off my phone so no one could track me or reach me only made things worse in their eyes.
It’s been weeks , and the Hawkes aren’t known for their patience.
Luca swirls his drink and stares down at it almost absently. “We knew you were still in the States for a while because we have a tracker on your passport and would have been alerted if you’d used it.”
“I fucking knew it.”
He glances up at my muttered comment and offers me a half-smirk. “Good call not using your cell phone or the passport.”
I release a heavy sigh and run my hand back through my hair. “Until I came here…”
My fucking passport did me in.
Luca nods slowly. “Until you came here…”
He wanders over to a leather chair in the center of the main living room area of the suite and settles into it, casually dropping one ankle over his knee.
“So, what?” I narrow my eyes on him, trying to figure out why we’re even having this conversation at all and why he didn’t just appear with the muscle he needed to force me into the car that’s undoubtedly waiting outside to take us to the airport and one of the Hawke jets waiting to bring me home. “They sent you to drag me back?”
His hard gaze softens for a split second. “They sent me to make sure you were all right , Coen. Everybody’s fucking worried. What the hell were you thinking? It’s been a month and not a fucking word from you. For all we knew, Satriano had already snatched you and taken his pound of flesh or worse.”
“I wish…” I mutter before I take another sip and focus out the window.
“Enough of the fucking games, Coen.” The snap in his tone forces me to look at him again. “Tell me what you’ve been up to the last month because all we’ve been able to piece together after getting in touch with all of our contacts is that you’ve played in a few tournaments—California, Texas, Atlantic City…” He scowls. “Pretty fucking ballsy heading to my old stomping grounds, by the way.”
I smirk. “You may have connections, but so do I.”
“My connections received a fucking earful about not alerting me of your presence, believe me.”
God only knows what Luca did to them…
The man may have stepped back from his role as the head of the Abello crime family, but that darkness still lingers just beneath his polished surface.
Like a coiled cobra, waiting to strike.
Clearing my throat, glancing out at the dark water and vibrant lights. When he doesn’t say anything for a while, an awkward, tense silence settling over us, I glance back to find Luca’s lips pressed into a firm line.
“I think you need to start with what the fuck happened after the wedding and what all this”—he spreads out his hands—“is supposed to be. Are you hiding from us or from him ?”
Satriano…
It would make sense to hide from the man I owe so much to, who now has the power and ability to twist my arm and keep me constantly on the edge of panic, wondering what he will ask for. But deep down, I know he isn’t the one I’ve been running from.
Still, I’m not about to admit that to Luca.
I shake my head. “Neither, really.”
His gaze goes cold. “That’s a fucking lie, and you know it.”
A heavy sigh falls from my mouth, and I drop my temple against the cool glass, hating how fucking well he knows me. It takes a moment for me to process what to say, how to explain why I left.
“You’re right…” I pause to try to regain enough composure to lose the tremble in my voice. “I didn’t want to face any of you. I couldn’t after what I did.”
“And you thought running off and exposing yourself, where Satriano could hunt you down like a fucking wounded animal, was a good idea?”
I lift my head, allowing my eyes to find his. “No…”
It would be stupid to fight telling him.
Luca can make me talk if he wants to, a hundred different ways. Some I probably can’t even fathom. And he’ll know I’m holding something back. He’ll be able to smell the lie from a mile away.
“Satriano isn’t going to be hunting me down because Satriano knows exactly where I am. Just like with the family, I sent him a message. I offered him a deal…”
Luca’s face falls and tenses. He drops his other foot to the floor and shifts forward in his seat. “What did you do?”
“What I had to in order to protect Wren and Atlas. What I had to do to protect all of you from the fallout of what I did.”
He slams his free palm against the armrest. “You fucking idiot. What did you do ?”
I stare him down, far longer than I thought I had the courage to. Eventually, everyone withers under the stare of Luca Abello, which is precisely why they sent him instead of Dad, Savage, Isaac, Saint, or Gabe—or anyone else, for that matter.
He looks every bit the mob boss right now.
An angry one.
“I told him I’d pay him back for my losses and that I’d do whatever he wanted to work off any debt he believed was owed to him because of what Atlas did in the ring.”
Luca winces, then squeezes his eyes closed. He sits back in the chair, releasing a long, hard sigh. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
I push off the glass and stalk over to his chair, towering over him and feeling big for the first time in my life when he normally has several inches and at least forty pounds of muscle on me. “I made a deal that protects everyone else. It was my mistake. You know what he would have done to Atlas and Wren, and God, their fucking baby… I couldn’t risk any of that, nor could I allow him to have that debt to hold over the rest of the family, either.”
