Chapter 16
16
ALLEGRA
T he rustle of bedsheets and the slight creaking of the bed from the other room float out to me in the living room area of the suite before Coen’s voice.
“Allegra?”
I hear it—the panic in the way he says my name, mixed with the last remnants of sleep, that makes him sound even rougher and more gravelly than usual.
He thinks I left him again.
I probably should have.
It would have been easier if I had just disappeared, if he believed I didn’t care. If he thought I was a cold-hearted bitch who played him to win a tournament, then only used him for some mind-blowing sex before I went on my merry way, it might have been easier for him to accept than the truth.
But that isn’t an option.
Not anymore.
Not after last night.
Not after lying awake for hours, watching him sleep, feeling that steady rise and fall of his chest as he slipped into dreams that made him fitful and sent him reaching for me again.
Not when I know why he can’t sleep soundly.
I swallow the emotion threatening to choke me, intending to call out to him and let him know I’m still here, but he appears in the archway leading back to the bedroom before I can.
Deliciously disheveled.
Dark hair askew.
Hard muscles on display.
Boxer briefs, that he must have tugged on when he climbed out of bed, hug his package perfectly.
God, he really is a beautiful man.
Inside and out.
And he is who he is because of the Hawkes, because of the love and support they gave him. Because of the role models he had in his life who taught him how to be a truly good person.
That makes all this so much harder.
He runs a hand over his cheek, now covered with dark stubble. “There you are…”
The relief in his voice simultaneously lifts my heart and shatters it at the same time.
Fuck.
I offer him a tight smile as I fight against the sob that threatens to slip out at the mere sight of him. “Here I am.”
He wanders out into the living room, narrowing his eyes on me. “What are you doing sitting out here?” Bending, he feathers a kiss across my lips, grinning against them. “Waking up would’ve been a lot better if you’d still been in bed…for both of us.”
The promise in his words makes me shiver. Because he can absolutely deliver on it. Spending any time like that with Coen is…fucking magical. The kind of thing you only read about in romance novels.
But just like that fiction—this isn’t real.
None of it can last.
Not with the biggest lie of all still filling the space between us.
I force a smile and nod, but he immediately seems to catch my mood, his brow furrowing.
He cradles my face in his palms, examining me carefully. “What’s wrong?”
Fucking EVERYTHING.
I want to scream it at him. I want to scream into the void that feels like it’s been enveloping me for weeks. But it’s been far longer than that, if I’m truly being honest with myself. This spiral has gone on for so long that I don’t even know which way is up anymore.
“There’s something I need to tell you…”
His brow furrows, and he steps back, letting his palms fall away from my face to take the seat beside me. He quickly pulls my hand into his and squeezes it. “Okay?”
God, I don’t want to do this.
If there were any other way, any thing I could do to save him from this pain, I would do it. Even if it cost me everything, I would do it without thought in a heartbeat.
“You said no more games.” I glance over at him and watch his shoulders stiffen. “I should have told you this from the beginning, but I didn’t know you then. I shouldn’t have let it get this far?—”
His face pales. “Let what get this far?”
A single tear slips from my eye, despite me trying desperately to keep them at bay, and I tug my hand free from his, unable to bear his touch when I’m about to confess my sins. “None of this was supposed to happen.”
His jaw clenches, his body starting to tremble. “None of what ?”
I spread out my hands. “This. You. Us . I wasn’t supposed to…”
The words won’t come out.
But they don’t have to for Coen to sense he isn’t going to like what I’m about to say.
A low growl slips from his chest, so different from the ones full of sexual promise he’s offered me over the last twelve hours. “Whatever it is, Allegra, just fucking tell me already.”
Rip off the Band-Aid.
“I wasn’t just in Atlantic City to scope out my potential opponents. I was there for you…specifically.”
He rests his forearms on his knees, leaning forward. “I kind of figured that. None of the other players from Monaco were in Atlantic City for that game.”
I shake my head, swiping away another tear. “No, you don’t understand. I was there for you because I had to be.”
Coen swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
A sob threatens to climb up my throat. “I was sent to watch you.”
He remains deathly still—unnaturally so. “By whom?”
I meet his suddenly icy, hard gaze. “By someone powerful enough to make me do it.”
His hands tighten into fists, and he shoves up to his feet. “Fucking Satriano.”
Somehow, hearing him say his name instead of having to utter it myself makes it a little easier to breathe.
It shouldn’t, though.
