Page 61 of Hunter

“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.

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