Luca stares up at me. He drums his fingers on the side of the glass. “Did he respond to your offer?”
“Yes.”
And I still remember how badly my hand shook when the reply text came through.
As soon as I read it, I turned off my phone for good, knowing that man would find me if he needed to, even without it.
“What did he say?”
Sweat beads across my brow, the words flashing through my head. “He said, ‘You’re mine.’”
He clenches his jaws so tightly that a muscle there starts to tic. “You’re coming home with me.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve already won back over half of what I owe him. Another tournament or two, and I’ll be out of debt.”
He shoves up from his chair, getting up in my face. “ Your debt. But you gave the man a blank fucking check to cash against you once that’s done. What do you think he’s going to ask of you? What do you think he’s going to demand that you do to ‘pay off’ any perceived debt that Atlas may owe him? Do you know much he told Atlas that fight was worth?”
A shiver rolls through me.
Luca snarls. “ B illions.”
The emphasis on the B is sharp.
As much as the knife I’m sure he has concealed somewhere in his slick suit coat.
As deadly as the gun I know he has there, too.
“I don’t care what he asks me to do.” I stand my ground. Refusing to break. Refusing to bend to his will. “I’ll do it to ensure everyone’s safety.”
“Let us keep you safe.”
The emotional tone in his plea tugs at that part of me that knows how much he cares, how much they all do, even when I don’t deserve it.
“You can’t. And you know it.”
He throws out a hand sharply, his frustration growing. “Then let us deal with whatever the fallout is as a family. That’s what we do, Coen. No matter what. Hawkes always stick together.”
I want to believe that’s true.
Want to be able to go home with him.
But even if I could bring myself to get on that plane with him, I couldn’t face anyone there.
Not until I’ve made amends.
Not until I’ve found some sort of way to keep that monster off their backs.
A monster who lurks around New Orleans, where they’re all exposed. “Have you heard from Satriano?”
Luca looks away, then downs his drink and sets his empty glass on the side table. He hisses through clenched teeth at the burn. “He’s been shockingly quiet since the fight and wedding, which, as you no doubt understand, has left everyone very on edge.”
Because no one knew the reason he was quiet—I’d already made my deal.
My mind goes to the people in his immediate crosshairs. “Atlas and Wren?”
Luca runs a hand through his dark hair. “They went to Fiji. They don’t get back until the end of next week. Honestly, I may tell them to stay longer. They’re probably safer there than they are in New Orleans right now.”
“He won’t do anything. Not when he has me.”
“That’s my fucking point.” His voice cracks like a whip, filled with violence and a hint of something I never thought I’d hear from this man—fear. “He has you by the balls, Coen. He’s going to twist and twist and twist. You have to understand that.”
“I do.” I knew it the moment I made that offer to him, and I’m ready to face my fate. “It’s what I deserve.”
* * *
ALLEGRA
Minutes tick by slowly.
Each one, my unease and curiosity grow.
I do my best to appear casual, standing just inside the very room we finished the tournament in less than an hour ago, while keeping my eye on the elevator I came down in when Coen’s seemingly unexpected “guest” arrived.
The tension between the men. The anger and heat in their gazes. The unspoken words that flowed between them while I stood there. It all screamed that whatever was about to happen between them wasn’t anything I wanted to be anywhere near.
And I can’t help worrying about leaving Coen with him.
It certainly didn’t seem friendly.
Not hostile exactly.
But they definitely weren’t about to embrace and sing “Kumbaya,” either.
I tap my foot, unable to stand completely still as I wait for any sign that one of them survived what went down in Coen’s suite.
“Ms. Knight, did you need something?”
I turn back toward Anton and offer him a bright smile, quickly mustering up an excuse for why I’m lingering like a complete creeper stalking someone—which I kind of am at the moment. “I was looking for you, actually…”
Time to turn on the charm.
Shifting slightly in my heels, I position myself where I can keep an eye on the elevator and Anton without him noticing my split attention. I clasp his hands in mine and squeeze gently.
“I wanted to thank you for hosting such a lovely event and for taking such good care of us.”
His cheeks pinken at the compliment. “Oh, well, you’re quite welcome, ma’am. I’m glad you enjoyed it, even if you didn’t win.”
I chuckle lightly and catch the elevator doors gliding open out of the corner of my eye. Leaning in, I kiss each of his cheeks. “Until next time.”
Coen’s visitor strolls from the elevator, his muscular frame tense beneath his expensive suit.
No bruises.
