24. Fallout
FALLOUT
LUCA
The first cancellation hit before I finished my coffee. The second came while I was still reading the subject line. By the fifth, I stopped pretending it was a coincidence.
I stood behind the desk in my office, phone buzzing against the wood while my laptop, television, and tablet carried some version of the same headline.
SANTORO TORCHES COMEBACK DEAL.
FORMER CHAMP CHOOSES FAMILY—AND FINANCIAL SUICIDE.
One clip had already been cut to make me look unhinged. No context. No Victor baiting me. No Riley ten feet away, watching to see whether I would choose the contract over her. Just my hands ripping paper in half and my voice saying, "My family isn't for sale."
A commentator laughed over the replay.
"Bold move for a man whose resort was already bleeding cash."
I muted him. The silence did nothing.
My booking dashboard refreshed again. Three red cancellations appeared beneath a wedding party that had cut its room block in half.
A knock sounded once before Donny pushed through the door.
"You seeing this?"
"I'm watching the numbers."
"That wasn't what I asked."
I looked at him.
He tossed his phone onto the desk. A meme showed me tearing the contract over a flaming resort logo. Under it, someone had written: WHEN YOUR MIDLIFE CRISIS HAS A PR TEAM.
"They made my shoulders too small."
"Payroll remains devastated by the artistic inaccuracy."
I straightened. "What happened?"
"Nothing official yet. But two corporate groups pulled out this morning, and the reservation staff says the phones are mostly people asking whether we're closing." His jaw tightened. "The staff heard we were laying people off before I even heard the rumor."
Through the glass wall, I could see two housekeepers talking near the elevators. One glanced toward my office, then away too quickly.
That was worse than strangers laughing.
I left the office and crossed the lobby toward the staff café. Conversation thinned the second I walked in. Coffee steamed in paper cups. Someone had abandoned half a breakfast sandwich on the counter.
A young server stared at the floor. "Mr. Santoro, are we losing our jobs?"
No accusation. Just fear.
Behind her, twenty faces waited for me to lie well enough that they could breathe.
I had taken punches that broke bone. I had walked into cages knowing exactly what they could cost me. This felt different. Because I had made the choice.
And they might pay for it with rent, groceries, and school tuition.
"No decisions about staffing have been made," I said carefully. "Donny and I are reviewing everything. Whatever happens, you'll hear the truth from us before you hear rumors from anyone else."
It wasn't enough. I saw that in their faces.
But it was all I had.
Donny was already back in my office when I returned, two spreadsheets open and a legal pad covered in numbers I didn't want to see.
He didn't look up. "Operating accounts are frozen."
I stopped beside the desk. "Frozen by who?"
"All three investor groups suspended their scheduled funding and put a hold on the reserve accounts pending review." He finally looked at me. "Which is rich, considering Victor staged the whole damn thing."
My phone rang. The screen showed Gulf Coast Linen Services.
Donny gave a humorless laugh. "Take it. They're next on the list."
I answered.
A clipped voice informed me our account was past due, future deliveries were suspended, and their attorneys would be involved if payment didn't clear by five. Apparently, even sheets came with legal representation now.
"We've never missed a payment," I said.
"You missed this one."
The call ended before I could argue.
Donny rotated his laptop toward me. Red notices filled the screen: Catering suppliers. Landscaping. Security. The company that maintained the pool filtration system.
Then I saw payroll.
DECLINED.
My stomach dropped.
"When?" I asked.
"This morning. Direct deposits bounced for eighty-seven employees."
The office seemed too quiet. Beyond the windows, palm fronds scraped against the glass as the wind picked up off the water.
"Use my personal account."
"I already started the transfer."
"Then why are we still talking?"
"Because it won't cover everything." Donny shoved a hand through his hair. "Not vendors, payroll, taxes, and the debt payment due Friday. We need liquidity, Luca. Real liquidity."
I braced both hands on the desk and stared at the numbers until they blurred.
The contract I had torn apart would have solved this. Victor knew it. That was why he'd put Riley and Ava inside it like bargaining chips. He hadn't expected me to walk away.
The investors had counted on the same thing.
"Sell the boat," I said.
Donny's expression hardened. "That buys us weeks."
"Then sell it fast."
"And after the boat?"
"Liquidate the fight memorabilia."
"You keep acting like bleeding for everybody is a business plan."
"It worked better when people paid to watch."
