Chapter 12 Ridge
TWELVE
Ridge
I step into the outdoor café just before six. The air is thick with fried dough and chicory coffee, heavy with humidity even at this hour. The place is nearly empty, the kind of quiet that only exists before the city fully wakes.
By midday, it’ll be packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists. Right now, it belongs to locals who don’t sleep much and men who don’t like being overheard.
Vin is already seated near the back, positioned with a clear view of the entrance. He watches me approach without moving, eyes sharp, taking stock. It’s habit. Training. Not distrust.
“Ridge,” he says quietly, gesturing to the chair across from him.
“Vin.”
To anyone else, it’s just two men meeting for coffee. The tension between us says otherwise. I sit, restless, already thinking ahead to Laurent.
“You sure about this?” Vin asks, voice low. Not challenging. Measured. “At this stage.”
I don’t answer right away.
“Laurent agreed to meet,” he continues. “Napoleon House. Neutral ground. He’s bringing his own security. We’ll have coverage inside and out. Two of ours already watching the place, making sure he doesn’t try anything before the meeting.”
“Good.”
I tap my fingers against the table, the rhythm grounding. “You don’t like this.”
Vin’s mouth tightens. “I don’t trust him. Whatever he tells you won’t be the truth. You know that.”
“I want to see his face when he lies,” I say. “I want to hear how he does it.”
Vin holds my gaze. “Or you could put him down and be done.”
“That’s not the point.”
He exhales slowly. “Then what is?”
“I want him to understand what he took,” I say evenly. “And I want to know what he thinks he gained.”
Vin nods once. “We’ll have three on the street, two out back. If it turns, we intervene. But you need to keep him talking. Don’t push him out the door before you get what you came for.”
I lean back. “I’m not looking for closure.”
“I know.” His tone stays calm. “I’m looking at risk.”
Then he says it.
“You already have leverage.”
The word lands wrong. I don’t want her used like that.
“The girl—”
“Coco,” I cut in before I think better of it.
Vin pauses, assessing, then continues evenly. “Her presence got him to answer. That was the objective.”
“I decide what happens to her,” I say. Flat. Final. “She’s not a message to be sent or discarded.”
Vin studies me for a beat. Not defiance. Evaluation.
“Killing her doesn’t give us answers,” I add. “It just creates noise. That helps him, not us.”
“She’s still a vulnerability,” Vin says carefully. “You can’t let this turn personal.”
I don’t answer right away. He isn’t wrong. He’s also not seeing the whole board.
“I’m handling it. And nothing about this is impulsive.”
Vin leans back slightly. “You’re usually colder about these things.”
“I’m being precise.”
He watches me, then gives a short nod. “All right. We do it your way.”
A faint smile crosses his mouth. “But don’t forget why this works. He lost Robert and thought that was the end of us. This shows him it wasn’t.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say. “But I’m not rushing it.”
Vin’s expression eases. “Good. Then we see what he says.”
“And then?”
“And then,” he says calmly, “we act.”
We go over the rest. Times. Sightlines. Exit plans. It’s clean. Controlled. Everything is in place.
“I’ll keep it contained,” I say when we’re done.
Vin nods. “And if he steps out of line?”
“Then it ends.”
He leans back, satisfied. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
The room sits tucked into the back of the restaurant, dim and quiet, insulated from the noise of the main floor. This is where men come when they don’t want witnesses. The walls have heard too many deals to care about another one.
I sit at a small round table, my drink untouched. My attention stays on the door. The seconds stretch, each one tightening the coil already wound through my chest. I don’t check my watch. I know exactly how long I’ve been waiting.
The door opens, and Laurent Boudreaux walks in.
He’s flanked by two men who move like they expect violence, even when it doesn’t come. Laurent doesn’t rush. He scans the room once, then looks straight at me. His expression is measured, curious in a way that suggests he’s already running calculations.
We hold eye contact as he approaches. The silence between us carries years of bad blood.
