Chapter 27
ARDEN
Fresh espresso is the first thing I see when I open my eyes.
Sitting on the nightstand, still steaming hot.
Underneath the tiny mug is a piece of paper with something scrawled on it in black ink.
I pick up the drink with one hand and the note with the other, taking a sip while I read: I promised you a treat. Get ready and meet me at the door.
I jump out of bed, downing the shot. Getting dressed is easy, I already had a black t-shirt and my favorite ripped jeans set aside for today.
I swap my usual boots for high-top Converse, throwing on a black beanie and a swipe of mascara to finish the look.
I’m ready to go in ten minutes flat. That has to be a record.
As I reach the bedroom door, I realize I’m forgetting something. I double back, rushing to my duffel bag to retrieve the tarnished gold chain from the inside pocket. I shove it in my jeans as I exit into the hallway.
Locke is seated in a chair near the front door, a cigar balanced between his fingers.
He’s in a t-shirt for the second day in a row, the cotton stretched taut across his chest and shoulders in a way that a suit could never touch.
My pulse quickens, and I have to consciously force my gaze upward from the defined curve of his bicep to his face.
It’s a rare sight, Locke unbuttoned and unguarded. But I know the clock is ticking. The job will be waiting for us back in Vegas, and I have a feeling it’ll turn him back into the ‘all business’ man I first met. I’m going to enjoy every moment of the more relaxed version of him while I can.
As soon as he notices me, he stands. “I didn’t know you owned sneakers.”
“Well, I didn’t know you owned more than one t-shirt,” I quip back.
The usual edge in his expression has melted into something softer, and his lips part in a faint, amused line. “I promised you a treat. Jax is already on his way to his next show, and Nate’s taking care of everything back home, so I thought we’d just enjoy one more day in Verona together.”
I nod, a smile turning up the corner of my lips, and follow him out. There’s no driver and no car waiting. I shoot him a puzzled look. “No car?”
“I thought we could walk today,” he says with a shrug. He offers his arm, a silent command for me to intertwine mine. I accept the invitation as we continue into the nearby square.
We spend the morning and early afternoon wandering through piazzas and exploring local markets.
Snaking through crowds, stopping to admire the flowers, produce, and souvenirs, and occasionally pausing for a glass of wine.
There’s something about the cobblestone streets and views of the river winding through the city that makes the air itself feel romantic. Like we’ve stepped into a dream.
When Locke approaches me with a bouquet of red roses, orange zinnias, and deep purple chrysanthemums wrapped in brown paper, the breath hitches in my throat.
I try to summon a sharp remark. The kind I’ve used for years to keep people at arm’s length, but the words won’t come.
My shoulders loosen, and a terrifying warmth seeps through the cracks of my composure.
He’s seen the calculated side of me. The girl who looked at him and saw a mark instead of a man.
Yet he’s still here, offering me flowers instead of following through on his jail threat.
He hands me the bouquet and takes my free hand, leading me out of the piazza toward a blacked-out SUV parked nearby. “I have one last surprise that does actually require a vehicle.”
I don’t argue or ask questions. I just bury my face in the flowers, inhaling their sweetness as I follow him into the backseat. For the first time, we don’t even try to keep our distance. His arm settles around me, and I lean into his warmth as we ride through the streets of Verona.
The driver drops us off at the edge of an enormous lake. Its surface is a flawless mirror of turquoise. I’ve never seen a more breathtaking view. Locke takes my hand and leads me down a narrow path as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
We reach a small, secluded patch of grass where a giant white blanket is sprawled across the ground.
String lights are wrapped around the trunk of a nearby tree, casting a soft golden glow over the meal spread before us.
A charcuterie board overflowing with fruit, cheeses, and sliced meats.
Several bottles of wine and two glasses sit nearby.
My throat goes dry. I want to tell Locke how beautiful this is, how utterly romantic and completely unexpected. I try, but nothing comes out.
