Chapter Eleven
Colton
The Tuscan sun was setting over Cooper and Allegra’s vineyard, painting the hills in shades of amber, creating a picture that probably belonged in one of Christie’s auctions. I sat on the terrace, watching my five-year-old niece, Clara, arrange her stuffed animals with the same meticulous attention to detail her Uncle Steele once used to plan his art heists.
“Uncle Colton, he goes here.” She handed me a worn teddy bear with the commanding authority only a kindergartener possessed. “For the view.”
“The view, huh?” I adjusted the bear’s position on my lap. “Better?”
She considered this with grave importance, her hair falling around her face. “Better.”
From the kitchen, I could hear Cooper and Allegra moving around each other with the easy synchronization of people who’d built a life together. The smell of Allegra’s cooking wafted out, something with garlic and herbs that made London’s takeaway meals seem like a sad joke.
“You’re brooding again,” Cooper hollered from inside. “I can feel it from here. Stop it.”
“I’m not brooding. I’m appreciating the view,” I yelled back towards the kitchen.
“While thinking about work.” He emerged onto the terrace with three wine glasses, Allegra following behind him with one of their best vintages. My brother, the former smuggler, now a respectable vintner. The irony wasn’t lost on me. “That counts as brooding.”
I started to protest, but Clara grabbed her bear and then climbed into my lap, effectively trapping me. “Uncle Colton needs to play, Papa.”
“Uncle Colton needs to relax,” Allegra agreed, pouring the wine. She gave me that knowing look she’d perfected since marrying my brother, the one that meant she saw straight through my bullshit. “You’ve been distracted all evening.”
“Just tired.” I accepted the wine, careful not to disturb Clara’s latest stuffed animal arrangement. “London’s been busy.”
“Busy enough to miss three family dinners?” Cooper settled into a chair, pulling Allegra down next to him. His hands, the same ones that had once moved priceless artifacts across borders, now wore the calluses of honest work. “The bank can survive without you occasionally, you know. We haven’t seen you for months.”
If he only knew what I’d discovered in those shipping manifests. What Isabella and I were slowly uncovering, piece by careful piece. But I couldn’t tell them, not yet. Not until I knew more.
“Just lots going on.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow, studying me over his wine glass. “London’s obviously been good for something besides work. You’ve been hitting the gym?”
“Five days a week,” I admitted. “Helps clear my head.”
“From all that brooding,” Allegra teased, but her eyes were assessing me. Nothing got past her—it never had, even in the days when she’d been patching up Cooper’s smuggling-related injuries. “Though I’m sure the ladies of London appreciate the effort.”
I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly, earning a giggle from Clara. “The ladies of London are more interested in their investment portfolios.”
“Speaking of which,” Cooper leaned forward, “how’s the bank? Really?”
Something in his tone made me look up. My brother had always had good instincts, it was what had kept him alive during his criminal days. Now those same instincts were telling him something was off.
“It’s—” I started, but Clara chose that moment to scramble off my lap, declaring it was time for her stuffed animals’ dinner party.
“Go ahead, mon coeur ,” Allegra told her. “But stay where we can see you.”
We watched as Clara set up an elaborate tea party on the lower terrace, her dark curls bouncing as she assigned seats to each toy with careful deliberation.
“She gets that bossiness from you,” Cooper told his wife fondly.
“Says the man who reorganized our entire pantry because I stored the Bordeaux next to the olive oil.”
“The temperature fluctuations affect the wine, angel. There are limits.”
Their easy banter wrapped around me like a warm blanket, familiar and yet somehow painful. This was what they’d built together, this life of wine and sunsets and a daughter who arranged her toys with adorable confidence. My brother, who used to move art and antiquities across borders with creative ingenuity, now spent his days nurturing vines and planning legitimate shipments. Helping his wife manage her wellness center.
He’d found his peace.
I took another sip of wine, letting the complex notes roll across my tongue. Cooper’s newest vintage; he’d probably want my opinion.
“The wine’s good,” I said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “Better than the last vintage.”
“Higher tannins,” Cooper agreed. “But that’s not what’s on your mind.”
Allegra rose gracefully, her hand squeezing Cooper’s shoulder. “I’ll check on dinner. Clara, help Mama with the bread.”
Clara bounced up the stairs, abandoning her stuffed animal soirée to follow her mother inside. The setting sun caught the highlights in her curls. She was the perfect blend of them both, sporting Cooper’s mischievous smile and Allegra’s classic features.
Once they were inside, Cooper turned to me. “Talk.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Right. That’s why you’ve been staring at your phone all evening like it might explode.” He leaned back, studying me. “You forget I know what it looks like when someone’s carrying weight they can’t share.”
