KENNEDY
Silverware clanks against plates, and everyone sips at their wine, but the more I watch, the more I notice no one’s really eating anything. They’re just pushing around Nana’s lasagna, chicken parm, garlic bread, and the rest of our usual Sunday supper spread on their plates to make it look like they actually did.
I don’t have to ask why.
The empty chairs where Uncle Stone and Aunt Nora sit might as well be coffins, and the eerie silence when the table is usually filled with so much life and chatter only ratchets up the tension building in the air.
My knee bounces under the table violently, only getting worse the longer this horribly awkward Sunday dinner continues.
Nana clears her throat from the head of the table. “Kennedy, dear, would you like another glass of wine?”
I glance down at my almost-empty glass. “No, I’m all right.”
It’s the first alcohol I’ve had in a week since I didn’t want to mix it with the pain medication, but now that I’ve stopped taking that, the wine I usually enjoy so much somehow doesn’t taste as good as it once did.
But I’m enjoying the lingering pain.
I deserve it.
Given everything, it’s God’s way of ensuring I know what I’ve done and pay for it somehow. The constant ache and sharp stabs when I move my arm keep reminding me of what we could still lose and the very real danger still out there—wrapped up in that handsome, sexy, sly package.
I finger the stem of the glass, spinning it and watching the light from the chandelier over the table trickle through the red liquid and onto the tablecloth.
“Ooh, that’s pretty.” Viviana leans across her plate and points to the crimson shade.
I give her a tight smile, then return to watching it. It’s better than having to look anyone in the eye. Until the red of the wine suddenly morphs into flashes of blood splattered across Stone, Isaac, me, and the sidewalk outside The Grind.
Fuck.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I raise a shaky hand to push the glass away then let it drop into my lap to try to hide the trembling, but the images only grow more vivid against my lids.
My eyes snap open, and Isaac gives me a hard, concerned look from across the table. I can’t believe he even came today, that less than a week after being shot three times, he would leave his place and sit at this table with me, the one who caused the attack in the first place.
I would’ve bowed out if I were him, no matter how pissed Nana might have been. And I would’ve stayed at home tonight myself if I didn’t think Nana would come to get me herself, dragging me out, kicking and screaming to ensure I show up.
Maybe that’s why he did; he’s too afraid to face her and would rather accept the pain it causes him to sit here for several hours, chatting and pretending everything is fine rather than face her wrath.
He presses his hand over where one of his wounds is, and Jack leans over and whispers something to him. His blue eyes flash as he stares at her, and he nods and returns his assessing gaze back to me.
I can’t fucking take this anymore.
Shoving my chair back from the table, I climb to my feet. Everyone looks over at me, surprised, their brows furrowed, utensils raised over their plates or halfway to their mouths—for those of them who actually are eating anything.
Dad reaches out from next to me and squeezes my hand. “Kennedy, are you all right?”
The tears come before my words do. Warm and salty when they hit my lips. “Are you kidding?” It comes out more like a screech. “Are we really all just going to sit here and pretend like Uncle Stone isn’t lying in that hospital right now?”
Anyone who was holding any silverware lets it clatter to their plates. Almost two dozen sets of hard eyes stare back at me as I scan down the table.
From Nana over Gabe and Skye, Atlas and Astrid, to Isaac, Jack, Viviana and Coen, Storm and Landon, Allie, then back up my side to Angelina and Jude, over Saint and Caroline, Pope and Bishop, Byron and Luca, Mom and Dad.
And finally, to our visitor, Jack’s dad, Cutter, who refused to accept a seat but stands against the wall, aviator sunglasses covering his eyes, only half concealing the scars on his face, arms crossed over his chest.
“Are we really not going to talk about this?” I tug my hand from Dad’s grip. “I know you’re all pissed at me.”