That name is going to be what undoes all of this.
“I’m so sorry… I never meant to?—”
Coen whirls to face me, his entire body locked up tight with barely contained rage, fists at his sides. “What the fuck does he have on you?”
It takes a moment for me to process what he’s asking. “What?”
“What. Does. He. Have. On. You?”
That would make me do this…
That is what he’s asking.
He’s trying to figure out what sort of blackmail material he’s holding over me and how I became so entangled with a man like Damiano Satriano.
“It isn’t that simple.”
A single step draws him close enough that I can see him trembling. “He sent you to spy on me.”
I nod.
“To get close to me?”
I nod again. “He wanted me to make sure you weren’t going to fuck him over. He wanted me to ensure that you were still capable of playing for him, that you were as good as everyone always thought you were, given your recent losses?—”
“And he wanted you to be a weakness that he could exploit, if he needed to.”
The way he says it rips my chest open, and I climb to my feet, moving toward him to try to stem the flow of agony that seems to be rushing from him, but he backs away.
“What the fuck?” He scrubs his hands over his face. “This can’t be happening…”
“Coen, I’m sorry.”
I reach for him, but he bats away my hand, flinching at my attempt to touch him; when only hours ago, we were wrapped up together in bed as close as two people can be.
“Satriano needs control?—”
“And he didn’t think threatening my entire fucking family was enough of a way to control me? He had to send in his whore?”
I flinch at the word, but he isn’t wrong in that assessment.
From where he’s standing, that’s exactly how it looks.
It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true. It doesn’t matter that I was explicitly told not to get too close. It doesn’t matter that I really fell for him or that I wish I could take it all back.
Tears stream unbidden down my cheeks, and my chest heaves as I struggle to fill my lungs through the sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to…I wasn’t supposed to actually like you.”
“Oh, fuck you, Allegra.” He points a shaky finger at me. “You’ve played me from the start, and you’re still playing me now with these fake tears.”
“No.” I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. “I just couldn’t lie to you anymore. Do you have any idea what he’ll do if he finds out that I told you?”
He steps into my space now, looming over me, anger flashing in his gaze. “You’re going to tell me everything he said to you about me, everything he asked you to do, every word he’s ever uttered to you about my family.”
I nod, desperate to offer him anything that might prove to him that he’s wrong about what this is between us. “He said you were important, but that he didn’t know if he could trust you, that he didn’t know if you still had it in you to play like he needs you to. And he didn’t know if you would run and hide or stay and fight.”
His hand moves to the base of his head, and he rubs his neck, pacing. “Fuck.”
“So, he wanted me to get close, to give you a reason to keep coming back to the table and, in turn, repaying him and proving you could still hack it.”
He gapes at me. “But you beat me.”
A little half-smile curls my lips, despite the utter despair enveloping me. “I wasn’t supposed to, and he was pretty fucking pissed about it. He didn’t realize I had gotten under your skin that much, that I had that much control over you.”
His jaw clenches at my choice of words.
“I did that because I was already attracted to you, and I wanted the upper hand, to see if I could rattle you. I did it because I wanted it . Not because Satriano asked me to.”
He stalks away, shoving his hands back through his hair and tugging on it. “And when you let me fuck you in the penthouse, what was that? Assuring your win at any future event by completely getting in my head so that you can pay him back whatever debt you owe him faster, too?”
“I can never pay back the debt I owe Satriano.”
My words hang in the air between us, as thick and heavy as his rage.
His shoulders square, as if he’s preparing for battle. “Get the fuck out.”
“Coen, no, I’m sorry. I never meant?—”
He growls again. This time, a warning. “Get the fuck out of my room.”
I shiver, hating the change in his tone, the shift from lover to whatever the hell this is.
This is the Coen he thinks his family wanted.
The one they expected to walk into a courtroom and tear people apart, limb from limb.
I knew what was coming, that there was no way I’d escape any of this unscathed, but it hits me harder than I care to admit how much I actually give a shit about him, about all this, about what I’ve done to him.
“Please let me explain?—”
“You’ve explained enough, and I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses and lies. None of this was real, and you knew it from the beginning.” A mirthless laugh slips from his lips, and he shakes his head. “You’re a very good actress, Allegra. I’ll hand it to you. Last night, I almost believed…” He trails off, his hands fisting at his sides. “You have three fucking minutes to get dressed and get out of here. And I never want to see you again. Do you understand me?”