I bit my lip, a nervous tell I thought I’d trained away years ago. “It’s work stuff. Legal complications.”
“Must be some complications to drive you to five-day-a-week gym sessions.” He swirled his wine, the gesture casual but his eyes knowing. He used to drink nothing but hard liquor, but he’d changed here in Italy. I, on the other hand, could barely tolerate a beer a few years ago, yet now I was the one who needed at least two stiff drinks just to fall asleep.
“Just an…annoying coworker. She brought me a problem I’m trying to solve.” I rolled my shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache from this morning’s session. The gym had become my sanctuary these past months, a place where problems had simple solutions. Add more weight. Do another rep. Unlike the tangled web of shipping manifests and temperature-controlled cargo holds.
“What kind of problem?”
“I can’t discuss it.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
I met his gaze. “Both.”
He nodded slowly. “Dangerous?”
“Incredibly.” The honesty slipped out before I could stop it.
“I don’t know why I asked…you’re preparing like it is.” He gestured to my changed physique. “The suits hide it well, but you’ve put on what—fifteen, twenty pounds of muscle?”
“Something like that.”
“And the sleepless nights?”
I stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“The circles under your eyes. The tension in your shoulders. The slight fatigue in your walk. You forget Allegra spent years reading people’s bodies. She noticed the moment you stepped off of Steele’s jet.”
Through the kitchen windows, I could see Allegra and Clara shaping bread dough together, flour dusting their matched dark hair. The domestic scene felt like a painting, something precious I needed to protect.
“I’m handling it,” I said finally.
“Like I handled things? Alone?” There was no judgment in his voice, just the weight of experience. “How’d that work out for me before Allegra?”
“That was different. You were—”
“Breaking laws instead of trying to uphold them?” He gave me a wry smile. “The weight’s the same, brother. Secrets are secrets.”
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the vineyard’s tidy rows. In the distance, an olive grove caught the last golden light. Cooper had built this, transformed his life from moving other people’s treasures to creating his own.
“There’s something wrong at the bank,” I said finally. “Something I can’t ignore. But I can’t prove it yet.”
He waited, letting the admission hang in the cooling air.
“If I’m right...” I took another sip of wine, buying time. “If I’m right, everything changes.”
Inside, Clara’s laugh rang out, bright and innocent. Cooper’s expression softened at the sound.
“Let us help,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is, let family be family.”
“I’ve got it handled…but thanks.”
Cooper studied me for a long moment, then smiled slightly. “You know, for someone claiming it’s just work complications, you check your phone an awful lot. Almost like you’re waiting to hear from someone specific.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I didn’t say what I think.” He swirled his wine again thoughtfully. “But I haven’t seen you this...invested in anything since Catherine. Or this distracted.”
“The bank—”
“Has survived without you checking your messages every five minutes before.” His eyes were knowing. “There’s someone, isn’t there? Someone mixed up in whatever’s got you training like you’re preparing for war.”
I focused on my wine, not meeting his eyes.
Cooper watched me over his wine glass. “You’ve changed a lot the past few years.”
“What do you mean?”
“You still get your fix through your usual...arrangements?” He referred to my carefully selected encounters with a pointed look. “The ones at The Dorchester? The Mayfair? The visiting executives?”
I stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”
“No? You don’t think I recognize what’s happening? I lived it, remember?” He lowered the pitch of his voice. “Before Allegra, I was worse than you. At least your women are willing participants. I had high-end escorts in every major city—Paris, Rome, London…Each one carefully vetted, extremely expensive, and completely forgettable.”
“It’s different—”
“Is it? Your corporate conquests, my high-end whores, we were both just avoiding real connection. At least I was honest about paying for it.” He studied me. “How many this year, Colton? How many women have you taken to The Dorchester or one of Steele’s hotels, pushed yourself between their thighs, and never called again?”
I looked away. “That’s not—”
“Twenty? Thirty? And did any of them make you feel anything? Besides that momentary physical release?”
When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Because I remember what that’s like. The emptiness afterward. The hollow satisfaction that never quite fills the void.”
“It’s safer that way.”
“Is it? Or is it just easier?” He leaned back. “You know what real intimacy is like? The first time with Allegra, I was terrified. Not of the act itself, god knows I’m a pro—but of how she made me feel. How she saw past all my walls, all my careful control. How she made me want things I’d told myself I’d never have.”
I remembered Isabella’s eyes in my office, seeing through my facade. “That’s what makes it dangerous.”
“That’s what makes it worth it.” Cooper’s voice softened. “Sex with someone you love, someone you trust completely, it’s transcendent. It’s not just physical release anymore. It’s connection. Communication. Sometimes it’s slow and tender, sometimes it’s rough and desperate, but it’s always real.”
