41. Michael #2
Across the floor, just behind the ropes, where the velvet curtain split and the light from the bar hit like a spotlight—Kate?
Hair pinned up. A dress that melted over her like sin. Standing there like she hadn’t just ripped me apart and walked away.
I froze.
Roman’s voice blurred. Brett said something.
I didn’t hear any of it.
All I could see was her.
All I could feel was the fury and the need boiling together like fire in my chest.
Kate.
In Vegas…
At my bachelor party?
And heaven help me—the haze of cigar smoke, neon lights, and perfume all blended together in the VIP lounge, thick enough to choke on.
A champagne girl straddled the lap of one of Roman’s lieutenants.
A couple of dealers were dancing on the tables.
Somewhere, someone was shouting in Russian.
The music pulsed with basslines and greed.
I didn’t flinch at any of it.
Silver sequin dress, skin like sunlight kissed it personally, and a wig so dark I almost didn’t blink twice.
Almost.
But that walk. That sway. That mouth.
And when she turned to deliver a tray of top-shelf tequila, when her eyes flicked up to meet mine through that cloud of kohl and smoke—I knew.
I knew.
My Kate. My storm. My ghost.
Right here, dressed like temptation on fire.
I got off the couch slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Problem?” Brett asked.
“Just gonna play my part. Kiss a few dancers, maybe sleep with one. Throw off the sharks… Roman will expect it.”
I moved through the crowd like a loaded weapon. Her back was to me now—spine straight, ass practically hanging out of the dress, and one hand balancing a tray of drinks like she hadn’t shattered me months ago.
I didn’t say her name. Didn’t touch her.
Not until she passed a table full of West Coast hitters and I grabbed her wrist—firm, fast, like I had every right.
She flinched. Only for a second.
Then she turned her face to me, and behind the brown wig, the lashes, the mask—her lips parted. Her breath caught.
“I don’t know you,” she whispered.
“Bullshit.” I leaned down, close enough for only her to hear. “You think I wouldn’t know you anywhere?”
Eyes wide. Chest heaving.
She said nothing. Smart girl.
“This way,” I growled. “Pretend you’re candy for the bachelor.”
I didn’t ask. I didn’t wait for permission.
Not when the universe just dropped her into the middle of my personal hell wrapped like a gift I wasn’t allowed to open.
No one stopped me as I dragged her past the private booths and into a velvet-curtained VIP suite.
It was Vegas. My bachelor party. Me hauling off a cocktail waitress?
Expected. Practically required.
I slammed the door behind us.
She spun to face me, arms crossed, chin lifted. The wig was crooked now. She looked ridiculous. And dangerous. And breathtaking.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. My voice came out lower than I meant.
She blinked. “Neither should you.”
My laugh was dry. Sharp. “You gonna tell me why you’re dressed like a dime-store stripper and walking around serving drinks to my enemies?”
“I’m working.”
“You’re lying.”
She shrugged one bare shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
That did it. My hands were on her waist in a flash, fingers digging into sequin and skin, and I didn’t care who she was pretending to be. I only cared that she was here.
That even now, in all this chaos, she still smelled like something I’d never forget.
“Tell me to stop,” I said, voice ragged.
She looked up at me, eyes gleaming under smoky makeup.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can’t be here. It’s dangerous, Kate.”
My voice was sharp, a command pulled straight from my gut, but her expression didn’t flicker. Not even a blink. She stood in front of me, all sequins and fire, eyes burning through the smoke.
“I know,” she said softly. “There’s a hit on me.”
She said it like she was talking about the weather.
My entire body locked. “What?”
“Redmond ordered it. Krystal and her brother signed off. Drew and Remi refuse to enforce in their territory.”
I stepped back like I’d been punched. “I knew it.” My voice was ice. “I f**king knew it.”
She nodded once.
I wanted to break something. Rip down every velvet curtain in this damn place. The world had gone completely off the rails and here she was—my ghost, my girl, the one who got away—standing in my bachelor party suite like she knew she was already living on borrowed time.
“You should’ve run,” I said, voice low and raw. “I should’ve let Brett blow up Krystal’s jet.”
“I couldn’t stay away.”
My throat went tight.
“I had to see you,” she said. “Touch you. One more time. Maybe that’s stupid. Maybe it’s suicidal. But you’re the love of my life. And if this ends in fire—if they find me and it’s over—then at least I’ll die knowing I didn’t waste my last breath pretending I didn’t love you.”
It shattered me.
Everything inside me—all the years of calculated restraint, cold power, careful distance—cracked wide open in a single heartbeat.
“You’re mine,” I said.
“I know.”
“You were always mine.”
