Chapter 10
10
COEN
T he moment Allegra steps from the sleek, black Town Car onto the sidewalk in front of Nana’s house, it’s abundantly clear this is an even worse idea than I initially thought it was when Savage suggested it and Kennedy insisted.
Coupled with the lingering unease brought on by Satriano’s surprise visit last night, the little shudder of anticipation that rolls through me at her approach isn’t a good one.
I am so fucked…
In the long list of bad ideas where Allegra and I are concerned, this tops it.
I never should have allowed this to happen.
Never should have put her in the position to be the night’s entertainment at the Hawke table.
And that’s exactly what she’ll be—on display—and it will be open season to pepper her with thousands of inappropriate and invasive questions.
But there wasn’t any way to say no. Not after what both Bishop saw in the penthouse and Savage witnessed in the elevator. Once he extended that invitation and Kennedy threw her excitement at the idea on top, if Allegra hadn’t come, it would have raised even more uncomfortable questions.
They would have wondered why I was hiding her—and that is not a story I intend to reveal to any of the Hawkes.
It’s bad enough I crumbled so completely under her wiles, but to admit that to the family when I’m already skating on such thin ice would have been too much for even me to bear.
Just be her buffer.
It’s the least I can do, knowing what she’ll face the moment she sets foot inside.
I lean against the front door jamb, tracking her up the walkway in a pale-green dress that offsets her eyes and another pair of patent leather Louboutins that make her toned legs seem a mile long.
A slow smile spreads across her lips as she approaches and steps up to me, stopping just out of my reach. “Hi.”
“Hi…” I let my gaze sweep over her now that she’s closer, from her luscious, wavy dark locks floating down over her shoulders to her tasteful cleavage and peachy skin that makes my mouth water to explore it. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
She raises a brow, tilting her head slightly. “Why not?”
I snort and glance back at the carnival that is Nana’s house on a Sunday evening. “I had hoped you had some self-preservation instinct.”
Those pink lips of hers twitch into a smirk. “I think we already established that I don’t.”
Neither do I.
If I did, I wouldn’t have flirted with her at the bar in Atlantic City. I wouldn’t have confronted her I that elevator in Monaco and brought her up to my room. And I sure as hell never would have laid a hand on her in Macau, let alone fucked her the way I did yesterday.
So, at least we’re in the same boat.
I can’t help but grin at her.
This lightness in my chest shouldn’t exist simply by seeing this woman again. My hands shouldn’t itch to touch her and hold her again. Fucking her was meant to get this out of my system, to avenge what she had done to me somehow so we could move past the tension and I could get back to winning without interruption.
Instead, I find myself craving more of her.
I tug her up against me and give her a long, slow kiss, savoring the feel of her body aligned with mine again. The warmth of her in my arms. The taste of her on my tongue again.
“Will you two knock it off and get inside?”
Pope’s annoyance cuts through the fog Allegra has created in my brain, and I glance back at him. He raises a brow from where he stands a few feet behind me, holding Benjamin in his arms. A smirk pulls at his lips, and he inclines his head toward Allegra. “Welcome to the shitshow.”
Hell.
I pull her inside and close the door behind us. “He’s not wrong. I meant to warn you before you accepted my uncle’s invitation, but we didn’t get a chance to speak alone before you left the hotel.”
And I would have told her if she had called like she promised. But all I got was a text from an unknown number asking for the time and address for dinner—and I couldn’t very well explain any of this to her in a message. I don’t even think I could explain a Hawke family dinner verbally to anyone in any other way than Pope just described it.
“It is kind of a shitshow…”
She laughs softly, examining the small foyer of Nana’s house. “How come?”
Leaning in, I rest my hand on her lower back. “Because the entire family is expected to be here on Sundays.”
“What do you mean by ‘the entire family?’”
“I mean everyone .” I lock gazes with hers, trying to convey an apology for what will hit us in a few seconds. “All thirty of us, if you include Nana.”
“Shit.” She chuckles lightly, but it’s full of nervous tension. “That’s…a lot of Hawkes.”
“It sure is. And believe me, even we get overwhelmed. So, whenever you’re ready to bail, just say the word, and I’ll try to come up with some excuse for leaving early that won’t get me into too much trouble.”
