Chapter 11 #2
I grab my phone, find my notes where I’ve saved every important address and contact, and punch Giuseppe’s information into the GPS mounted on his dashboard.
“You know,” Kane adds as we pull away from their property, “I’ve never had sex with someone I haven’t kissed first. So I think you owe me a proper kiss.”
I laugh despite myself. “I don’t think so.” Yet, I can’t help staring at his mouth. Full lips that curve easily into smiles, and I know deep in my bones that he’d be an incredible kisser. Probably the kind who takes his time, who knows exactly how to make you melt.
My brain unhelpfully supplies images of last night. How he gripped my hips with those huge hands, so solid and powerful. The way he drove me up and down over his cock, plunging into me over and over, controlling my movements like he knew exactly what I needed before I did.
My body trembles just remembering.
Stop thinking about that.
“So tell me about you,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “What made you become a bounty hunter? That seems like an unusual career choice.”
“Dropped out of college.” He says it easily, no shame. “Engineering program. Hated every second of it. Spent a year working construction, had no real plan for my life. I knew Chris and Noel from school, and then one day, they showed up on a job site and took me in, trained me, gave me purpose.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“They’re my family. Only family that matters.” He glances at me, and there’s something soft in his expression. “Well, until now. Now we’ve got you too.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, spreading through my ribs, making it hard to breathe properly.
“What about you?” he asks. “Always wanted to be an event planner?”
“Since I was a kid.” I settle back in the seat, relaxing into the conversation. “I used to plan elaborate birthday parties for my stuffed animals. Had spreadsheets, timelines, budget breakdowns. My dad thought I was insane.”
Kane laughs. “You made spreadsheets as a child?”
“I was very organized. Still am, actually. Can’t help it.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying teasing me. “So what’s your dream event? If money and logistics were no object, what would you create?”
I think about it, letting myself sink into the fantasy I’ve been building for years.
“New Year’s Eve masquerade ball in a castle.
Somewhere in Europe, maybe Scotland. Ice sculptures throughout the venue, live orchestra playing classical music and modern covers.
Champagne fountain in the center of the ballroom.
Everyone in formal wear with elaborate masks, the kind that are works of art.
And at midnight, we’d have synchronized fireworks visible through massive windows, while guests unmask and toast to new beginnings. ”
When I glance at Kane, he’s watching me, admiring.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just love watching you talk about your passion. Your whole face lights up. It’s beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You’re just trying to flatter me.”
“I’m being honest.” His hand finds mine on the console, squeezing gently. “And we’re going to make that event happen someday. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Watch me.”
We’re driving through town now, and a comfortable silence stretches between us. I’m very aware of his hand still holding mine, thumb stroking against my skin. This feels natural. Easy. Like we’ve known each other for years instead of days.
“Oh!” Kane sits up straighter. “I taught Corn Dog a trick.”
I grin. “What kind?”
“He can bow on command now. Took me weeks, but if I say, ‘Corn Dog, show some respect,’ he drops his head and bends his front legs like he’s bowing to royalty.”
“That’s actually adorable.”
“It’s strategic. I can bring him to events, have him bow to important guests. Instant charm offensive.”
I burst out laughing just as we pull up to Giuseppe’s house, and my stomach immediately ties itself in knots.
The house sits back from the street behind a low stone wall and ornamental iron gates that sit open.
It’s a two-story contemporary design with lots of glass and clean lines, cedar siding weathered to a beautiful gray, a flat roof with what looks like a rooftop garden barely visible.
The landscaping is immaculate even under the snow, with sculpted evergreens and winter-blooming plants adding color.
This house screams money, but in a tasteful way.
We get out, and Kane’s hand immediately finds the small of my back as we walk to the front door.
I knock, half expecting no answer after days of radio silence.
But the door opens almost immediately.
Giuseppe stands there, and my first thought is that he looks unwell.
He’s in his sixties, thin in a way that suggests recent illness rather than genetics.
His face is pale, eyes tired but still sharp.
He’s wearing expensive wool slacks and a cashmere sweater in a deep burgundy that hangs slightly loose on his frame.