Though no one has said the words, the tension since they came and rescued me has been so thick that it’s been hard to wade through it. “I know you all blame me, and I’m sorry. I thought maybe getting involved with Cass would give me a way to find out who was behind Falco, who was controlling everything, who might have set the fire. But instead, all I did was distract myself so I couldn’t see the real danger—”
Dad squeezes my forearm. “Honey, is that really what you think? That we all blame you?”
I jerk out of his hold again and stumble back from the table slightly. “Of course, I do. How could I not? It’s my fault.”
Luca pushes back from the table and walks over to me. I try to move away, but he grabs me and pulls me to him, and even at my best, I know better than to fight the man who has probably killed—or at least ordered the killing of—more people than I’ve met in my life.
His warm brown gaze locks with mine, the softness there calming me instantly. “I know how you feel because Byron went through the exact same thing when he and I got together. It might’ve been over thirty years ago, but the pain he felt at thinking he had betrayed all of you was very real.”
Byron comes over and rubs my back. “He’s right. And it took me a long time to understand that while I may have been lying to all of you and trying to hide my relationship with Luca, that if I had just come clean, it might’ve changed things and made them so much easier. We could have had a conversation with him and heard him out so much earlier.”
It’s impossible not to see the parallel they’re trying to make, but it isn’t true here.
Not at all.
I shake my head. “There isn’t anything to hear Cass out on. He’s said his piece, and it was all bullshit. Every. Single. Word.”
Byron offers me a kind smile. “Where we are right now has nothing to do with you and Cass. What happened would’ve happened whether you were with him or not.”
I release a sob, the tension finally snapping. “That’s not true.”
Luca tilts my chin up and forces me to look at him. “Do you really believe he’s behind the shooting? In your heart? Do you, carina?”
I stare into his dark eyes. The man who once controlled one of the most dangerous and violent crime organizations in the country but who has been nothing but kind and gentle and giving to all of us since I was born.
The same way that Cass was with me when we were alone…
The same way he always was with Charlotte…
Finally, I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t want to. He says he’s not. He swears it. But he also swore he would never hurt me…”
Luca brushes some of my hair back behind my ear. “I know he hurt you, carina, but do you think he’s the one who ordered the attack on you, Isaac, and Stone?”
I sniffle and shake my head.
“Neither do I.” Cutter’s interjection makes everyone freeze, and all heads turn toward him.
The silent, stoic man has mostly stayed out of the conversation tonight, instead watching and listening, keeping his eagle-eyed gaze on his daughter and granddaughter, the entire reason he came down here.
Luca releases me and turns to him. “Do you know something we don’t?”
Cutter sighs and rubs at his jaw. With his eyes covered, it’s so hard to read the man, but something tells me even if he took them off, it would be difficult.
His focus darts over to Gabe, then to Savage, and back to Luca. “You know I’ve had my friend, Preacher, digging since the shooting, searching for anything that might suggest there was another player involved. And after what we learned the other day from Kennedy”—he looks to me—“I had him dig into both Cass and the supposed Damon.”
Angie looks at Allie. “I just can’t believe Damon would be involved. He’s so nice. He came to the café every morning for months and was always so friendly.”
Cutter nods slowly. “Likely scoping out the place and planning.”
Angie shivers, and Jude pulls her against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“You think this man was involved?” Gabe’s voice carries across the table, hard and full of the hatred he feels toward whoever was behind the shooting. “This Damon character?”
Cutter shrugs. “I think it’s suspicious as fuck that this guy shows up a few months before the fire at the café, inserts himself into Angie and Allie’s life by going there daily, and then once it burns to the fucking ground and you’re ready to reopen and do the groundbreaking on the hotel, he all of a sudden partners with Falco. It sounds to me like someone with a vendetta.”
Luca nods, his hands fisting at his sides. “Or something completely made up by Cass to cover his own ass after what he did. He would’ve seen Damon outside The Grind when he went there and when he was down the street at Falco’s Daily Grounds. He could have picked anyone to point the finger at to take the heat off himself. We don’t have any confirmation that their partnership is even real.”