Suddenly it all comes rushing back to me. All the birthdays that passed without even a card, the milestones without a moment of celebration, the countless times I ate alone, walked home in the dark, or realized that not one person in the room actually cared if I was there.
All I can do is stare at the scene in front of me, then back at him. Hot tears spill down my cheeks, despite my best effort to hold them back.
Locke’s brow furrows as his eyes dart between the picnic and me. “Is everything okay?”
“No one’s ever done anything like this for me. No one.” I let out a sigh, dabbing my eyes. “I’m not even sure I’ve ever been on a real date. But this… this isn’t just a date. It’s amazing.”
He looks genuinely shocked by that confession. Maybe I’ve said too much. But I don’t care. I want him to know how much this means to me.
Locke sits in an open space near the food, and I follow, settling beside him.
He pours two glasses of wine as I pop a grape into my mouth, watching the sunset paint the water in gold and coral.
It’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen, maybe even better than the desert sunsets back home.
I’d always thought they were the most beautiful things in the world.
It takes me a few moments to realize that Locke is staring at me. I give him a sideways glance. “…Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Just enjoying the view.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “Okay, that was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He just smiles. “What can I say? You’ve brought out a side of me I haven’t seen in a long time. I’m leaning into it.”
“A long time,” I repeat softly, the words hanging between us. “What happened to him, Locke? The version of you that used to be like this?”
Locke hesitates, his gaze darting toward the horizon. “Oh, just my whole life, really.”
Despite the smile playing on my face, a wave of sadness washes over me. “Same.”
His eyes match my sadness now, too. “Yeah, growing up with a dad in the mob will do that to you. It’s not quite like the movies, but it isn’t normal, either.”
I blink, eyes wide. “The mob? I didn’t peg you as Italian.”
“I’m not. The Irish have a mob too, you know.”
“Ooh, an Irishman? Too bad you didn’t get the accent. That would be hot.”
Locke gives me a flat look. “As I was saying,” he exhales, “my dad was pretty high up. Our family was respected, wealthy, and protected. Being the oldest, he expected me to take over the family business. He started training me from the time I was sixteen. We ran nightclubs and private event venues — at least, that was the legal side. Luxury hospitality for high-end clients. But that all ended when the FBI finally caught up with him. They hit him with RICO charges. Money laundering, drug trafficking, conspiracy… all the greatest hits. They came for him in the middle of the night. Didn’t even bother knocking, just busted right through the door.
I remember my mother offering coffee to all the agents while they tore the place apart.
” He shakes his head, smiling to himself.
“He’s been in federal prison ever since. ”
I stay silent for a moment, letting the new information settle before asking, “So what happened? To the business, I mean.”
“I took over after he went away. A little sooner than expected, but I did my best. Back then, I just wanted to make him proud, but I was determined to make it fully legitimate. Didn’t want me or, worse, Nate ending up where he is.
So, I stopped the laundering and the drugs and kept the entertainment for a while. ”
“I have to say, the idea of you planning parties is hilarious. But how’d you go from that to PR?”
“Excuse me? I throw great parties,” he shoots back with a mock glare.
“But I only managed events for a while. Mostly for celebrities and other high-end clients. Producers, politicians, the odd millionaire. It was fine until people like Luke started showing up. I thought walking away from the mob was enough, but I was wrong. The industry still attracts the same rot. People who actually make organized crime look tame. I couldn’t stomach being so close to it anymore, so I rebranded the business as Bishop Strategies.
I swore I was going to actually help people.
” He lets out a dry laugh. “Now I just help them cover up their lies.”
I swirl what’s left of the wine in my glass, watching the deep red liquid catch the fading light. “You help them clean up their messes,” I murmur more to myself than him, “I usually just make them.”
Locke huffs out a quiet laugh, but his eyes stay on me. “You ever get tired of that?”
“Of what? Messes?”
“No. The running.”
I glance at him, then back at the water. “That depends on what or who is chasing me.”