“Ridge,” he says, his tone even as he inclines his head.
“Laurent.”
His men peel off, stopping just close enough to intervene if needed. Laurent takes the seat across from me.
I don’t speak. I let the quiet sit. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.
Finally, he tilts his head slightly. “I understand you’ve acquired something that belongs to me.”
Something tightens low in my throat. Heat crawls up the back of my neck, sharp and immediate, like he’s crossed a line he doesn’t even see. The word belongs slaps, heavy with implication, and I have to lock my jaw to keep my reaction from showing.
I let out a short laugh. “Ironic you should say that. I understand you took something of mine.”
His brow furrows, just enough to register confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I lean forward, keeping my voice low. “My father. Robert Stone. You ordered his murder, and I want to know why.”
The shift is immediate. Laurent’s posture tightens, his expression hardening.
“I didn’t kill your father,” he says. “And I had no reason to.”
“Your man did,” I reply. “I watched him do it. And then he said you ordered it right before I killed him.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name,” I say. “The one with the birthmark on his neck.”
Recognition flickers across Laurent’s face. Not guilt. Something closer to irritation.
“Juno,” he says slowly. “If he killed your father, he acted without my authorization. He wasn’t sent by me. I can assure you that.”
My hands clench beneath the table. “You expect me to believe that one of your men just went rogue and murdered Robert Stone on his own? What kind of fucking idiot do you think I am?”
Laurent leans back, his gaze steady. “I respected your father. We didn’t agree on everything, but killing him would’ve brought a war I had nothing to gain from. You think I wanted that kind of attention?”
The logic lands whether I want it to or not, and it pisses me off.
“If you didn’t send him,” I say with a pause, choosing my words carefully. “Then why was he there? Why was he acting like he represented you?”
“That’s not a question I should be answering for you.”
I still my hands beneath the table and force myself to breathe evenly, slow enough that he won’t hear the shift.
“I realize that. I’m asking if you have any thoughts.”
Laurent studies me for a moment, then leans forward, lowering his voice.
“Because someone wanted him to look like the directive was from me. Someone fed him a story that pointed straight at me. You think I’d risk implicating myself in your father’s death?
That would’ve been suicide. Whoever he was working for, it wasn’t me. ”
I watch his face carefully. The denial doesn’t wobble. That’s the problem.
He lets the silence stretch before shifting the conversation. “You have my daughter. Corinne.” His voice tightens around her name. “I need to know she’s alive.”
That name doesn’t fit the woman I know.
“She is,” I say. “As long as things stay under control.”
“What are you planning to do with her? Think very carefully before you answer this, because it dictates how the rest of this goes.”
“That depends on how honest you’re being.”
Laurent’s jaw tightens. “She has nothing to do with this. If you have a problem with me, keep it with me. I didn’t kill your father, but regardless, she doesn’t belong in this conversation.”
I hold his gaze. “I don’t know who’s connected yet. Until I do, she stays where she is.”
The anger in his eyes sharpens, but he reins it in.
“If anything happens to her,” he says evenly, “I won’t come for you directly. That would be messy. I’ll come for what you protect and make you look weak. I’ll destroy the things your father spent decades building, piece by piece.”
“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. It appears we understand each other, then.”
Another quiet beat passes. Something shifts between us, not trust, but recognition.
“Find out who’s behind this fast,” Laurent says. “Because I am a patient man for only so long. If I don’t have my daughter back by sunrise tomorrow, you will learn that the hard way.”
He stands, his gaze never leaving mine. I don’t say a word.
“You have a narrow window,” he says quietly. “Sunrise.”
Laurent turns and leaves, his men falling into step behind him like this conversation never happened, like he hasn’t just tilted the ground under my feet.
I don’t move, staring at the table, at the untouched drink, at the space he occupied seconds ago.
If he’s telling the truth, then I didn’t just grab leverage. I walked straight into someone else’s game.