Cutter finally pushes off the wall, stalking around the table to rest his hands on the back of Jack’s chair. “And I would agree with you that’s possible. Except Preacher’s the best hacker in the world, and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased. And right now, he can’t find anything on this guy or his company. Cass set up Falco Enterprises so that he would never be discovered, and that’s exactly what this Damon guy has done as well with the company listed on his contract with Falco. There are only so many people in this world who have those kinds of connections, who go to those lengths to conceal their identities. My guess is Cass used some of his father’s old ones to do it for Falco.”
Luca nods. “His father was my father’s right hand. There are a lot of people who would do a lot of things for Matteo’s son.”
A shudder rolls through me, just like it always does when I think about who Cass really is and what he was doing since that first minute he approached me at the masquerade. He was being his father’s son—finishing the job Matteo started so many years ago.
“We’re going to keep looking for this Damon guy, trying to figure out what his angle is, but until then”—Cutter scans the room—“everyone needs to lay low. No one ever goes anywhere alone. Everyone is always carrying a weapon, especially the women. We cancel all public appearances—”
“No.” I push past Luca and Byron toward Cutter, apparently not valuing my life at all by approaching the volatile man. “We’re still doing the groundbreaking.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’ll be too exposed. It’s literally a goddamn open lot. Anyone in the crowd could have a weapon, or a sniper could shoot from any window or roof. He could take all of you out before we would ever have the chance to get you out of harm’s way.”
“Not if we’re prepared for it. Not if we buy every goddamn building around the hotel site and ensure that we control the security of it.”
Cutter’s lips twitch slightly into something almost resembling a smile. “A good sniper can hit you from a lot farther away than you think, sweetheart.”
Gabe snorts.
I glance at the former Ranger sniper who saved Mom from Matteo all those years ago. “What’s your distance record?”
He leans back in his chair, casting a quick glance around the table at everyone. “You don’t want to know. It would scare you.”
Skye smacks him in the chest. “Will you shut up? She just got shot.”
And that would be the perfect reason to do what I want, what Cutter wants, to go home and hide away from everyone and the world. It’s what I want to do more than anything.
But we can’t.
I can’t.
Staring down Jack’s father, I try my best not to look like the pathetic, broken woman I’ve become. “The last thing we should do right now is back down. We need to prove that we’re not afraid, that nothing is going to stop us. We need to fucking crush Falco and Cassius Whitaker, and if Damon is involved, then him, too. We use the groundbreaking to draw him out, and then, we crush them both.”
* * *
CASS
The sun drops low on the horizon, and darkness creeps over the city, bringing a shiver down my spine. New Orleans can be as deadly as it is beautiful, and tonight, that truth somehow feels more real.
Probably because of where I’m heading and why.
After landing at the airport and getting Charlotte home with Abby, the last thing I want to do is come to the office and meet with Damon. Not after already spending the entire weekend lost in thought about what happened with Kennedy and the fact that my business partner could be the one responsible.
The only saving grace was that I somehow managed to keep Charlotte oblivious to the drama and how much of a clusterfuck my life has become. Even the update from my new “friend” in the permitting office yesterday couldn’t lift my spirits because things are coming to a head, and I can’t see a way out.
Especially not when the paths forward are so shaded by lies and deception.
With Marcel’s contacts going over our photos of Damon and sending them through facial rec to try to get him identified, all we can do is wait, but in the meantime, I have to play nice and do anything else I can to attempt to force him to show his hand.
Which means meeting with him tonight despite the horrible dread settling over me. I park my car outside my office and pull out my phone to dial Marcel.
He answers on the first ring. “Yep.”
“I’m going into the meeting now. I’ll leave the phone on and mute you, and I’ll do my best to get it somewhere that will allow you to create a good recording. Maybe he’ll say something that will give us a lead on who he is, and you can help me listen back to it and find it.”
“Got it.”
I slide my phone into my suit coat pocket, climb from the car, and make my way inside my building as a dark SUV pulls up in front and parks next to me.