She reached up and touched my face, like I was a memory she was scared would vanish.
“Then stay,” I said. “Tonight. No pretending. No running from us. ”
Her breath caught. She whispered, “Just one more night?”
“No.” I grabbed her hips and pulled her against me. “Every night. Every damn night until I fix this. Until no one can touch you again.”
She looked at me, eyes wet, mouth trembling. Then nodded.
And when I kissed her, it wasn’t hunger or lust or desperation.
It was a promise.
I would burn down the f**king world before I lost her again.
We were drunk on each other.
I don’t know when it happened—somewhere between the kiss that shut down the world and the second time I dragged her into my lap like I could never get close enough. The night blurred around us: the lights, the noise, the lies.
But her?
She was the only thing that felt real.
“I need to say something—” she started.
I pressed a finger gently against her lips.
“Shhh.”
Her eyes widened, glistening.
“It’s too late, baby,” I whispered. “That part of the book’s already been written.”
Her breath hitched.
“I don’t want to rewrite the past,” I said. “I just want… a secret chapter. Tonight. Ours.”
We didn’t speak after that. We couldn’t.
Not when our mouths had better things to do.
We snuck out of the private suite like ghosts slipping through velvet shadows. No one noticed. No one cared. Vegas was a fever dream, and we were the story no one would ever tell.
The hot tub was lit like a fantasy—steam curling up, the water glittering like liquid sin. She climbed in first, sequins hitting the tile floor like armor she didn’t need with me. And when I followed, it wasn’t just to touch her. It was to lose myself in the one place that still felt like home.
We didn’t talk.
We didn’t need to.
We fucked like it was the end of the world—against the glass, in the shadows, her legs around me, my name in her throat. I made her promise to remember this. Every breath. Every gasp. Every time she clawed at my back like maybe we could tear time apart and stay here forever.
When it was over, we were quiet.
She curled against me in the dark, her skin still humming under my hands. I stared up at the ceiling, the weight of what was coming crashing back down on me.
“I can’t get out of this,” I said.
Her fingers brushed my chest. She didn’t answer.
“What’s ahead? With Krystal?” I exhaled. “They’ll kill all of us. All of us. I’m powerful, yeah—but I’m alone out here now. You get that?”
“I know,” she whispered.
“It’s written, babe. I already signed the contracts. The marriage to Krystal? That’s the icing on their f**king cake.”
She tensed.
I turned my head. Looked at her. Really looked.
And that’s when it hit me.
“Marry me,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Right now. Here in Vegas. A real marriage. You and me.”
Her mouth opened. Closed.
“They don’t have to know. They think they’ve got me on a leash, but they don’t know shit. My wedding to Krystal’s a show—Brett made sure of that. It won’t be legal.”
I sat up. My blood was on fire again, but not from lust this time—from purpose.
“Be my wife, Kate. Right now. I want to look into your eyes and say the vows. Mean them. Mean you only to you. I want you to be the first woman my mouth says those words to.”
Her voice cracked. “Are you serious?”
I nodded once. “Serious as a f**king heart attack.”
She stared at me, wrapped in nothing but steam and moonlight.
And then she whispered, “Okay.”
I texted Brett at , 3:07 a.m.
Me: I need a favor. Urgent. Come alone. Burner.
I hit send.
The woman I loved was wrapped in nothing but a towel and my name whispered all over her skin. Her hair was a mess, her lips still swollen from everything we didn’t say. And she was mine. For real. For now.
I was going to make her mine forever.
Fifteen minutes later, Brett banged on the suite door like he owned the damn place. He walked in, saw Kate, saw me, and stopped cold.
“Oh, for f**k’s sake,” he muttered. “You weren’t supposed to come until tonight and only serve drinks at the dinner.”
Kate was curled up on the velvet chaise like a dream that didn’t know how dangerous it was.
“They all saw you leave with someone,” he hissed. “Your uncle, Roman’s crew, the West Coast slimeballs—they’re all drunk and balls-deep in escorts downstairs, but this?” He gestured between us. “This is a death sentence.”
I stood up, still shirtless, still high on her. “I don’t care.”
Brett's eyes widened. “Dammit, Michael. They will kill you.”
“Then I die,” I said, voice steady. “Because I’m already dead without her.”
Brett stared.
“I mean it. I’m dead inside. You’ve seen it. What’s the point of ruling the world if I can’t have the only thing that ever made me feel alive?”
Kate sat up. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes glassy. She didn’t speak.
Brett looked between us, swore under his breath, and ran both hands through his hair.
“Oh f**k me,” he muttered. Then louder: “Fine. You want to do this? We’re doing this.”