“Giuseppe,” I say quickly, before he can shut the door. “I know Scot might have told you things, but I’d love the chance to talk to you. Tell you my side. Please.”
“Of course, Hannah.” His voice is raspy, like he’s been coughing. “I was in the hospital. Pneumonia and a chest infection. Gave everyone quite a scare. But Scot did come visit, which was thoughtful.” He glances at Kane, eyebrows rising slightly. “How rude of me. Come inside, please.”
“This is Kane,” I say. "My… boyfriend.”
Kane extends his hand, and when Giuseppe takes it, Kane says, “Actually, I’m her Alpha. Part of her pack.”
I roll my eyes. Just like Noel last night, marking his territory.
Giuseppe’s eyebrows rise higher, but he just nods. “Well. Come in, come in.”
We follow him inside, and I try not to gawk. The entryway opens into a sprawling open-concept space. Polished concrete floors with radiant heating. Exposed wooden beams crossing the ceiling. Abstract art on white walls. Everything minimal but clearly expensive.
“I tried calling you several times,” I say as we walk. “And messaging. I was worried when you didn’t respond.”
“Really?” Giuseppe pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. “I don’t see any messages from you. Not a single one.”
I show him my phone, the unanswered texts, the call log showing multiple attempts.
“That’s very strange,” he mutters, squinting at his screen.
“Actually,” Kane says, “this could happen if her number is blocked on your phone. I know because it happened to me once. Ex-girlfriend who didn’t want to hear from me anymore.”
I glance at him sharply. Ex-girlfriend?
He catches my look and winks.
I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous of some random woman from Kane’s past? Except there’s a spike of it anyway, sharp and unwelcome, and I push it away forcefully.
Giuseppe is fiddling with his phone, tapping through menus. “You’re absolutely right, Kane. Hannah’s number was blocked. But I would never…” He looks up, confusion and dawning anger mixing on his face. “Scot was handling my phone in the hospital. I was too out of it to notice.”
He keeps walking, leading us deeper into the house. I’m shaking my head that Scot would stoop so low, yet not surprised. Asshole.
The living room has me pausing. An entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooks a terrace and a pool, currently covered with a blue tarp and buried in snow, but I can imagine how incredible it must be in summer.
A stone fireplace dominates one wall, fire crackling and throwing warmth into the space.
Modern furniture in grays and whites. And in the corner, taking up a ridiculous amount of space, stands the biggest white Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.
It has to be twelve feet tall, perfectly shaped, decorated exclusively in shades of blue and silver.
Delicate glass birds with real feathers perch on branches.
Oversized baubles catch and reflect the firelight.
Ribbons in shimmering silver cascade down in elegant swirls.
There are what look like hand-blown glass icicles, each one unique.
The tree topper is a massive silver star.
It’s the kind of tree you see in magazines. The kind people hire professional decorators to create.
I’m staring, unable to help myself.
Giuseppe notices and smiles slightly. “My late wife loved Christmas. This was her design. I keep it the same every year in her memory.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
Giuseppe gestures for us to sit, and I sink onto a plush gray couch. Kane sits beside me, close enough that his arm goes naturally around my back, his hand resting on my hip.
The touch settles something anxious in my chest. Like his presence alone can ground me when I’m spiraling, so I don’t push him away.
Giuseppe paces in front of the fireplace. “I’m too old and too sick to deal with the childish games Scot sometimes plays. The business…” He sighs heavily. “I don’t want to see it fall apart because of family drama.”
He lowers himself onto the couch across from us, moving carefully like everything hurts.
“When Scot came to see me in the hospital,” Giuseppe continues, “he told me you two had a falling out. Said you weren’t trustworthy, that you were using the business for your own gain, that I should sell to him immediately before you destroyed everything we’d built.”
I take a breath, choosing my words carefully.
“Scot has been trying to pursue me romantically. Beyond business partners. When I made it clear I wasn’t interested, he became angry.
Aggressive. He told me the partnership was over, packed up my belongings without permission, kicked me out of my apartment, and changed the locks. ”
Giuseppe’s expression darkens.