No split knuckles.
No blood.
No signs of any physical struggle linger on him, but the energy radiating off the man definitely says a battle was waged up in that suite.
Who won?
That question lingers in my head as I fall in behind him, keeping my distance and mingling with the crowd enough that he hopefully won’t notice me.
Something tells me that if he does, he isn’t the type to be too happy about it.
I increase my pace to get closer but leave at least one person between us in case he turns and spots me. Each strike of my heels against the marble floors makes me wince, but with the buzz of activity around us, he doesn’t seem to notice the sharp sound.
Good.
Because he got a good enough look at me upstairs to recognize me, and it’s not like I can hide if he happens to turn around.
One hand moves to his suit coat’s inner pocket, and I brace myself for what might come out of it. The way he carries himself, it could just as easily be a gun as a phone.
He pulls out the latter and dials someone, bringing the phone to his ear. “He’s not coming home.”
The words are clipped.
Angry.
And they simultaneously manage to hold so much pain and worry in them that my chest tightens painfully.
He keeps walking, his perfectly tailored suit falling elegantly off his broad, tense shoulders as he makes his way toward the front of the casino. Intelligent and far-too-observant eyes take in everything around him, scanning the casino and the people who mingle around the tables and machines.
A round of cheers erupts at a table to my right, drowning out whatever he says next to the person on the other end of the phone.
Shit.
I try to shift closer, but I’m blocked by a couple hanging on each other and kissing the same way Coen just did me upstairs—with the kind of promise that meant I was more than just considering his offer to stay the night.
The way his lips moved over mine.
His body aligned so perfectly against me.
That smoky flavor of his scotch invading my mouth, along with one that was all Coen Hawke.
My body heats at the memory, a dull ache starting in my core that my strides and movement through the casino don’t seem to ease. If anything, the farther I move toward the main entrance and away from the elevator that will take me back to Coen’s room, the more it feels like I’m heading in the wrong direction.
The opulent lobby and main doors appear ahead, and I ease my way to the side, keeping myself hidden as I watch Coen’s visitor step outside and immediately climb into a waiting limo.
“Never would have thought you had a thing for older men.”
I jerk at the sound of Coen’s voice so close and whirl to find him standing directly behind me, shoulder leaning against the wall casually, as if he didn’t just bust me spying on the man who just left his suite.
“Shit”—I press my trembling hand over my thundering heart—“you scared me.”
He eyes me suspiciously, his gaze moving from me to the place where the limo just sat before it pulled away from the curb. “What exactly were you doing?”
Spying.
“I’m sorry. I was just a little worried. Things seemed intense with that man when I left you in the room. When I saw him come out, I was curious…”
One dark brow rises slowly. “About what?”
What the hell rattled you so much when I barely could…
“Who he is? What all that was about? He seems very…intimidating.”
He snorts and pushes off the wall. “That’s precisely why they sent him.”
“Who sent him?”
He presses his lips together in a firm line, crossing his arms over his chest as if he needs protection from whoever it is. “My family.”
His family sent him?
Even though the limo is long gone, my gaze still trails back to where it sat before it returns to Coen’s. “Who is he?”
Coen runs a hand back through his thick, dark hair with a sigh. “For all intents and purposes, my uncle. Not by blood, but in every way that matters.”
“I see…”
So, I followed his uncle…
I nod slowly, bite my lip, and glance around, looking for any way out of this—an escape route.
Talk about embarrassing.
I was totally busted by Coen.
Twice.
First in Atlantic City and now here…
And my plans to make a clean getaway after the tournament were foiled when he cornered me in that elevator before I could sneak back to the safety of my room and avoid the uncomfortable confrontation I knew was coming.
Though, what happened in that tiny, enclosed space wasn’t at all how I expected it to go.
He wasn’t at all what I expected him to be.
Rage…I could have handled.
Fury…I could have withstood.
Ire…I could have easily survived and walked away from unscathed.
But whatever that was…it wasn’t any of those things.
There was anger there, lurking beneath his polished surface, vibrating under his tanned skin, but his interest and obvious attraction seemed to override that base need for revenge, or whatever it was he was seeking when he followed me in the first place.
And it overrode my common sense.
He didn’t force you to go to his suite…
That was my choice.
I could have just as easily said “ no ” to his drink offer and let him walk out alone when those doors opened on the top floor. I could have let them close on him and whatever this tension is. I could have gone on my way, followed through with the plan I came to Monaco with.
Yet, I chose not to.
And that knowledge somehow makes this moment so much worse, so much more uncomfortable. Because he knows it, too.