She smiles at me, a bit of that unease melting away from her body. “I’ll be okay. I know how to handle myself.”
“I have no doubt that you do.”
This woman has already proven her ability to stand her ground and hold her own at a table with some of the best players in the world—multiple times.
She bested me.
She can certainly handle herself with the Hawkes.
Hopefully…
We make our way in and past the living room where most of the family gathers—chatting, playing with the babies, or arguing over board games laid out on the floor. Every single set of eyes follows us as we pass, but I don’t pause long enough for anyone to lay into her.
There will be plenty of time for that once we get to the table.
I usher her straight back to the kitchen, knowing if I don’t, Nana’s going to lose it. The old woman has already spent the half hour I’ve been here trying to milk any information she can get from me about Allegra, and since I know very little, I haven’t had much to offer her. Which only seems to intrigue Nana more.
Popping my head into the busiest room in the house on Sundays, I quickly scan the usual suspects. “Nana?”
The matriarch of the Hawkes peeks over her shoulder from her spot at the stove. Aunt Storm checks us out from where she slices bread at the counter to Nana’s left, as does Aunt Skye, who appears to be working on the tiramisu for dessert in the far corner.
Their gazes barely touch me, sweeping over Allegra with a keen interest that makes me wonder how anyone survives these dinners.
Nana turns toward us and wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. “Is this her?”
I roll my eyes. “No, it’s a random woman I found on the street.” Laughing at the annoyed look Nana throws at me, I urge Allegra forward. “Yes, Nana, this is Allegra. Allegra, this is my grandmother and my aunts, Storm and Skye.”
Before Allegra can even say hello to them, Nana steps over and pulls the unsuspecting woman into a hug that has her stiffening. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m so glad you could come.” She pulls back, motioning toward the dining room with the hand still clutching the towel. “You can take a seat. We’re almost ready.” Returning to whatever she’s handling on the stove, she calls over her shoulder, “Tell everyone.”
Allegra leans into me, dropping her voice low. “Do you all sit at one table?”
I snort as I lead her to the dining room, waving everyone in from the living room directly across from us. Those who are elsewhere in the house or outside will just have to fend for themselves because I am not about to leave Allegra alone for one second with these vultures to start picking at her. “We do now…”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the massive custom-made table that seats up to thirty. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a table this big…or a room that could hold it, except in a restaurant, of course.”
I snort, remembering how small and tight this room was when I was growing up. How uncomfortable family meals became as more and more kids joined the Hawke ranks. “We had to put an addition on Nana’s house and also take the space from the kitchen where the breakfast nook once was. And this table was custom-built for her and the space.”
Allegra examines the polished wood, running a finger over its surface. “That doesn’t surprise me—it’s absolutely beautiful and doesn’t look like anything you could ever buy at a furniture store.”
“It fits everyone—for now. But as soon as Benjamin and Giovanni are old enough to require their own chairs and more great-grandchildren start appearing, we might have to figure out a kids’ table in the living room or something.”
A wispy look clouds her gray eyes, almost as if she’s on the verge of tears, but before I can ask her if she’s okay, everyone starts filing in. And I go on high alert, readying myself to defend the woman at my side.
I stand behind my seat and pull out the one next to me for Allegra.
She slides into it as I do mine. “Who normally sits here?”
“My brother.”
Her soft brow furrows. “Will he be mad that I took his spot?”
He has a lot of things to be mad at me about, but offering Allegra his usual chair isn’t one of them.
Isaac enters the room, Jack trailing after, leaning down to whisper something to Viviana. Giovanni must already be asleep in one of the bedrooms or the Pack ‘N Play in the living room.
They take in the seating arrangement, and Isaac smirks, giving me a knowing look as they settle one chair over from their typical spots.
I rest my hand on top of Allegra’s and squeeze it gently. “It’s fine. We switch up seats a lot, depending on who is here or who might bring a…friend.” Though that word seems all wrong for Allegra. “Trust me. Everyone is getting a kick out of you being here. That won’t be what stirs the pot.”
“What do you mean?”
Well, shit.
I opened the door to that one.
