27. Kate
Kate
I packed an overnight bag with a little more care than I should have. Toothbrush, silk pajamas, the black satin robe he liked. Amber’s favorite toy. A charger, just in case. It all felt very… domestic. Dangerous. But I still did it.
My phone pinged nonstop—my group chat was blowing up.
Mindy: Are you ghosting us for real??
Claire: Kate, if you don’t answer, I’m staging an intervention.
Mindy: We’re your real life, not your mafia fantasy, babe.
Claire:
So I did the only thing I could do—I texted Michael.
Me: Is there any chance my friends could get on the VIP list tonight?
He responded within seconds.
Michael: Names?
Me: Mindy. Claire. Sara.
Michael: Done. Bring them.
I should’ve expected it, but when we all walked into the glittering VIP lounge later that night, it was like walking into a Bond film. Champagne flowed. The chandeliers sparkled like starlight. The Italian opera singer held the room in the palm of his hand.
But the tension? That belonged to Brett.
He gave me a look like I’d walked in with three ticking time bombs. His jaw clenched when Claire—gorgeous Claire with her creamy skin, glossy brown waves, and ice-blue eyes—smiled at him. She wasn’t even trying.
“Fine,” Brett muttered in my ear. “You can stay around. As long as she does.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t elaborate. Just strode off, already watching Claire like a target he couldn’t quite make sense of.
Michael appeared at my side, dressed in dark tailored perfection. His hand slid around my waist like he owned me.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s weird. But they’re… fitting in.”
His lips brushed my temple. “Of course they are. This is your world now too.”
I wasn’t sure if that made me feel giddy or terrified.
The night felt like slipping into a place I was still learning to breathe in.
Luxury so thick it clung to your skin like silk.
Velvet ropes, private entrances, champagne that never stopped flowing, and a guest list that included royals and billionaires, all gathered for the opera singer flown in from Milan.
And here I was, in the middle of it, in heels I barely knew how to walk in and with a man who made me forget my name with just one look.
Claire was already making herself at home. Sara was deep in conversation with one of the pit bosses, and Mindy kept giggling every time someone asked if she was a model.
But it was Brett who nearly made me snort champagne through my nose.
He eyed Claire with something suspiciously close to interest when I introduced them. She stood tall, auburn waves falling around her sharp shoulders, blue eyes bright but unimpressed.
"So what do you do?" Brett asked, crossing his arms, looking her over with a squint.
"Own a toy store," Claire answered, smooth as ever.
His brow rose. "Toys?"
She smiled sweetly. "Not the adult kind. Sorry to disappoint."
Brett didn’t miss a beat. Took a slow sip of his drink and said, "Ever think about expanding?"
Claire blinked. "You offering to help me test inventory?"
He coughed, nearly choking on his whiskey. I howled.
Michael appeared then, catching the tail end of their exchange, and raised a brow at me like, What did I just walk into?
I shrugged. "Don’t blame me. Your enforcer’s getting seduced by my best friend."
He didn’t smile, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth told me everything.
The opera began, lights dimming as the music soared through the lounge.
It was haunting, beautiful—everything I never imagined I'd experience when I pulled into town a few weeks ago.
My friends watched in awe, sipping drinks handed to them by waiters in tuxedos, seeing behind the curtain of what my world with Michael looked like now.
And while it dazzled, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the clock was ticking. That the higher we rose, the farther there was to fall.
But when Michael’s arm slid around my waist and he pulled me against him during the aria, I let myself forget.
Just for tonight.
The afterparty started with glittering lights and clinking glasses, laughter echoing off marble walls. But something shifted as the night wore on. The faces blurred a bit, and I began to recognize some from the yacht—high-stakes types with dangerous smiles and glittering eyes.
I pulled Claire and the girls in close. “Listen, this part of the night isn’t always so pretty. Just… keep your wits about you. Stay close.”
They nodded, but the energy changed. The crowd was buzzing, drunker, looser, and behind the polished masks, the wolves were back.
On my way back from the ladies’ room, I clocked a man glaring at me. I didn’t recognize him. Sharp jaw, pale eyes, suit that screamed money—but it wasn’t admiration in his stare. It was ice.
I tried to shake it off.
Then I was bumped—hard—from behind. My champagne nearly splashed all over my dress.
“Excuse—” I turned, heart leaping, but whoever it was had already disappeared into the crowd.