I nod as the tears soak my vision, making the man who gave me the best night of my life—more than once—nothing more than a blur.
“I am sorry.”
Slipping past him back into the bedroom, I fight through the trembling that threatens to make my legs collapse. I strip away the hotel robe I wrapped myself in this morning and drag my dress off the floor, where we tossed it in our haste last night.
My hands shake so violently trying to pull it on that I can barely do it.
I don’t even bother with my heels. I just snatch them up and throw my purse over my shoulder.
It’s everything I came with—except my heart, which will remain here with Coen, even if it is shattered and he doesn’t want it.
I take one last longing look at the bed we shared, remembering every touch, every kiss, every thrust, and the way he completed me so fully, remembering what I destroyed.
* * *
COEN
The usual lights, sounds, and excitement of the casino floor feel like being bombarded with rapid gunfire today. Shot after shot slamming into me violently. Tearing through me. I squeeze my eyes closed against the assault on my senses, my footsteps faltering slightly.
Bishop’s hand closes around my elbow. “Are you all right?”
I glance over at her next to me. “Fine, just…tired.”
Emotionally fucking wrung out.
Destroyed.
Lost.
Something I can’t even put into words.
She waggles her eyebrows, releasing her grip on me as we keep moving through the Venetian toward the high-stakes poker room. “I figured you were up late last night with Allegra, but I’ve never known you to do anything that would put you so off your game on a day like this.”
I clench my jaw to keep from lashing out at her when this has nothing to do with Bishop and her friendly observation. She doesn’t know Allegra betrayed me in the worst way possible, that it was all a fucking sham set up by the man who seems intent on ruining my life and that of the rest of the Hawkes along with it.
Bishop is just being herself—nosy with no filter. And since she has had to play my shadow since I returned to New Orleans, I already feel bad enough. She certainly doesn’t need me snapping at her for something that is completely not her fault.
Just keep walking.
If I don’t put one foot in front of another and force myself to move toward that tournament…I’ll end up back in that bed.
Drowning in her jasmine scent.
In the scent of us together.
And I might never get out.
Going catatonic isn’t an option today—unfortunately.
I weave around a gaggle of women with matching shirts indicating they’re on a bachelorette trip and beeline toward the room I’m expected at in only a handful of minutes.
Bishop’s gaze stays on me the entire time instead of worrying about our surroundings, which is supposed to be her job. “Did something happen?”
I chance glancing over at her again as we keep moving. “Why?”
“You seem unusually grumpy this morning for somebody who undoubtedly spent the night buried inside a woman he seems rather obsessed with.”
Fucking hell.
Wincing, I scrub my hand over my cheek. “Was I that obvious?”
The one damn time in my life I become obsessed with a woman and she ends up being a plant. A scammer. Just another one of Satriano’s minions who is working off her debt to the man who also owns me.
What are the fucking chances?
Maybe it’s karma for what I did to Atlas. People always say payback is a bitch, and it definitely feels like someone is paying me back for something with this entire thing.
Bishop snorts. “We all saw the way you looked at her at dinner. That girl got under your skin…and fast.”
“Don’t fucking remind me.”
Her brows wing up. “So, something did happen.”
I sigh, pausing for a moment to let a stumbling couple, who look like they’ve been up all night doing exactly what Allegra and I were, pass. “You could say that…”
But I’m not about to tell her what Allegra confessed.
It’s too embarrassing.
It’s still too raw.
The betrayal.
The pain.
How the fuck did I fall for that?
For her?
How did I not see it coming?
How did I not know?
My chest tightens the same way it has every time I thought about that woman and what she did to me since she walked out of the presidential suite more than an hour ago.
All through my shower…scrubbing my skin red and until it hurt to try to get rid of her scent and the feel of her all over me.
Changing multiple times…trying to find clothes that her smell doesn’t cling to, even though she never even touched them.
I couldn’t help glancing at the bed, remembering what it felt like to have her in my arms. Hearing the echo of her gasps as she came on my cock. Feeling the flutter of her lips along mine.
It was all an act.
A fucking game she swore she wasn’t playing.
So were her tears this morning.
And the last thing I want to do is reveal that—yet again—I let a snake into our lives.
I’d much rather wallow in my own self-pity and stupidity, but Bishop needs to know. They all do…eventually. It’s not something I can keep quiet about.
Which means, no matter how painful it might be, I have to tell Bishop and everyone else.
“She’s working for fucking Satriano.”