Should have kept my mouth fucking shut…
Tugging my hand away, I shift in my seat and pull my napkin from the holder beside my plate to set it on my lap. “I’ve never brought anyone to Sunday dinner before.”
She raises her brows. “Never?”
I shake my head, somehow still holding her gaze, even though she must be able to see how uncomfortable that admission just made me.
It may seem innocuous, but it means more than she can possibly imagine.
Or maybe she can, given the shock on her face.
I finally tear my gaze from hers, scanning the table as Uncle Savage pours a glass of wine from one of the waiting bottles at the foot of the table and passes it down our side.
It finally reaches me, and all eyes seem to follow my movement as I pour a glass for Allegra and then for myself. “You’re going to need this…”
And many more.
With so many ears listening, I don’t say that part out loud, just scan over everyone at the table, trying to preemptively determine who poses the most danger to the woman at my side.
The only open chairs tonight are Atlas and Wren’s, since they still aren’t back from Bali after deciding to extend their stay, and Luca’s, but he steps into the dining room last, probably coming in from the backyard where he likes to enjoy his pre-dinner drink.
His eyes immediately land on Allegra.
That steely, dark gaze of his sweeps over her the same way it did in the hotel room in Monaco.
Assessing her.
Seeking out her weaknesses and intentions.
Anger immediately heats my blood, that protective instinct kicking in when Allegra certainly doesn’t need my protection. That doesn’t stop me from sliding my hand down onto her bare knee in support.
Goosebumps pebble on her skin at my touch—or maybe it’s fear, given the man who is staring her down.
I lean in, letting my breath ruffle her hair. “Don’t let anyone at this table intimidate you.”
She turns her head toward mine, so our lips are a mere hairsbreadth from each other’s. So close it’s indecent. Especially in front of everyone watching us like hawks. “Nothing intimidates me.”
Hell…
I believe her.
Even when I had my hand between her legs in a very public place and was milliseconds from getting her off, she held her ground and maintained her composure.
Mostly.
Still, the Hawkes circling promise to be far worse—especially the man taking the seat across from us. He continues to watch Allegra as Nana, Storm, and Skye enter with the food and start placing the serving dishes around the table.
The grub arriving is the only thing that distracts everyone from their assessments of Allegra and briefly redirects their attention as they all start grabbing for serving spoons, baskets of bread, and bowls of salad.
All except Kennedy, who grins from her end of the table near her parents. “I am thrilled you could join us, Allegra. There are so many questions to ask?—”
I toss her a warning look she should know well after all these years. “Kennedy, play nice…”
Cass snorts as he places a serving of lasagna onto Kennedy’s plate, then Charlotte’s, and finally his own. “You forget who you’re talking to.”
Kennedy elbows him enough to make him flinch, but he just grins at his new wife.
His arm slides across the back of her chair. “I love you to death, cherie. But one thing you are not is nice .”
She scowls, but the annoyance doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Rather than argue with him about something she knows is true, she digs into her food, shoving a bite into her mouth and chewing a little too violently.
At least temporarily, I’ve managed to intervene and cut off the start of the inquisition, but it’s still coming. Once everyone settles in and has a few bites of food and sips of wine, the questions will start rolling in.
A momentary reprieve…
I accept the passed food, piling my own plate high and offering each item to Allegra, then drape my arm around the back of Allegra’s chair and lean in. “I’ll give you the quick rundown of everyone. It may help you understand some of the dynamics you’ll see tonight, but if you don’t remember them all, it’s fine.”
Her eyes drift over everyone digging into their food. “There’s no way…”
Smirking, I start at the head of the table. “Obviously, Nana’s in the place of honor. To her left is Skye and her partner Gabe, then their daughter Astrid.” She gives us a smile as if she heard her name. “Her twin brother, Atlas, and his fiancée, Wren, aren’t here.” I sweep over the two empty chairs, my gut tightening. “Next, my Uncle Landon and Aunt Storm and their daughters, Angelina and Alessandra, the blonde one in between them is Jude, Angelina’s boyfriend, and Allie’s best friend. Next to Al is her boyfriend, Pope. They have a son named Benjamin, who you saw Pope holding when we arrived.”
She nods, following my fast non-introductions.
“Then Byron and Luca, Jude’s adoptive parents.”
