25. Michael
Michael
My knuckles sting. Blood's dried between my fingers, cracking with every flex. Romanov won’t be pretty when he wakes up—if he wakes up. But he’ll remember. He’ll tell every sick fuck in his circle that the harbor doesn’t tolerate men who touch what’s mine. Or what belongs to any woman who says no.
I don't even look at him anymore. He's a groaning pile on the stained floor. The guys will dump him back at the docks with just enough breath left to crawl home. Or not. I don't care.
I wipe my hands on a rag, toss it in the corner, and turn—and freeze.
Kate is standing there.
At the edge of the open garage door, wind in her hair, her eyes wide and filled with something that slices deeper than any blade ever could.
Fuck.
I take a step forward, but she’s already turning. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t scream or run. Just walks away like something inside her cracked open and she can’t let me see it spill out.
She stops by the water, arms crossed, spine stiff. That’s the stance of someone trying not to fall apart.
I run a hand down my face. I didn’t know she’d followed me. I was too locked in, too gone. And now?
Now she’s seen it all.
Not just the man who kisses her under fireworks. Not just the guy who walks her dog and makes her eggs. She’s seen the other half. The violent half. The half that built this kingdom from blood and teeth and fear.
I walk out slowly. My boots are heavy on the gravel. I don’t speak until I’m close enough to feel the wind she’s breathing.
"You weren’t supposed to see that."
She doesn’t look at me. "But I did."
"And now what? You walking?"
She finally turns. Her eyes are wet but hard. "Should I?"
I don’t answer. I can’t lie to her. And the truth is—I don’t fucking know.
We stare at each other, the sea crashing against the docks below. I want to grab her. I want to make her understand. But I’ve used up every card except one:
"I told you who I was. I never hid it."
"You didn’t have to," she whispers. "I wanted to pretend."
That lands like a gut punch.
"Come with me," I say after a long moment. "Let’s go. Let’s get out of here."
She shakes her head. "I need time."
My jaw clenches. Time? I can’t afford to give her time. Not with enemies lining up and her still hiding things from me. But I nod.
Because for her? I’ll give anything.
Even if it kills me.
"One more night," I say. "Then we talk. No more secrets, Kate. Yours or mine."
She nods once, then turns and walks to her car.
And I stand there, blood on my shirt, heart in my throat, watching the only woman I’ve ever let in drive away from me.
Maybe for the last time.
The next day, I’m at the front entrance of the casino when she pulls up in that beat-up Jeep she swears isn’t hers. Bullshit.
I’m already in workout clothes—she’d texted me to dress down, something comfortable—and the second I spot the dog in the back seat, I know she’s up to something. Brett insisted on third-wheeling. Admitting, I’d need him when she “breaks things off with you…”
Amber barks, tail wagging like we’ve been apart a decade. Kate’s grinning, a subtle glint in her eye like she’s holding a secret.
"Get in," she says.
Brett slides in next to me, already looking like he regrets every life choice that led to this moment. He’s in black tactical gear—Glock on his hip, eyes already scanning the side streets.
Amber immediately launches fur all over him.
"Seriously?" he mutters, brushing dog hair off his pants. "Boss, we’re gonna need to fumigate."
Kate’s laugh is all bright sunshine. It hits somewhere deep in my chest I don’t want to name.
She pulls out of town, off Main Street, past the glossy shopfronts and the storefronts my firm built. Through winding roads, trees heavy with the last breath of fall, until she makes a hard right onto what looks like an abandoned gravel path.
It turns to dirt. Brett shifts beside me, tense.
"I don't like this," he grunts. "Feels like an ambush."
"Yeah, Brett," Kate deadpans. "You caught me. I'm about to smoke the boss of the East Coast syndicate with my rescue golden retriever."
"You think I’m joking, but?—"
"Relax," I cut in. "If she was gonna kill us, she’d have done it with her coffee stirrer days ago."
She parks beneath a thicket of trees and jumps out, whistling for Amber. I’m out a second later, watching her loop her arm through mine casually, like we’re on a Sunday hike.
"Where the hell are we, baby?"
"I want to show you something," she says, tugging gently.
Brett’s trailing behind us, hand on his gun, muttering every ten feet.
"You’ll understand soon," Kate says quietly. "I promise. This is going to explain everything."
I’m not sure what the hell that means.
But for her?
I follow.
Amber bounds ahead, tail high, barking at us to catch up like we’re not carrying two hundred pounds of muscle and paranoia behind her. The trail’s narrow, carved dirt and rocks cutting between maples and pines. It’s not steep at first—but the incline creeps. Subtle. Relentless.
Brett’s already muttering behind me. Big guy’s built like a heavyweight champ, not a hiker. Every ten feet, he swats at a fly or adjusts the Glock holstered on his hip.
"I don’t like this," he grumbles. "We’re out of town. No backup. No cell service. This is an ambush. She’s leading us to a fucking ambush."
Kate glances over her shoulder, that wicked little smirk tugging her lips. "Yeah, Brett. I’m really taking you guys to get smoked. Right after our group hike and granola bars."
She laughs, bright and easy, but I can tell she’s watching me. Measuring me.
"Careful as we get higher," she calls. "Copperheads sometimes sun on the rocks."
Brett side-eyes me hard. "See? Poison. I fucking knew it."
We keep moving.