Damon steps out, looking casual in dark linen pants and a button-down shirt. He spreads his hands wide as I hold open the door for him. “Mr. Whitaker, so nice of you to find the time to meet with me.”
I force a tight smile at him and usher him into my office as two of his goons take up residence just inside the door by the waiting area.
Interesting.
They’ve never joined him for meetings before, instead waiting in the car while he did his business with me. If they had, I would have had Marcel photograph them to see if he could locate info on Damon through his men.
I close my office door and take off my suit coat, hanging it immediately next to the chair Damon takes a seat in. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to meet with you before I left town.”
Damon gives me an incredulous look. “Must have been pretty important?”
He leaves it as an open-ended question more than a statement, and I’m not about to fill him in on it. His earlier comments from Friday suggested he was watching me, which means he likely knows far more than he lets on.
As the silence lingers between us, he grins. “So, the update I’ve been expecting? It’s been three days, so I assume a lot has happened in your absence.”
I lower myself into my chair, ignoring his jab. “Things are moving along even while I’ve been out of town. The new contact who can help us with permitting and inspections is completely on board. He’ll do what he can within the confines of his job and without raising suspicion, the same way my previous source did, and he was already starting on it today. It’s really all we can ask for at this point.”
He raises a brow at me. “It’s all we can ask for? With the amount of money I’m giving Falco Enterprises, I would think we could have this hotel up tomorrow.”
I flash him a grin. “That would be nice. But we also can’t draw attention to what anyone’s doing for us, or we’ll lose them.”
He nods and spreads his hands. “Duly noted, and I agree. If this is somebody who can be a long-term asset, we don’t want to burn them early.”
Don’t want to burn them early.
Which suggests he does want to burn them…eventually.
When their usefulness is gone, he will make sure they are, too.
Likely permanently.
Damon doesn’t strike me as the type to leave loose ends or anything that might be tied to him. He’s too careful. He’s gone through far too much not to cover his tracks.
I lean back in my chair and watch the man, trying to get a better read on him. The idea that he might be behind the fire at the Daily Grind and the shooting hovers in the back of my head, mingling with the other possibilities.
Maybe the fire was just an accident.
Maybe the two events really were unrelated, and the shooting was someone after Roselli, not the Hawkes, making Kennedy, Isaac, and Stone mere bystanders to the violence.
I’d love to believe that was true, that the man I’ve tied myself to isn’t responsible for hurting Kennedy, but his mysterious nature and the lengths he’s gone to in order to protect his identity make that highly unlikely.
He’s hiding something.
Something that will affect me and the future of Falco Enterprises.
Damon finally cracks a cold smile. “You left town so quickly…are we going to discuss what happened with Kennedy?”
Shit.
I knew it was coming. There was no way he was going to let me go without explaining what happened on my front lawn the other day.
They always say the best lie has a kernel of the truth. It’s always worked for me when representing Falco’s interests—thinking of Falco as its own entity allows me to try to remain detached. It keeps me from letting my personal feelings—like those for the feisty blond Hawke—from interfering with what is best for the company.
And the company is Charlotte’s future.
The only thing that matters.
“Ms. Hawke and I had a mutually beneficial sexual relationship. It ended. That’s all there is to it.”
Damon smirks. “Is it? You were consorting with the enemy.”
“I was using her to get information on our competition. I never said the Hawkes were an enemy, and I’m surprised you would describe them as such. It’s a strong word.”
He sits up slightly. “Anyone who gets in my way is an enemy in my eyes, Cass. And I am wildly curious as to what information you were able to get out of her that’s beneficial to us?”
Here we go.
I steeple my hands in front of my mouth, assessing him while he waits eagerly for me to reveal something I don’t have. “Before we discuss the Hawkes’ plans, I have a few questions for you.”
He chuckles. “Do you, now?”
“I do.” I lower my hands to the armrests. “Falco has gone into business with you because they think that your influx of cash will be beneficial to them. But I have my reservations, especially with your unwillingness to provide any sort of personal information about yourself or why you care what happens to the Hawkes. It makes your motives questionable.”