The timing doesn’t line up. The murder, the memo Tripp swore existed, the photos my father kept that Coco found without knowing what they were.
None of it is random. It now seems staged.
And I was arrogant enough to think I was the one setting the trap.
I close my eyes, jaw tight, a slow burn starting behind my ribs.
If Laurent didn’t order my father’s death, then someone wanted me to believe he did. Wanted my attention locked in one direction while something else moved.
If Laurent’s telling the truth, releasing her now would be premature.
I don’t move pieces until I know what’s actually in play. But motherfucker, someone is going down.
I unlock the safe-style door and step back into the underground apartment.
Something’s off.
The space is too quiet. Not the normal, contained silence of the bunker, but an absence that presses in on me. I scan the room immediately. No Coco.
My instincts flare, sharp and immediate. She doesn’t have anywhere to go. She knows that. The logic doesn’t settle the tightness winding through my chest.
“Coco?” My voice echoes off the walls.
Nothing.
I move deeper into the space, checking the kitchen, the den, the bedroom I told her was hers even though she hasn’t used it. Each empty room tightens the coil. Irrational thoughts crowd in despite my effort to shut them down.
I stop and listen.
There. A faint sound. Soft. Rhythmic.
Water.
I head for the pool room and push open the clouded glass door.
She’s in the water.
Coco moves through it with slow, deliberate strokes, her body cutting clean lines beneath the surface. The lights catch on her skin, turning the water into something luminous around her. She reaches the edge and arches slightly as she grips the ledge, breath coming hard as she rests there.
She hasn’t seen me yet.
For a second, I just stand there, watching. Relief hits first, quick and sharp, followed immediately by something darker and harder to control.
She turns her head and notices me. Surprise flashes across her face before she masks it.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say, keeping my voice even. “I couldn’t find you.”
Her mouth curves as she catches her breath. “I can see how this wouldn’t have been your first guess. I’m a little limited on swimwear options.”
She doesn’t bother hiding it. She’s completely naked, the water barely covers her chest, the surface breaking with every breath she takes.
“There are swimsuits over there in the basket,” I offer. I don’t tell her I’m glad she didn’t find them.
Heat moves through me without permission. The tension I carried in with me doesn’t disappear. It shifts.
I step closer, my gaze tracking the droplets on her shoulders, the way the water slides down her arms. Whatever anger I brought home with me loosens its grip. Right now, she isn’t my enemy. I’m not her jailer. I’m just a man standing too close to a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.
I don’t ask before I kick off my shoes and pull my shirt over my head. My jeans follow. When I step into the water, her eyes stay on me, wary at first, then curious, then something softer that doesn’t quite trust itself.
“You thought I’d vanished,” she says lightly. “That’s why you were looking.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I thought you’d be smarter than trying.”
Her lips lift, but the smile doesn’t fully settle. “Guess I keep surprising you.”
I stop in front of her, close enough that the water ripples between us. The proximity tightens something low in my gut.
“You don’t seem eager to leave,” I say.
“If I thought it would work, I would,” she replies. “But I’ve been paying attention. You don’t do anything without a reason.”
I lift my hand and let my fingers slide along her jaw. Her breath catches. I feel her pulse jump beneath my touch.
“Maybe my reasons aren’t as clean as you think,” I say. “And maybe yours aren’t either.”
She scoffs softly, but there’s tension in it. “You think I want this?”
“I think you don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”
She doesn’t move away. Her fingers skim my shoulder, barely there, but the contact lands hard.
“You’re assuming a lot,” she says.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I draw her closer until there’s barely air between our mouths. She holds there, breathing shallow, eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says quietly. “You’re not wrong. But I also want to be free. Both of those things can be true at the same time.”
The honesty catches me off guard.
I kiss her.
Her response is immediate, her hands tightening as she pulls herself closer. The line between restraint and surrender blurs as the water laps around us and her body presses into mine.
Whatever this is, it’s already past the point of being black and white.
And we both know it.