The last stretch turns into more of a climb. Not technical—just hands and knees over boulders. Five feet of gritty rock before the world opens up.
And holy hell—it opens.
We’re so high, clouds skim just overhead, dragging shadows across the valley below.
A sweep of green, amber, and gold as the trees change with the season.
The ocean’s a hard blue line in the distance.
The harbor glitters like cut glass. And there, towering above it all, the casino—a fifty-story monolith of glass and steel, glittering like a crown.
Kate walks to the edge, her hair whipping in the wind.
"There you are," she says, pointing. "King of the castle."
I move beside her. Brett stays back, catching his breath and pretending to be unbothered by the altitude.
She sits on the rocky ledge, legs tucked under her, eyes on the horizon.
"Used to be neighborhoods down there," she murmurs. "That parking garage? Used to be houses. Big oak trees. Bikes in the yard. The outdoor mall with the fountains and Prada? That was my old soccer field. I played T-ball there. We used to get popsicles after games."
She points again. "My grandma’s house is still standing, see it? That tiny one behind all those parking lots? I can’t bring myself to sell it. Not yet."
Her voice tightens.
"My friend’s family had a farm right over that hill. Eminent domain. Got paid one hundred and fifty grand only to get kicked out with nowhere to go. I watched her cry for weeks."
She swallows.
"I know you just got here, Michael. But I didn’t. I’ve been here my whole life. This place? It’s my roots. My people’s roots. And it’s being turned into something...unrecognizable."
She looks at me. Eyes open. Honest.
"It’s not that I don’t love what you’ve done. It’s beautiful. Glamorous. But it’s not home—not for us."
I don’t say anything. I just watch her, wind tugging her shirt against her frame, sunlight brushing over her cheekbones. She’s laid her cards on the table.
And now I finally see the whole hand.
"That's it? That's the big reveal?" Brett scoffs behind me. "That you're a townie?"
His voice grates like a rusted blade. But I don’t respond. I can’t. Because deep down, I know he’s not wrong—there is more. There has to be. But not right now.
Because right now, I’m standing on the edge of the world, wind tearing through my shirt, staring out over the valley below—and seeing everything I built laid out in perfect scale. My empire. My kingdom.
But it’s not just mine.
Kate brought me here. To this place. Her place. And for the first time in maybe my entire life, I’m seeing land not as real estate, not as a commodity, not as square footage with zoning potential and developer value—but as memory. As sacred ground.
I see it all now.
That old patch of dirt where the parking garage now sits? That was her soccer field.
That marble-tiled outdoor shopping plaza I signed off on last year? Used to be a park. A ball field. Her childhood memories paved over for profit.
Her voice is quiet but steady beside me. “Over there—” she points, “—that’s where the orchard used to be. We’d go every fall, pick apples, drink cider, feed goats. Now it’s a parking lot for luxury outlets.”
Her throat bobs. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t break. But I feel her pain like a fist to the ribs.
And I feel like a fucking wrecking ball.
In my rush to turn Bayview Harbor into the Monte Carlo of the East Coast, I didn’t stop to ask what already existed here. What I was razing. What I was paving over.
Her roots. Her life. Her ghosts.
I stare out at the water. The harbor glimmers under the sun like it’s still trying to offer up beauty, even after everything.
“I didn’t know,” I say, voice low.
She shrugs. “You weren’t supposed to.”
And that hurts more than I expected.
Brett, thankfully, keeps quiet now. Even he can feel the shift.
I take a step closer to Kate, slipping my hand over hers. She lets me. Doesn’t look at me, but doesn’t pull away.
The breeze is stronger here. Cleaner.
I don’t know what I’m going to do next.
But I know one thing for sure—this land matters to her.
Which means now… it matters to me.
She leans her head on my shoulder, soft and sweet like she doesn’t even realize what that simple act does to me. The wind whips up her hair and she doesn't bother fixing it. She just lets it go, wild and free, like her.
We’re sitting on a rock ledge with the whole damn coastline beneath our feet. My empire. My fucking masterpiece. But for once, I’m not looking at it with pride. I’m seeing it through her eyes—and that view hurts.
Behind us, Brett lets out a dramatic sigh and stretches.
“The fuck,” he mutters, “this whole scene’s got Titanic romance vibes. One wrong move and somebody’s falling off a cliff... or into love.” He fake-gags. “Either way, I didn’t bring tissues.”
Kate laughs under her breath, not lifting her head from my shoulder. “Careful where you’re stepping, Brett. It’s a long drop, and I doubt your Glock floats.”
He huffs. “I’ll take my chances. I’m gonna take a leak before this gets any sappier.” He stomps off toward the trees, grumbling, “I didn’t sign up for a Nicholas Sparks moment.”
I chuckle quietly, but it fades fast.
Kate lifts her head a little and glances over the edge. “One slip,” she says softly, “and you’d go right over.”
I follow her gaze. She’s not wrong. It’s steep. Sudden. Just like this thing between us.
“You think I’d let go that easy?” I murmur.
She looks up at me, something flickering in those whiskey-colored eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”
I inhale slow through my nose. “I’d burn the world for you, Kate. But you already knew that.”
She swallows hard, then rests her head back against my shoulder. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
And that’s the problem.
She’s not scared of me.
She’s scared for me.
Because she knows I don’t bluff. And I don’t lose.
And when it comes to her, I sure as hell don’t play fair.