When her gaze finally lands on him, she tenses. “Why is he looking at me like that?”
I brush a light kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Luca looks at everyone like that.”
Ignoring his stare as I continue the quick intros and everyone else eats, I move past him. “At the foot of the table is Savage, then his wife, Dani, they’re Kennedy’s parents. Then Kennedy, the CFO of Hawke Enterprises, her husband, Cass Whitaker, and their daughter, Charlotte. Isaac, his wife, Giacomina, who everyone just calls Jack, and their daughter Viviana. They have a baby boy named Giovanni, who is sleeping somewhere in the house. Then on your other side are Bishop, and her and Pope’s parents, Caroline and Saint.” Mom gives me a small smile from the end of the table. “And then my parents, Stone and Nora.”
“Wow.”
She reaches out and grabs her wine, taking a long sip. “You’re right, I do need this.”
I chuckle and cut into my lasagna. “Things are just getting started.”
* * *
ALLEGRA
Despite Coen’s assurances not to worry about the dark and stormy Luca, a shudder rolls through me under the scrutiny of the man sitting on the other side of the table. Even with several feet of solid wood between us, it doesn’t feel completely safe to be in his sights.
I knew when I saw him in Monaco that something was up with him.
He seemed to see right through me, even for the few seconds we were in the same room together. The way his gaze goes so far beneath the surface and tries to dredge up those things I keep locked away makes me shiver, despite the warmth in the room.
The last thing I want is more scrutiny.
Too much digging is going to resurrect things better left buried.
I reach out and take another sip of my wine to try to calm myself.
Coen was right. I did need this.
The sharp tannins and rich flavor fill my mouth and immediately help settle me slightly, and my hand barely trembles as I place the glass back on the table above my plate that Coen filled with delicious-looking dishes.
Better to concentrate on the food than what one of his uncles may or may not think of me.
As everyone starts eating, chatter fills the room, the focus no longer completely on me, though I catch various quick glances in my direction. Especially from Coen’s mother near the end of the table to my left, who seems to be deliberately trying to give me some space rather than bombard me with questions.
With so many people talking, it’s impossible to follow the conversations, even as I try to eavesdrop the best I can as I dig into my dinner. The delicious flavors of home-cooked Italian food dance across my stomach, and I issue a little moan at how damn good it is.
Coen’s hand slides to my knee again and squeezes, and when I glance at his face, he’s barely able to contain a smirk before shoving a bite into his own mouth.
I watch him chew, and his tongue darts out across his lips.
Hell.
Was it really only yesterday that his mouth was devouring me?
If I keep staring at him like I want to eat him during dinner, things are going to get a lot more awkward—fast.
As I start to look away, a set of matching blue eyes meets mine from just beyond Coen’s side of the table.
Isaac…
The spitting image of the man beside me.
Even if I didn’t know they were brothers, it would be obvious. The same strong, chiseled jaw. The same broad shoulders and muscles that make their dress shirts pull with each movement. The same mouth that seems to whisper things even when they aren’t saying anything.
He takes a sip of his wine, watching me, and motions between Coen and me. “So, how did you two meet?”
Coen almost chokes on the bite of food in his mouth and pounds against his chest, then grabs his water and drinks, clearing his throat as he glances toward me.
And so, the questions start…
I load up my fork with another bite of baked ziti that might be the best I’ve ever tasted, anxious to eat rather than spend the evening responding to the inquisitive Hawkes. “I’m a poker player.”
A hush settles over the table, all the other conversations dying with my words as if I just confessed to murder rather than being a card player.
Shit.
Was I not supposed to say that?
I whip my head toward Coen, trying to figure out why they reacted that way.
Crap.
His clenched jaw tics.
He is not happy, and he tenses, almost as if he’s waiting for something to explode around us.
Jack leans forward slightly, bracing her forearms on the table so she can see me better around him. “Did you two meet playing?”
Coen continues to hold my gaze, waiting for my response, but he doesn’t do or say anything to stop me or give me any indication I should lie about it. He remains tense, but either he can’t or won’t intervene in this line of questioning.
I nod. “Yep.”
Before anyone can respond, I shovel my food into my mouth. If I’m eating, I can’t answer questions and get myself into more trouble, which I very well might have, given how uneasy Coen looks as he returns to eating.