That smirk is back on his face, and I can’t help but admire the way the setting sun frames it with golden rays. “So, what about you? Lexi? What’s the story there?”
I refill my glass and take a deep breath. “We’ve been best friends for… well, forever. She lived in the apartment next door. We’ve always been there for each other — ride or die. It was us against the world. So, when she needed help with Zoe, we moved in together.”
Locke studies me for a long moment. “Can you finally tell me what she does for a living, or is it still classified information?”
A giggle, an actual giggle, escapes me. I had completely forgotten about his questions when we met.
“She’s a stripper. Exotic dancer. Whatever,” I say waving my hand at him.
“We only keep it secret from Zoe. Also, before you jump to conclusions, she doesn’t work in some sleazy, run-down hole-in-the-wall.
She performs at one of the best clubs in Vegas. ”
He doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s waiting for me to go on.
“The money is good, but I worry about her. She’s a hopeless romantic, but most men can’t handle being with someone in her line of work.”
Locke keeps nodding. Gazing thoughtfully down at his glass, “And you? Your family?”
That word makes my heart drop. “Just Lexi. My dad disappeared when I was twelve. He was mixed up with the wrong people… cartel business, I think. I never knew the details. After that, it was just my mom and me for a while. She was an addict my whole life, and it only got worse when he was gone. She overdosed a few months after I turned eighteen.”
Locke’s eyes shine in the golden light as mine rise to meet them again, gold flickering in the whiskey brown. It feels like he’s seeing straight through me.
I’m the first to break the gaze, reaching into the pocket of my jeans. When I pull my hand out, a gold chain with a tarnished cross dangles from it, the sunlight glinting off its edges. I hold it out to him as he raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “I think this belongs to you.”
Locke nods and takes the cross, running his thumb over it. “Didn’t think I’d see this again. It was my dad’s... and his dad’s before that. So, thank you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to take something sentimental. Not really my thing. Just wanted to make sure you got it back.”
Locke tucks the chain into his pocket, eyes lingering on mine.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The string lights hum softly above us, and the air smells like wine and salt and something almost sweet. He reaches out, brushing his thumb over my hand. “You could’ve kept it,” he whispers.
I swallow, feeling warmth spread through me. “Why would I do that? It’s special to you.”
He doesn’t respond right away, just leans back on his elbow, still looking at me like I’m part of the view. I look out at the view, too, as the last rays of sun dip below the horizon.
His voice is nearly a whisper a few moments later. “Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”
I nod. “I have.”
“And?” Locke sighs.
“This has been my identity throughout my entire adult life. I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself.” I shift closer to him.
He studies me thoughtfully, considering his answer. “I don’t know, but whatever you want to do, you’ll have the ability to do it.”
He sips a fresh glass of wine. “Start a business, a charity, read books, travel the world. I truly don’t give a fuck. Just let me take care of you.”
“So, what, we’ll move in together? Or are you going to pay my rent too?” I challenge, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Whatever you want, Arden. I mean it. I will support any decision you make.”
I look away from him, back toward the lake.
The word ‘support’ sounds like a foreign language.
My life has been a series of carefully crafted walls.
Keeping people out, keeping myself upright, making sure I never leaned too hard on anything that could give way.
To let him do this isn’t just about the money or the freedom; it’s about handing over the heavy armor I’ve worn since I was a child.
It’s terrifying. If I stop being the girl who survives, who am I?
But then I consider the weight of the last few years.
The constant looking over my shoulder, the exhaustion of the hustle.
I look at Locke, really look at him. He isn’t offering a golden cage; he’s offering a floor that won’t give out from under me.
For the first time, I wonder what I could actually be if I weren’t always just trying to stay afloat.
I nod slowly, the tightness in my chest finally beginning to uncoil. “Okay,” I whisper, the word feeling heavier and more honest than anything I’ve ever said. “I guess I can live with that.”
And for the first time in a long time, I stop pretending I don’t want to be seen.