Page 30 of Restless Hawke

My hand shakes as I fire off a text.

I WILL SEE YOU SOON.

I slip my phone back into my purse before there’s any response because I don’t want to see it right now.

It will only make things worse.

5

COEN

THREE DAYS LATER

Laughter and music fill Hawke’s Daily Grind.

Angelina and Alessandra bustle around, serving coffee and pastries to everyone packed into the space for the reopening. The rest of the Hawkes sit scattered around various tables, playing board games and chatting, voices sometimes getting swallowed by the music coming from the small stage area and the overall vibrancy of the event.

For the first time in alongtime, my heart feels light. Seeing everyone so happy. So laid back. So carefree. It allows me to—at least momentarily—forget all the threats still looming over us.

Those problems will still exist tomorrow, but today is all about celebrating with everyone I love.

Dad stands out in front of the café near the bistro tables, talking with Isaac and Kennedy, who appear to be in some sort of heated discussion about something. Knowing those two, it could beanything. They love any reason to bicker—the CFO and the attorney going head-to-head to see who wins, the litigator or the ball-buster who takes down anyone who gets in the way of Hawke Enterprises faster than Gabe could with his sniper rifle.

Truth be told, Kennedy wins more than Issac, but evenIdon’t have the balls to point that out to him.

A car pulls up to the curb, dragging them away from their conversation.

Shit.

I know the man who gets out—wealldo.

He’s the last person who should be here, and given how angry all three of them look talking to him, they’re telling him as much.

My back snaps straight, my entire body instantly going rigid as I watch it unfold in slow motion. Another car appears on the road. Before I can issue a warning, shots ring out, glass shatters, and blood splatters as they crumple to the sidewalk.

“NOOOOOO!”

I jerk awake in my hotel bed, woken by my own scream that still echoes around the room, off all the highly polished surfaces. Goosebumps cover my skin, slick with sweat. My heart thunders against my ribcage, my lungs seizing, refusing to allow me to draw in air.

“Fuck…”

Gasping, I shift fully upright and lean back against the headboard, needing the solid feel of it behind me to help ground me in thenowas opposed to the past.

I scrub my hands over my face, hoping to wipe away the vestiges of the dream. Even though it comes every night, it still takes me far too long to convince my body and mind that it isn’t real.

At least, notnow.

But itwasreal.

Not that long ago, it was my reality—ourreality.

Satriano was responsible for almost killing Dad and wounding Isaac and Kennedy. He may have claimed Roselli was the target that day, but we all know the truth—it was a “two birds with one stone” scenario that benefited him either way.

My body won’t stop trembling, my hands shaking as I press them to my bare chest, attempting to force my breathing into a more normal pattern.

They’re fine.

Everyone is at home.