I stare into those ocean-water blues, again, remembering how it felt to have his warmth wrapped around me, his hand pressed into my back possessively, his lips on mine, and the promise in his words when he asked me to stay the night.
That damn ache returns to my core.
The need to ease it?—
No.
I take a step back, putting some much-needed space between me and the man who threatens to unravel all my well-laid plans with that smirk and the passion burning in his gaze when he looks at me.
With a shaking hand, I pull out my phone and text Buckley, letting him know to bring the car around.
Leaving. Now.
He knows to be ready to go at any moment, so it shouldn’t take him long to get here. And he’s been with me long enough to recognize the urgency in my text.
I force myself to look back up at Coen, who watches me with a furrowed brow, clearly confused by my retreat when, less than an hour ago, I was seriously considering spending the night in his bed. “I…uh…need to get going.”
His brows wing up, eyes widening. “What?”
Ignore that surprise and disappointment.
If I concentrate on it, let it affect me, I will end up in a very bad position—like under the man in front of me.
He moves toward me as if he intends to pull me into his arms again the same way he did upstairs, but I hold up a hand, stopping his progress immediately. “You’re going to leave?”
I motion over my shoulder toward the curb. “I have somewhere to be.”
That playful, seductive smirk returns to his lips, and he eases closer. “What happened to considering my offer?”
Despite every reason it shouldn’t, a smile pulls at my lips. “I did consider it. Believe me…”
And if we hadn’t been interrupted…
Our night would be ending very differently—or not ending at all, given the way he’s looking at me now.
“What changed your mind?” He grins. “Am I a shitty kisser?”
I chuckle at that, unable to stop the reaction. Nor am I able to prevent myself from taking the half-step required to close the distance between us. I rest my raised hand against his chest, pushing up on my stilettoed toes to align my mouth over his. “Definitely not that. Quite the opposite. If I stayed tonight, I don’t know that I’d be able to walk away.”
That confession stings.
Admitting any weakness does, especially to a man like Coen Hawke.
He is trained to look for them, to manipulate them and use them to his full advantage—both at the poker table and in life. And he will not hesitate to use mine against me the same way I did him today.
Which means I have to leave with the upper hand any way I can.
I kiss him deeply, sliding my tongue along his, and his arms wrap around my waist, tugging me fully against him. The warm, hard heat of his body presses into me, and a low, rumbled groan vibrates from his chest through my palm still pinned between us there.
Slow and sweet.
This isn’t the sexually charged kiss we shared upstairs.
This one is meant to keep him thinking. Keep him wondering. Keep him wanting more than just me in his bed.
I pull away breathless, my head foggy and swimming, my body throbbing and pulsing and ready for it to go so much further, but I can’t.
Not now, not ever.
He watches me with half-lidded eyes, thick lashes framing that vibrant blue. They beg for me to stay. Plead for it.
Reluctantly, I press another quick peck to his cheek before I change my mind. “I have to go.”
I slip out of his hold, and he follows me through the doors and out to the front circular drive as Buckley pulls up to the curb.
Coen’s heavy footsteps follow me. “So…this is it?”
His question almost makes my strides falter, but I force myself to keep moving forward. To not look back.
Buckley climbs from the limo and makes his way around to open the door for me. I slide in, and Coen reaches us.
He braces one hand on the roof, the other on the edge of the doorframe, and leans in. “You’re just going to walk away?”
A flash of pain dances across his eyes, and for a split second, I reconsider staying. Reconsider what it would mean if I did.
You can’t.
I nod. “I have to go.”
It doesn’t matter that my things are still up in my room—the hotel will ship them to me with one call. And there isn’t anything there that I can’t live without for a day or two.
But if I spent a day or two with this man…it will only mean disaster in the end.
His hand tightens on the edge of the door, and my body remembers what it feels like to have that hand on me, phantom fingers digging into my back, urging me to stay. “When will I see you again?”
I offer a shrug as my only answer.
It’s the only one I can give.
He slips back from the limo, disappointment written across his face. Buckley closes the door, and Coen retreats slowly until we finally pull away.
The devastation written across his face hits me far harder than it should.
This was always a game, a way to see if I could get under his skin, and I’ve proven that I can. I shouldn’t care that he seems hurt by my rejection. I shouldn’t care that my body is objecting quite strongly to my decision to walk away from him rather than to climb into his bed and onto him.
My hand shakes as I fire off a text.
I WILL SEE YOU SOON.
I slip my phone back into my purse before there’s any response because I don’t want to see it right now.
It will only make things worse.