Bishop’s steps falter, and she grabs my arm, halting my progress and pulling me off the main walkway and to a quieter area near the wall. “What?” She stares at me, waiting, and when I don’t answer fast enough, she digs her fingers into my skin. “Coen, explain!”
I suck in a long breath, trying to steady my heart that doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. “She fucking played me, Bish. From the first fucking minute I saw her, she was working an angle.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was working for Satriano the whole time. Getting close to me, watching me, ensuring I would play. Ensuring I wasn’t going to bolt and disappear, ensuring I wasn’t going to fuck him over.”
Her lips open and close a few times, her shock evident, as is the concern in her gaze. “Oh, my God, Coen?—”
I jerk out of her hold. “I don’t need your fucking sympathy right now. I have a tournament to win.”
She narrows her eyes on me. “And what about her?”
I move back into the flow of people wandering the casino floor, stalking toward the door of the tournament room, wanting to get this started and over with as quickly as possible. Needing to so that I can get home and try to figure out some way to forget any of this ever happened and that she ever existed.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about her. I told her to stay the fuck away from me. If she gets within a hundred fucking yards of the room today”—I pause and motion to the casino—“you get her the fuck out.”
“Of course.” Bishop squares her shoulders, putting on her game face. And I’m not looking at my cousin anymore. I’m staring at the badass Saint trained her to be. “That’s why I’m here, to protect you. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize I needed to from her. I really thought you two were?—”
I freeze and whirl to face her. “You thought we were what?”
She offers a half shrug. “The real deal. I don’t know. I mean, it was obviously a sexual thing to start, but I saw the way she looked at you at dinner and when she showed up last night, wanting to talk to you…it seemed like it mattered. Like you mattered.”
Which somehow makes it all worse.
“Yeah, well, it turns out she’s a really fucking good actress and that’s it.”
Really. Fucking. Good.
“I’m sorry, Coen. Have you told?—”
“No!” I cut her off a little too harshly. “And I’m not going to—at least not right away.”
Her brow furrows. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s out of my life now. Out of the picture. She won’t be back to cause any more trouble.”
“Are you sure?”
“She wouldn’t dare try. And it’s irrelevant if she does. Satriano just lost his spy. I finally hurt him .” For the first time since I woke alone this morning, I feel my lips start to curl up into a smile. “I finally got the upper hand.”
“How so?”
“He doesn’t have any way to monitor what I’m doing anymore and can’t be used against me as any sort of leverage if I don’t do what he wants. And that means I took back a little bit of control from that bastard.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “If that’s the way you want to look at it.”
It’s the only way I can.
If I don’t, it will follow me into the room.
We finally reach it, and I make my way over toward the table I’ve been assigned to for the first round, which will begin in just a few minutes.
Glancing back at Bishop, I sigh. “If I don’t think about it like that, there’s no way that I can play today. And if I can’t do that, he’ll come after all of you.”
She presses her lips together in a firm line, her dark eyes narrowing on me. “Are you sure you’re up for this today? After everything that happened?”
“I don’t have a fucking choice, Bishop.”
The casino host, Devin, steps up and shakes my hand. “Welcome, Mr. Hawke. We have your seat right here.”
He ushers me into one, asking if I need anything to eat or drink before we get underway, and I glance back at Bishop, who stands behind me, eyes vigilant, darting across everyone in the room, and to the door, watching for any threats, that now include Allegra.
None of this was supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to actually like you.
Her hollow excuses and empty apologies echo in my head. Taunting me the same way her breathy gasps and moans do.
Fuck.
I scrub my hands over my face and lean my elbows on the table. Sheer exhaustion overtakes me, and for the first time in my adult life, I don’t feel prepared at all for this game.
All those rules Dad laid out for me.
All the things he taught me about how to win.
They all mean nothing when my head and heart are filled with Allegra’s bullshit and too many questions to ever sort through.
Butch settles into his seat at the far end of the table, adjusting his cowboy hat to tilt it toward me. “You look like shit.”
Of course he would be here.
“Gee, thanks.”
The Texan smirks. “This have anything to do with your lady friend?”
My back stiffens. “What?”
He winks at me. “Saw you two having a cozy dinner last night, but she isn’t on the player’s list today…”
“No, she isn’t.”
And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll never show her face at any tournament I’m at again.
His eyebrows waggle. “Trouble in paradise?”
There never was a fucking paradise.
Just Hell.
Only, I never realized I was in it until it was too late.