Page 135 of Restless Hawke

He always does.

I flip over my cards and watch Alan’s humor fade quickly. His eyes drift across the community cards, then up to meet mine. The flicker of anger is all I need to know to confirm I won.

Alan stands and reaches across the table, extending his hand. “Well played.”

I accept it, and he tightens his grip so much that it hurts.

He leans closer; the only one who might be able to hear us is the dealer. “You better be prepared for what’s coming for you.”

Before I came here, I thought I was. I believed I had mentally prepared myself for the fallout that would come from this choice, but now a vise seems to constrict around my chest, threatening to suffocate me.

What have I done?

Alan releases my hand and slinks off to try to figure out a way to save himself because he’s going to have to face Satriano, too, with the fact that he lost—tome.

I release a shuddered breath and turn away from the table to find Savage approaching. His intense stare reminds me of my promise—to get lost fast once this was done. And there isn’t any time to waste because if I don’t get out of here fast, I won’t stand a chance of getting out of New Orleans safely and hidden somewhere before Satriano tracks me down.

Even if I can get away, it will only be a matter of time before he’s at my doorstep…

I twist back to the table and snag a card, then fumble in my purse until I find a pen, quickly scribbling a message on it.

By the time I’m finished, Savage is waiting, with his brow furrowed as I hand it to him. “Deposit the money wherever you choose. And give this to Coen.”

“Wait, Allegra?—”

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Just like I can’t let the tears pooling in my eyes fall.

Iwon.

I did what I came here to do.

They should be happy tears, but they aren’t. They’re filled with frustration, longing, fear, and so many other emotions that I can’t pinpoint them all.

I move past Savage, ducking out with the flow of the crowd, fleeing to the room while avoiding eye contact with Coen or anyone else.

This time, I won’t make the same mistake.

I won’t linger.

I have to get out of here and out of New Orleans quickly.

It’s my only chance.

If I stop, even for a minute, to try to talk to Coen, to try to convince him that everything he thinks is wrong, I would only be wasting precious time I don’t have.

And it wouldn’t change anything between us.

I practically run down the casino aisles, weaving around people who are stumbling around with Mardi Gras beads and drinks in their hands until I make it to the main entrance, where I had the limo company ensure the driver would be waiting for me—no matter how long it took.

My gaze darts across the street to the second Hawke Hotel tower going up, almost fully completed.

It would have been nice to see it…

But I can never come back here for so many reasons.