“And when they betray that trust?”
“Then you pick yourself up and try again. Because the alternative?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Those calculated encounters in five-star hotels? That’s not living, Colton. That’s just existing.”
“You make it sound so simple,” I said, draining my glass, wishing it was something stronger.
“Nothing simple about it. With the escorts, I knew exactly what I was getting. Two hours, no strings, no surprises. They’d do whatever I wanted, never asked for more.” Cooper refilled both our glasses. “But with Allegra...that first time we made love, when I told her I loved her…I’ll never give that memory up.”
I remembered back to my last arrangement a couple of weeks ago—Victoria? I had trouble remembering her name. Everything had been perfectly orchestrated. The Dorchester’s best suite, naked bodies, practiced movements. No variation. Just like always, I filled the condom, got dressed and left. Afterward, I’d felt...nothing. It was like an item on a checklist—I’d finished, moved on to the next line item.
“Your women,” Cooper continued, “they’re all like you, aren’t they? Corporate types who understand the rules. No sleeping over, no breakfast, no second nights.”
“It’s cleaner that way.”
“More controlled. More empty.” He studied me. “When’s the last time you actually spent the night with someone? Held them? Let yourself be vulnerable?”
“Catherine,” I admitted. “Five years ago.”
“And this mystery woman, do you think about her that way? Like your corporate conquests?”
The thought of Isabella being just another notch in my belt made a wave of emotion crash through me. “No.”
“Because she scares you. Like Allegra scared me. Like Ashlynn scared Steele. They see past all our careful walls, make us want things we’ve told ourselves we can’t have.” He smiled slightly. “Make us want to be better men.”
“She makes me want...” I stopped, unable to articulate it.
“Everything,” Cooper finished. “She makes you want everything. That’s why you’re training so hard, why you’re constantly checking your phone. Not sleeping. Because for the first time since that dumb bitch broke your heart, you’re thinking about more than just physical release.”
I didn’t answer him, my eyes fixed on the setting sun.
“Tell me something else,” Cooper continued, studying my expression. “These women you meet, do you kiss them?”
I looked down at my wine glass.
“Because kissing is intimate. Personal. Can’t maintain that careful distance when you’re kissing someone.” He gestured with his glass. “I was the same way. My girls knew the rules, no kissing, no staying the night, no real names. Just transaction and release.”
“And Allegra changed that desire, just like that?”
“The first time I kissed her, my whole world shifted. Suddenly all those ridiculous encounters seemed...futile. Empty.” He smiled at the memory. “The first time I was with her, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Reliving it. Do you remember how I was? You thought it was my gunshot wound keeping me quiet, but I couldn’t help but fixate on how beautiful it was. But it was overwhelming, being that vulnerable, that connected to someone.”
I thought of Isabella in my office, how even the slightest touch between us felt charged with meaning. “It’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s terrifying. Opening yourself up to someone like that? Letting them see past your walls, the trauma you carry?” He shook his head. “But that’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it matter.”
“And when it falls apart?” The harsh bitterness in my voice surprised even me. “When they use that vulnerability against you?”
“Then you learn from it. But you don’t shut yourself down forever.” Cooper’s voice gentled. “Catherine was a betrayal. I’ll admit that, the whole thing fucking sucked. But using that to justify these empty encounters? That’s just another form of hiding.”
“I’m not hiding—”
“Really? When’s the last time you let a woman know the real you? Touch you just because she wanted to? Look you in the eyes during sex?”
I flinched. He’d hit too close to the truth—the careful choreography of my encounters, the deliberate distance I maintained, the way I always left immediately after.
“The thing about real intimacy,” Cooper continued, “is that it changes you. Makes you better. These meaningless encounters we’ve both hidden behind? They keep us exactly the same. Safe. Controlled. Alone.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Allegra appeared in the doorway, flour dusting her black shirt. “Dinner’s ready. Clara made the breadsticks herself, so everyone must be appropriately impressed.”
“We’ll finish this later,” Cooper said, rising.
I nodded, knowing we would. Knowing that sooner or later, I’d have to tell them about Isabella Delacroix and her carefully documented concerns. About shipping manifests that didn’t add up and cargo that moved in ways art never should.
But not tonight. Tonight was for Clara’s proud display of misshapen breadsticks, for Allegra’s perfectly cooked osso buco, for the warmth of family untouched by London’s shadows.
I followed them inside, the lingering sun warming my back. My phone buzzed in my pocket; it was probably Isabella with more questions, more carefully constructed revelations. I tried to ignore it.
But I knew I wouldn’t for long.