Except not really. The man who’d been glaring now wore a smug little smirk as he leaned casually against the wall.
Something about him made my skin crawl.
I scanned for Michael. Nowhere. Not at the bar. Not at the table. Not in sight.
So I did the next best thing.
I found Brett.
He was standing in a corner with Claire, clearly mid-flirt when I interrupted.
“Sorry to cut in,” I said, voice low but sharp. “Who is that man by the columns? The one in the gray suit.”
Brett’s smile faded. His eyes narrowed as he looked over my shoulder.
“Problem,” he muttered. “I’ll handle it.”
Which only made the unease in my gut twist tighter.
Claire raised a brow as Brett’s whole demeanor changed.
He casually walked. Despite the stroll once he was in the guy’s face everything changed.
Security swarmed. A heated, intense exchange ensued.
I caught “bitch” and “this isn’t over” before Vito was at our side, whisking Claire and I away from the scene.
And suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know who the man was after all.
My feet were on fire, my lipstick long gone, and my nerves still humming from the whirl of champagne, opera, mobsters, and million-dollar secrets. Somehow, I’d made it through the night without cracking—or confessing everything from the man who made my blood heat with one look.
Michael had insisted the girls go home with an armored escort a.k.a, Brett rode with them.
Claire snapped photos of the casino lights through the tinted window like a tourist. I didn’t miss the way Brett kept stealing glances at her when he thought no one noticed.
I waved as the SUV pulled from the curb. That ride was going to be interesting.
Michael had my hand in his and was not letting go.
I padded barefoot across his VIP suite, heading to the bedroom. The city glowed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting gold and violet across the sky. I’d barely pulled my dress down and grabbed a robe when my phone buzzed.
A photo from Brett because apparently Michael gave my number one enforcer my number. I opened it—and nearly choked on my laugh.
Claire, looking radiant and a little drunk, wearing a pink feather boa and biting into a candy ring. Brett beside her, scowling at the camera like he didn’t know how to smile, but there was something in his eyes. Mischief. Maybe more.
And behind them? A shelf stacked with plush stuffed animals and novelty shot glasses.
Another text popped up below the photo:
Brett: “If I disappear, I was taken hostage at the toy store. Send more whiskey. Or a priest.”
I was still laughing when the door opened and Michael walked in, jacket slung over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone. Tie long gone. His eyes landed on me, and then my phone.
“That’s trouble,” I said, holding it up.
He stepped closer, peering at the screen.
“I told you your friend was dangerous.”
I grinned. “You think she’s dangerous? Brett looks like he’d walk through fire to get another look at her.”
Michael just gave a low chuckle and tossed his jacket on the chair. “I give it a week before he’s picking out squish mallows and watching Disney+ on her couch.”
I laughed, stepping into his space, wrapping my arms around his waist. “And what about you?”
He bent, brushing his mouth against mine. “Me?”
“Yeah. What would you walk through fire for?”
His lips lingered on mine, his voice low and rough. “Already did. Still burning.”
The answer knocked the playfulness out of me.
Michael held my gaze, one hand resting at the base of my spine. Before I could decide whether to joke or ask what he meant, Amber wandered in carrying a decorative pillows in her mouth.
“Amber.”
She froze.
Michael glanced down. “Is that hers?”
“It is now, apparently.”
“Good. I never liked it.”
Amber carried her prize to the rug and dropped onto it with a satisfied groan.
“You’re going to spoil her.”
“She has excellent taste.”
“She stole a six-hundred-dollar pillow.”
“She liberated it.”
I shook my head and returned to the bedroom, leaving Michael to defend his newest accomplice. The VIP suite wasn’t as personal as his penthouse, but it was still unmistakably his—dark wood, charcoal velvet, and enough security technology discreetly embedded into the walls to withstand a siege.
Krystal had done enough damage to his penthouse that even Michael couldn’t sleep there yet. The movers had transferred the things he needed to the casino suite, including several tailored suits, his favorite liquor, and, apparently, a collection of expensive dog treats Amber had already discovered.
I sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the arch of one aching foot.
Michael went to the bar and poured himself two fingers of scotch, neat. He took a slow drink before leaning one hip against the counter.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You generally do whether I give you permission or not.”
His mouth curved, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s inside the locked room at your condo?”
My hands stopped on my foot.
“You tried the handle?”
“I was looking for the bathroom while you were in the shower.”
“Uh-huh.”