Donny shook his head. "You still think this is a fight."
I looked through the glass wall at the employees crossing the lobby, each one carrying bills, families, lives I had put at risk.
"No," I said. "A fight only hurts the men who step into it."
Jax was waiting beside the heavy bag when I walked into the private gym.
My weight shifted before I could stop it, body settling into the stance it remembered whenever Jax entered a room.
He wore jeans and a black T-shirt instead of fight gear. No camera crew. No entourage. No grin designed to make me swing first. His hands hung loose at his sides, and his eyes were clear.
Sober.
"I'm not here to start anything," he said.
"That would be a first."
His mouth twitched, but he didn't take the bait. "Can we talk?"
The gym smelled like leather, disinfectant, and old sweat. Usually, it settled me. Today, the silence felt like another thing waiting to break.
I crossed my arms. "You've got two minutes."
Jax glanced at the contract pieces still scattered near the bench where someone had dumped them after the press event. "You should've hit him."
"Victor?"
"Me."
I watched him carefully.
He looked at the mat instead of me. "I wanted you to lose control. Prove you were still the same guy who'd wreck a room, feed the cameras, and burn down anything that got too close to mattering."
His jaw worked before he continued.
"And Riley..." He exhaled through his nose. "I was drunk and running my mouth, but I shouldn't have blocked her in. She told me to move, and I made her wonder whether I would. That part's on me."
My arms tightened across my chest. "You'll tell her yourself. And whether she accepts it is up to her."
"I know." He met my eyes. "I'm telling you first because I figured you'd want to know whether I understood how far I crossed the line."
"You done?"
"No." He dragged a hand over the back of his neck. "You showed more control in five minutes than I've had in five years."
The admission felt strange. Jax didn't apologize. He attacked, deflected, performed. Hearing respect in his voice felt more dangerous than hearing another insult.
"What do you want?"
"To change the story."
I laughed once. "You think a better headline fixes bounced payroll?"
"No. But it might put people back through the doors."
He stepped closer to the bag and nudged it with his palm. "A youth clinic. Here. Free training, mentoring, school supply drive. Kids who need somewhere to put the anger before it turns into something worse."
The bag swung between us.
"You want to coach children?"
"I want to keep a few from becoming me."
That silenced me.
He met my eyes then, without swagger. "Make it about control. Discipline. Family. You and me in the same room without trying to kill each other. Press eats that up."
I hated that he was right. I hated more that the idea had teeth.
"A charity stunt won't erase what happened."
"It shouldn't." Jax's voice stayed level. "But maybe you stop giving them the fight they expect."
I looked at the empty ring, then imagined Ava watching from the ropes. Riley beside her. A room full of kids learning strength didn't have to mean damage.
"When?" I asked.
Jax exhaled slowly. "You tell me."
The first tent collapsed before anyone understood the storm had shifted.
One second, the beachfront wedding looked like a glossy magazine spread. White linen. Glass lanterns. Pale orchids wired into an arch facing the ocean.
The next, a gust tore through the setup hard enough to rip two centerpieces off the tables.
"Everybody inside!" Riley shouted.
Rain came sideways, needling my face as I ran toward the ceremony lawn. Guests screamed when one of the support poles buckled. A server dropped a tray of champagne flutes, and the crash disappeared beneath thunder.
Riley was already in the middle of it.
She kicked off her heels, grabbed the sagging tent frame with both hands, and yelled at three staff members to clear the nearest tables.
"Do not touch the electrical cables," she called. "Kill power at the breaker first. Marco, get the guests to the ballroom. Tessa, save the marriage license and anything from the gift table."
The bride stood frozen beneath the covered walkway, mascara running down her cheeks.
"My wedding," she whispered.
Riley reached her in three strides. "Your wedding is still happening. It's just moving."
"The ballroom isn't ready."
"It will be."
Another gust snapped the floral arch in half.
I caught one side before it struck a pair of older guests and shoved it into the wet sand. "Tell me where you need me."
Riley glanced at me, rain streaming from her hair. There was no hesitation in her expression, no softness either. Just calculation.
"Take six people and strip the indoor lounge. Tables against the west wall. We need an aisle through the center and room for 120 chairs."
"You got it."
"Luca."
I turned.
"Don't let anyone tell the bride what we lost. Only tell her what we saved."
I nodded once.
For the next 40 minutes, the resort moved to Riley's voice.