Chapter twenty-eight #2
“Piss off, Uncle Hunter,” she trills with a roll of her eyes. “You can have your little public spectacle, but until you need me, I’ll be somewhere else.” Without waiting for permission or any form of reply, she struts off into the crowd, her silver dress sparkling under the lights.
“Oh, I like her,” Russell says. “She fucking screams trouble.”
“Sam better not hear you say that,” his brother growls. “She’ll cut your balls off.”
“Hey, I only looked. Our girl is the only girl for me, but I can appreciate a feisty woman when I meet one.”
“Feisty,” I mutter. “How many parking tickets, speeding fines, and general annoyances have you sorted for her, Harrison?”
Harrison laughs but shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve lost count. She’s certainly a handful.”
“Luckily, soon to be someone else’s.”
It’s then I am acutely aware of Isabella’s focus on me, as she glares openly in front of my friends. I turn to face her, taking her hand and squeezing gently. It does nothing to thwart her open hostility.
“She’s a nice girl, Hunter,” Isabella says sharply. “She’s just pissed at being pushed around.”
“Then she should have said something to me directly,” I respond, keeping my voice low, aware of the eyes and ears around us. “Not hide behind you like a coward.”
Isabella’s eyes flash. “Maybe she didn’t think you’d listen.”
Russell and Connor suddenly find their drinks fascinating, and Harrison gives me a subtle shake of his head—as if to say “not here, not now.”
But Isabella doesn’t back down. “You know she’s scared, Hunter. Not of you, but of what’s being taken from her.”
“She’s not the only one who’s had to give up something,” I bite back. “You think I want this alliance? You think I trust Lombardi? This is politics, Bella. It’s survival.”
“And yet somehow, she’s the one paying the price.”
The sting of her words is immediate and sharp, like she’s reached in and yanked something out of me I didn’t even realize I’d buried. My morality, perhaps. Hell, when was the last time I worried if what I was doing was right, instead of caring what is necessary?
“I’m doing the best I can,” I challenge, though who I’m trying to convince I’m not sure.
Isabella doesn’t reply, just sips her drink with a calm that only makes her more dangerous. Her silence speaks volumes. She’s not going to argue with me in the middle of a crowded hotel, not when there’s a show to put on. But later? I’ll pay for this conversation in full.
Harrison clears his throat, stepping in with the ease of someone who’s had to de-escalate me more times than he can count.
“It’s time to get this show on the road,” he says. “They want us in the ballroom.”
Taking the opportunity for a reprieve from Isabella’s scorn, I maneuver her in the direction of the ballroom.
The partition hiding the space from the foyer has been pulled back to reveal the expansive room beyond.
Table after table is covered in perfect white linen with highly polished silver cutlery.
At the center of each is a candelabra holding twelve lit candles each.
Entering the ballroom is like stepping back in time to prestige and high-class living. Ladies in ball-gowns and gentlemen in tuxedos weave through the seats to find their spots. Eventually, everyone is seated and the meal begins.
Damon hasn’t joined us as a guest this evening, which is unusual as our small band of men rarely split, but with his job role now firmly within my organization and the constant threats, he needed to be working tonight.
I watch as he moves around the room, checking with his men, his eyes always looking for the next risk.
Without him tonight, I don’t feel I would be so relaxed, and I’m determined to not only enjoy the execution of a long-term deal but also stepping out with my wife.
I want to show her off to all those in the city whoever doubted I could be this man.
Being with Isabella has finally shown not only others, but me as well, that I am much more than a knife-wielding villain only interested in making the next million. There is so much more to me than that, and I have bigger aspirations that only she can fulfil, like a family.
The night continues as most of them do, with food and drinks followed by mingling and drunk dancing.
Tilly hovers around the room, talking to everyone and no one.
I see her approach Greyson a few times. He’s stationed on the edge of the ballroom.
She seems overly comfortable talking to him, though the same can’t be said for him.
Isabella’s focus follows my own, and we both observe their interaction. She looks to me and smiles.
“Are you thinking what I am?” I ask her.
“What, that he saved her life a matter of days ago and she may have a crush?”
“No, my thoughts were more disturbing.”
“Hunter,” she snaps. “She’s a young woman in her twenties being married off to a seventy-year-old man. Give her a break and let her flirt a little.”
“While her fiancé is in the room?”
“He isn’t exactly interested in her, is he?” she mutters, as our attention changes to Lombardi sitting and drinking whiskey with his men. “I don’t think he’s even spoken to her.”
“He maybe doesn’t know which one she is,” I confess. “I’m not even sure he’s seen a photo.”
“You are a complete bastard,” my wife tells me. “I do wish you would reconsider.”
Before I can yet again explain why that isn’t possible for the sake of the many, I’m summoned on stage to say a few words and get on with the business of the night. Everyone here may think this is a simple New Years Eve gala, when in essence it is the declaration of a contract.
I look out at the sea of guests beneath me and am saddened by the fact there are so few I care to see.
Many I know superficially, but most are useful to have in my corner.
In reality, there are only Isabella and my close friends here who truly matter.
It is them that these decisions are being made to protect.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, addressing the audience. “First of all, I want to thank you all for being here. We certainly have a lot to be celebrating as we move into the new year.”
The room bursts into applause as people nod at one another knowingly.
What they think they know escapes me as I’ve not said anything yet.
I gesture to Isabella to join me on stage.
She hesitates, but Harrison places his palm on her back to encourage her.
Slowly, she navigates the stairs, ensuring she puts one foot carefully in front of the other.
“As some of you know, my wife and I have recently reconnected. I am delighted to be stepping into the new year with her by my side.” More applause, false mostly. There is an undercurrent of chatter as the news of what most have expected is verified before their eyes.
It’s then I notice activity in my men surrounding the room. They seem on high alert, as if a threat has been noted. I look to Damon who widens his eyes, encouraging me to continue; he’s on it.
“But it’s not only our good fortune we’re here to celebrate. Tilly, come join us.”
My niece’s eyes snap up to mine; the moment is now, and she knows it.
This is also when she may choose to be the brat she has been in the past.
Reluctantly, she weaves through the crowd, never taking her eyes from mine and nothing but hatred glared in my direction.
Previously, her disdain would have merely been an annoyance, but after Isabella shared such a high opinion of her, it’s making me question my sanity.
Eventually, she arrives beside me, and I take her hand, lifting it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. She shudders under my touch. I try to ignore it, push it down as unimportant, but I can’t. The doubt has already set in. So, I decide to push forward before I change my mind.
“After years of Miss Devane being our family thorn…” The crowd bursts into laughter, then I feel Isabella’s fingers twist the skin on my back. She’s pissed by that comment. “I am delighted to announce that Tilly will be wedded to none other than Domenico Lombardi himself.”
The laughter dissipates to shock as the older man makes his way up on stage.
He takes my hand to shake it before moving his attention to my niece.
My brain exits my body as if I’m watching the performance from above.
He takes her hands and pulls her toward him, dropping wrinkled lips on plump pink ones.
Tilly looks ready to be sick. Fuck, what have I done?
I glance to Isabella, standing frozen, watching the same shit show I am—one I created all on my own. But as my mind moves to figure out how to stop this insanity, my predicament is quickly resolved by the sound of gunfire.