Kennedy grins, her shrewd gaze narrowing on both of us, seeing far too much for a woman at the other end of the table from us. “Did you beat him?”
Damn.
She is observant.
Or she’s just a really good guesser.
I can’t fight the pull of the corner of my lips, even though something tells me that I shouldn’t be gloating around these people. “I’m batting 500.”
Coen’s head whips back toward me, his eyes flashing at the use of the analogy he taught me—which seems completely appropriate, given the circumstances.
We’ve faced each other twice on the felt, and we’ve each come away victorious once.
But seeing the darkness drifting across his eyes and his quick glance toward his parents and then Isaac, the food I just ate starts to feel more like a rock sitting in my stomach.
It never occurred to me not to say that.
That it would be a reminder of what he told me about his family.
I’ve definitely said the wrong thing.
Savage watches the conversation unfold, chewing slowly until he finally swallows. “You must be pretty good if you beat him …”
I offer a nonchalant shrug, taking a bite of my food, even though I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, and hoping we’ll move on from the interrogation before it takes a turn down a path I am not willing to explore.
Dani offers a kind smile. “Who taught you how to play?”
My shoulders tense, and I force a return half-smile at Savage and his wife. “Just a family friend. It was fun when I was little, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it.”
Coen snorts next to me. “Pretty good?” He raises a brow and waggles it playfully, some of the humor returning. “She’s a shark.”
Luca leans back in his chair, casually swirling his wine, never taking his eyes off me. “Yet you’re swimming with her.”
Oh, hell…
Coen’s hand tightens on his fork hard enough to whiten his knuckles and glares across the table at him.
His “uncle” seems completely unaffected by the look of sheer ire in Coen’s eyes. Luca just takes a sip of his wine and pointedly raises a dark brow. “Should you be doing that when there’s already blood in the water?”
All that food in my stomach now churns at the tension rippling across the table between the two men. Though it seems like I should be the one who is glaring at him, based on the way the accusation was an attack on me.
Coen grits his teeth. “Should you be butting into something that isn’t any of your fucking business?”
“Whoa.” Nana’s eyes shoot between them from her spot at the head of the table. “Language. Play nice…”
Her repetition of Coen’s warning to Kennedy draws chuckles from almost everyone around the table—except the man next to me.
His hand slides down across my knee again and squeezes, giving me as much reassurance as he can.
Though it isn’t much.
Not when I can still see and feel the hostility rolling off Luca like a hurricane coming in off the ocean.
I’m used to having people underestimate me and second-guess my motives. In Coen’s case, it’s warranted, but his family doesn’t know that. They shouldn’t —unless they’re the most perceptive people on the planet. Which I guess they might be, given the looks I’m receiving from several of them.
The one Coen introduced as Angelina smiles at me, waving a hand dismissively toward Luca. “Don’t worry about him. Sometimes he forgets he’s not the one in charge anymore.”
Jude chokes on whatever he’s chewing and glances her direction, then quickly darts his gaze toward his father. Byron just snickers at the insult tossed at his husband, then takes a drink of his wine, the whole family gawking at Angelina.
She doesn’t even seem to notice, glancing up at me between bites. “So, where are you from?”
I push the food around on my plate a little bit. “All over, kind of.”
Her little sister, Alessandra, raises a brow. “Army brat?”
I shake my head. “No. My mom was just a bit of a free spirit. We lived mostly on the West Coast, though—California, Oregon, Colorado for a bit.”
And that’s more than enough about me…
There are thirty people sitting around this table. Which means there must be more to talk about besides me.
“What about you?” I scan the table up and down both sides. “Have you all always lived here?”
There are so many of them.
Each of their gazes filled with so many stories when they meet mine.
Gabe digs into his plate, watching me out of the corner of his eye. “Most of us were born and raised here, except for Landon, Saint, Jack, Vivi, Byron, and Luca.” He motions vaguely toward them. “They are our transplants.”
I nod and take a bite of the lasagna that’s good enough to bring tears. Warm and comforting. It tastes like home. “Thank you again for the invitation. This is all delicious. I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in a long time.”
