Page 28

Chapter twenty-eight

Hunter's Residence, London

Isabella

The perfume bottle bounces off the oak floor after slipping from Kasia’s fingers. She drops to her knees, hands outstretched, trying to grab the crystal. My Chanel hits the ground one, two, then three times. On each impact I brace a little for its inevitable destruction. It’s the fourth connection that shatters the glass, shards and liquid scattering over the floor.

Kasia reaches for the largest piece, immediately pulling away, a hint of red on the tip of her finger. She holds the cut with her other hand before turning concerned eyes on me.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she begins, and I’m disconcerted by her terrified expression. “It was an accident. I’ll replace it.” Within moments, I am by her side. Kasia has been nothing but a support to me, and I hate to see her so upset over something as trivial as a perfume bottle.

“Here, let me see that.” She unwraps her fingers, exposing a far worse gash than I first thought. I grab a tissue from my dressing table then bind it around her injury. “Don’t worry, accidents happen. You go and sit down. I’ll finish getting ready here.”

I don’t need to suggest she leave twice. She rises, and scampers from my room as if the door is an escape tunnel. All day, she hasn’t been her usual self, withdrawn and distracted, constantly watching her surroundings as if waiting for someone to jump out to scare her. When I asked her what was wrong, she gave me some vague explanation of issues with her family back home. I didn’t pry any further; it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it.

Once on my own, I return to preparing for the night ahead. The last few days, the house has been a hive of activity as Hunter and his team prepare for the New Year’s Eve gala. Tonight will mark a new era and alliance between the Lombardi and Devane Families, but as always with these arrangements, the situation is sensitive, and I can tell from those around me they are nervous.

Hunter has been pulled from meeting to meeting as different men visited the house. Previously, he told me he didn’t encourage friends or associates to visit him here—it was his sanctuary. But now, with security increased and a never-ending stream of men in suits, it’s clear his position on the matter has changed. My husband is on high alert, and he feels safer here in his home.

The red dress Hunter had delivered to my room had been a surprise. Nothing like I would normally wear, it fits as if it was made for me. I stand in front of the mirror in only my underwear and heels as I step into the gown. Gently, I pull it up my body, the satin gliding over my skin. The straps sit wide on my shoulders, and the deep V-shaped neckline plunges at an angle over my breasts.

Earlier, I had pinned my dark hair high and taken hours doing my make-up to ensure I achieved the look I wanted to. As a young woman, my mother always told me you only accentuate eyes or lips, never both. Tonight, I went with lipstick to match my dress, there is no mistaking which of my assets I’ve chosen to highlight.

With a little difficulty, I reach around the back and tug the short zipper upward. The quality of the garment not to be missed, the metal slides easily, nipping the material in around my waist. When I step back and take stock of the full length of me in the mirror, I am pleasantly surprised with the results.

Tilly had shown me her stunning silver number she intends to wear tonight. With her blonde curls, long legs, and youthful complexion, she will be nothing short of stunning. I won’t lie that she made me nervous. The idea of walking beside her in front of the high society of London twisted my stomach into knots.

Even though tonight it’s about Tilly’s marriage to Domenico Lombardi, it marks Hunter and me officially stepping out into the London society. I’ve lived long enough to know that our reunion will have created gossip. Plenty of socialites and politicians will want to see for themselves that Hunter Devane has settled down with his wife. There will be debates and opinions aplenty, and my curves don’t tick the boxes of the normal models who grace the arms of London’s businessmen, the women Hunter was rumored to bed.

Tonight’s ball is our declaration to the world that we are together. And in a way, it is also a statement to myself.

***

Hunter

Clarion House, London

As I sit in the rear of the limo with Isabella on one side and Tilly on the other, my mind races over the preparations made for this evening. Damon assures me that all the measures we discussed are in place. Our own security system and extra men on the ground are a few of the ways I’m protecting both our family and our guests.

The New Year’s Eve traffic in London is chaotic as always. At seven in the evening, darkness has already fallen over the city, the bright lights of the vehicles and buildings a stark contrast to the black. Partygoers strut along the pavement, dressed in various states of glam, most donning sequins and sparkle of some kind. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we arrive at Clarion House.