Damon shifts, keeping his gaze locked on me. “I hope you haven’t developed a soft spot for them. What would your father think?”
I stiffen in my chair. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, giving me a sinister grin. “Now, now, Mr. Whitaker, or should I call you Mr. Cortesi?”
Fucking hell.
He knows.
How the FUCK does he know?
Every conversation I’ve ever had with Damon races through my head, seen in the new context of the man knowing my lineage, and it’s abundantly clear that he’s had that little tidbit of information the whole time.
Damon raises a brow, his lips twisting into a knowing smile. “You think I didn’t know precisely who you were before I walked in this door the first time? You think I didn’t know that you’re the one behind Falco Enterprises, that you simply pretend to be their lawyer when you are really the entire company? You think I didn’t know why you’ve been targeting the Hawkes?”
How the hell does he know all of this?
He smirks. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering how I know. Well, let me tell you, Counselor”—he shifts back casually in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee—“you did a very good job of hiding things. But I have a lot more power than you do. I have friends in much higher places.” He sweeps out his hands. “The Hawkes may have a lot of power in New Orleans. They may have important people in their pockets. They may think they’re the ones in control here. But the world is a lot bigger than this one city, and I have friends who are far more powerful than one family on the Gulf Coast. People who can tell me that Cassius Whitaker is Matteo Cortesi’s son and that he has a daughter named Charlotte who goes to New Orleans Day School and will turn five next month.”
It’s as close to an actual threat against me as he’s ever made, and my throat goes dry at the mention of Charlotte.
I tighten my grip on the armrests, shifting forward slightly so I’ll be ready for my next move if need be. “Who the hell are you?”
“I told you.” Another grin. “My name is Damon.”
My fingers inch forward, toward the center drawer of my desk where I always keep a gun. “That might be the name you use now, but what’s your real one?”
A slow grin curls his lips. “There we are. I haven’t used my birth name in quite some time. Even if I gave it, I doubt it would mean anything to you, but it did to your father and Dom Abello.”
Shit.
It’s just like I thought the first time I met him—he’s connected somehow, somewhere, and he’s been around long enough that he knew the players in town decades ago.
All I ever knew about Dad’s business I learned from Grandmother complaining about him, and then when I was eighteen, the surprise envelope from a lawyer gave me all the information on Dad’s accounts and businesses and told me they were mine.
This man could be any one of dozens of friends—or enemies—he and Dom made over the years, and I might be able to help Marcel’s contacts narrow down their search if I can get him to let anything important slip.
“I detected a hint of an accent in your voice.” I raise a brow at him. “Italian?”
He grins again. “And here I thought I’d done such a good job of losing it over the years. It makes it easier to blend in.”
My hand stills next to the drawer pull. I could take out the gun and point it at him, but he isn’t likely to respond to that type of threat. It’s better to be direct and show him I won’t back down. “I don’t like playing these games, Damon. I think it’s time we lay all our cards on the table, like you suggested. Tell me who you are and what your end game is with the Hawkes. Tell me what all of this is about. I’m now tied to you in business, but I don’t like people spying on me…or surprises.”
Like falling for Kennedy Hawke.
That woman has complicated my life more than I ever knew possible. She’s torn through my resolve, twisted my plans, and made me rethink everything.
All of that in only a few weeks.
“I don’t like surprises, either, Cass, yet my life has been full of them. Some that have left irreparable scars, and others that have brought me tremendous wealth—that I’ve now shared with you.” His eyes go almost black. “Did I misplace that trust, Cassius? You hid your relationship with Kennedy Hawke from me when I thought you wanted the Hawkes gone as much as I do.”
Gone.
“Is that your goal? To kill off all the Hawkes?”
He issues a low, deep, sinister chuckle. “What joy would that bring? Far too easy and far too quick. I have a much longer game and one that’s much, much more fun.”