The older woman offers me a kind smile that brightens her eyes. “Your mother doesn’t cook for you anymore?”
I still with my fork halfway to my mouth, then swallow through the lump clogging my throat. “She passed away quite a while ago. And she was the only family I had left, so…”
Shrugging, I try to brush off the painful memories threatening to make the happy tears that formed only moments ago fall and give away far too much of a past I don’t want to relive.
Maybe if I act like none of it really matters, they’ll let it go.
Coen’s hand tightens on my knee, and Nana gives me a soft smile.
“Well”—she spreads her hands wide—“the Hawkes are very good at taking strays under our wings, aren’t we?”
Everyone raises their glasses in a silent toast, then takes a sip of whatever is in front of them.
There are so many people. So many faces. It’s hard to know what to say and to whom—or if I should keep my mouth shut and eat until I need to be rolled out of here in a wheelbarrow.
Coen’s parents sit to my left, and I catch them watching me as everyone keeps eating during a few moments of relative silence filled with clanking silverware, groans of approval, and more wine being poured.
Neither has said a word.
Not a greeting.
Not even a smile in my direction.
They’ve both just watched.
From Stone, the cold, hard look is chilling. Nora’s is warm, though, and she gives me a tight smile, her gaze immediately darting to her youngest son.
Her worry has nothing to do with me.
It’s all about him.
That makes me feel a little better about them basically ignoring me since we sat down, but the silence is too good to last.
The man Coen described as a ruthless interrogator and cunning lawyer leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. And I’m staring at what Coen will look like in thirty years. “So, where do you call home when you’re not out trying to beat my son at the tables?”
I bristle at his question and the barb attached to it, clearing my throat. “I have a place in New York.”
He nods slowly, and Luca’s dark brows rise at my confession.
I can already see the wheels turning in his head, like he plans to use that offered information somehow.
Coen’s mom offers me a kind smile now that her husband has broken the ice. “It was nice of you to come visit him. Have you been to New Orleans before?”
I shake my head. “Never. It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment trip, actually.”
Definitely not planned.
Nor was any of what has happened since I got off that plane.
“Do you plan on staying long?”
Coen turns to me, waiting for me to answer with an anxious energy radiating from him, despite his best efforts to appear impassive.
I meet his gaze and see the hope filling it.
Shit .
“I…uh…haven’t decided yet.” I take a drink of my wine again, my cheeks heating under the assessment of almost everyone, save for Vivi and Charlotte, who have vacated their seats and run off giggling to the living room. “I do have other obligations.”
That hope falters from his eyes, and instantly, regret that I’m going to have to leave—and soon—sits heavy on my chest.
But I can’t stay.
It would be bad for both of us.
Him especially.
The last thing Coen needs is a complication like me, and I am definitely becoming one.
We return to eating in mostly silence, various side conversations popping up about things I can’t quite follow.
These people all know each other so well. They easily fall into discussions of everyday basic life. Laughing at inside jokes. The couples around the table casually kiss each other or touch, unconcerned that anyone could see.
There’s so much love here.
So much acceptance.
My throat closes as tears sting my eyes again.
Kennedy’s red lips twist in annoyance at something Cass says, and she looks at her father. “Cass and I were just discussing the timeline for the second tower. I think we can get it opened within three months. Do you agree?”
Leaning back in his chair, Cass gives his wife a dubious look, then glances at his father-in-law. “I think it’s going to be closer to five.”
Savage reclines slightly, drawing his hand across his stubbled jaw. “That all depends on a lot of factors that are out of our control. But now that Coen’s back”—his gaze cuts to him—“that should help move things along. We can have him there daily to help monitor and expedite.”
Cass nods. “It would be a big help.”
Bishop snorts and takes a sip of her drink. “Which means I’ll be there.”
Saint glances at his daughter. “I can put someone else on him, if you’d rather not be.”
The woman who walked in on Coen with his cock buried deep inside me smiles at both of us. “Oh, no. I find protecting Coen quite interesting.”
I can’t help the little laugh that slips out, and everyone’s focus returns to me.
Coen’s heated gaze meets mine, and he smirks in a way that promises that no matter what happens at this table the rest of the night, he’s going to make it up to me—or make me pay for it—after.