The dark gates are thrown open, multiple security staff flanking each side complete with black suits, concealed guns, and earpieces. Guests have already started to arrive with cars queued nose to tail down the driveway. As a vehicle reaches the front of the line, it pulls forward to the steps and a doorman opens the rear doors to allow the passengers to exit.

Isabella shuffles in her seat, uneasy, the closer we get to the entrance. I wrap my fingers around hers in support, hoping to instill a little confidence. Though she dances on camera, it is done from behind a mask, and I know her dislike of public situations is the same as it was twenty years ago. Tilly, on the other hand, is more than comfortable in the limelight, normally using public family moments to cause upset of some kind. She has sat silently while staring out of the window with a look of complete disinterest throughout the ride.

Eventually, our car is at the front of the queue. The driver stops and the door to Isabella’s right opens. Damon reaches in offering his hand to support her stepping out, and I follow. Photographers and journalists swarm around the entrance held back by our men. Cameras point in every direction. Damon nods, a quiet gesture that all is well, and I relax a little knowing there is no obvious threat.

I slip Isabella’s arm through mine as Tilly arrives on my opposite side. It strikes me as curious that she hasn’t taken off and strode straight up the stairs toward the Grand Ballroom. I would have thought she would love the attention the cameras offer. However, without a word, she stays by my side, keeping in rhythm with Isabella and myself as we make our way up the red carpet and inside.

Clarion House is modern in comparison to some of the more traditional London Hotels. Five-star, it drips in opulence and glamor. The entrance hall is vast and currently being used for a drink reception. People nod, acknowledging my existence with each step. Isabella clings to my arm, unsettled with the sheer volume of eyes upon us. I place my fingers over hers in reassurance.

A tray of champagne floats past as I spot my friends standing in a small circle near a grand fireplace, the flames licking the chimney. Tilly’s hand darts out, plucking a glass from the passing waiter. I reach for one, offering it to Isabella, then collect one for myself.

The two women act in complete contrast. My niece lifts the crystal to her lips and drinks deep, emptying the glass in a few mouthfuls. I scowl at her, but she grins back, enjoying my lack of pleasure. Since her arrival at my home a few days ago, she’s barely done more than grunt after our original conversation. However, with Isabella, her lips have been loose, and she’s made her unhappiness at being betrothed to Lombardi clear. My wife has been more than happy to pass the message onto me for her.

I’ve listened to everything Bella has had to say, and I won’t lie that her point of view has made me uncomfortable. Her demand that I reflect on how what I am forcing Tilly to do is no different from our own arranged marriage, and how I need to be able to live with myself knowing that I have made this happen are disconcerting. She’s been direct and honest in her assessment without being demeaning, and that makes her argument all the more compelling.

Isabella clutches her own champagne, continually lifting, sipping, then lowering it again. I gesture in the direction of Harrison and the Chase brothers, and the three of us make our way toward them.

“Good evening,” Harrison says, greeting Isabella like a long-lost friend. He pulls her into an embrace, kissing her cheek warmly. “You look radiant tonight.” Her cheeks pink immediately at his compliment, and my wife’s embarrassment makes me smile.

He’s right, she looks incredible dressed head to toe in red. When she appeared from her room ready to leave, the breath had disappeared from my body. I didn’t know whether to throw myself at her feet in thanks for her being here or fuck any plans we had and take her back to bed. Both outcomes felt as if they could be appropriate.

I become aware of a conversation on my other side. Russell and Connor are introducing themselves to Tilly. The brothers, as smooth as ever, are bantering between them as she watches them curiously. None of my friend’s partners are here; with the ongoing threats, they preferred they stayed home safe in the sky-high towers. If I had had the option for Bella to stay home, I would probably have done the same.

Tilly grabs another glass of fizz, and I reach to squeeze her elbow. She shoots me a dirty look, so I narrow my eyes in warning.

“Don’t embarrass me or yourself tonight,” I warn. She takes a long drink then flicks a lock of blonde hair off her shoulder. “I mean it.”

“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.