28. Michael
Michael
Time passed like a dream I didn’t want to wake from.
Fall sank her teeth into the coast, biting cold that chased the last bits of summer out of the sky. The wind off the bay cut sharper each week, swirling leaves like fire across cobblestone streets. The trees stood naked now, bones against slate-gray skies, but I didn’t feel the chill.
Because every night, Kate was mine.
Naked in my bed, or curled beside me on her sofa with Amber sprawled out at our feet, snuggled beneath throws in front of her crackling woodstove. I was drowning in the domestic dream I never thought I’d want.
And I was addicted to it.
To her.
Saturdays were our ritual. Coffee at sunrise, her tangled hair against my chest, sleepy kisses that tasted like forever.
Then we’d hike—she knew every trail, every ridge, every forgotten overlook.
Lunch at the Irish pub she made me swear I’d never touch with development—"It’s a local gem, Michael.
You so much as breathe on it, and I’ll leave you.
" I’d laughed, but I didn’t cross that line.
I was learning her boundaries. And slowly, without meaning to, I was drawing up blueprints in my mind to build a life around them.
Even my empire evolved for her.
The new casino boat launched—old-world glamour with velvet booths and jazz trios, trolling the river like a floating monument to everything I’d created. Big-name artists sold out shows. Our hotels stayed booked. The high rollers kept coming.
And Kate... she glowed.
She threw herself into charity season—toy drives, winter coat donations, and a cancer awareness 5K. I ran that thing with a pink band on my bicep while Brett grumbled beside me and Claire somehow kept up in bright pink lipstick. A double date no one saw coming.
But it wasn’t perfect.
Kate was busy—too busy. Between planning galas and working from this so-called office no one had ever seen, I was losing track of her during the day. The security team was always one step behind. And the boys were starting to get suspicious.
Brett didn’t like being played. And I didn’t like being lied to.
But I wanted her more.
So I let it ride.
I watched her smile across firelight. Watched her cheeks flush in the cold.
Watched the way Amber never strayed from her side.
I bought a ring—she didn’t know yet—and had it locked in my safe.
I was going to ask her at the top of the ridge trail.
That same spot where she first showed me the town through her eyes.
I knew it had only been a few months but I’d already known since that first night on the 4th of July.
I could wait… maybe Christmas or New Years’ Eve I’d propose.
We could have a long engagement if she wished.
I wanted that forever.
Even if I could feel the tide shifting. Even if I could tell—something was coming.
And I wasn’t sure which one of us would survive the storm when it hit.
The week before Thanksgiving, the casino hummed like a well-oiled machine. Guests flitted in and out of high-stakes rooms, the slot machines sang their digital tunes, and the smell of fresh money mixed with top-shelf scotch and polished wood. But I wasn’t on the floor.
I was behind closed doors, in my office—glass walls tinted darker than sin, leather everywhere, and a panoramic view of the harbor. The wind whipped the bare trees outside, the color drained from fall. Winter was creeping in.
Kate was in New York with her girls. Shopping spree.
Saks, Bergdorf’s, Tiffany’s. She took my best driver, a full convoy of six guards, and a credit card I didn’t bother putting a limit on.
I knew she wouldn’t use it, She alway refuses my money saying she has plenty f her own.
She said it was a girls’ weekend. I said I wanted her safe.
My phone buzzed with a photo from Claire. Kate laughing in front of Rockefeller Center’s tree—already lit for the tourists. Her smile made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t expect.
But I had business to handle.
"He's in the war room," Brett said, opening the double doors.
Uncle Romano stood at the bar, swirling bourbon in a crystal tumbler, his slick Vegas-style suit tailored to perfection, his gray hair tied back. He was old-school mafia royalty. What he didn’t know about making money through concrete and corruption wasn’t worth knowing.
The room was thick with cigar smoke. The tribal council representative, Marcus Tall Elk, sat across the poker table we used for "unofficial" business, his braids tight, eyes like obsidian.
Two of my top men flanked the walls, arms folded.
A waitress brought in a tray—aged rum, fresh limes, espresso, and a bottle of rare Cuban.
Her dress was barely a suggestion of fabric.
Romano leaned back and took a puff. "You running this operation like a damn Fortune 500 company, Mikey. I’m proud."
"I don’t play small, Uncle," I said, lighting my own cigar. The smoke curled up toward the vaulted ceiling.
Marcus nodded once. "The arrangement works. Your casino pays out. Our people see benefits."
"And it’s just the beginning," I said, flipping the map on the table. A satellite image of the old community college across the river, 200 acres of government-owned rot. "This is the next phase."
Romano leaned in, squinting. "You’re finally making a move on that place?"
I nodded. "State wants to sell. No buyers—because it’s a disaster zone. Gangs, squatters, junkies. A whole wasteland."
Marcus tilted his head. "What do you want it for?"
"Whatever I want. Casino. High-end retreat. Waterpark. Spa. Hell, goat yoga if the influencers want it. But the prize is the waterfront. One hundred acres of unclaimed shoreline. Docks. Boat slips. Floating slot machines.
Romano grinned. "You always were the ambitious one."
"I don’t want permission," I said. "I want partnership. I want this deal signed and clean. We use the tribe to acquire it under exemption. You hold it for a quarter. Then you sell to my shell company. Everyone eats."
Marcus drummed his fingers once. Twice. "You clean out the gangs first. We’re not the only ones with eyes on that place."
"Already planning it," I said. "Soft sweep first. Then we shut it down."
"And your girl?" Brett leaned over with a smirk. "She knows what you’re building here?"
"Not yet," I said quietly.
Because the community college used to house a soup kitchen her grandparents helped fund and I didn’t know how to tell her I was about to bulldoze her past to build her a throne.
But business was business.
"She will soon," I muttered.
Then I took a long pull of rum, watched the smoke dance through the room, and thought about how empires are built—brick by bloody brick and sometimes, love doesn’t survive the foundation. But ours… was destiny and hopefully she’d forgive me especially once I ask her to be my wife.