Page 54 of Rebel Hawke

Fuck.

I drop the fork and swallow the bite in my mouth. “No. God, no. Of course not. I’m just…” Squeezing my eyes closed, I take a breath, trying to get a grip on the million thoughts spinning around my head. “I don’t understand what happened yesterday with that man, Damon. What led to all”—I wave a hand—“well, you know.”

If I go into any detail about what we did last night—and this morning—it will undoubtedly end with me bent over this kitchen counter. Again.

Atlas’ hand tightens around the mug handle, and he shoves it under his coffee machine and hits the start button a little too aggressively before he rotates back toward me.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest, making his pec muscles and biceps bulge even more under the ink, and the bright-red scar on his shoulder flex. Those goddamn sweatpants cling to his hips, drawn low, his Adonisbelt and six-pack on display, and his cock pressing against the soft fabric even though he isn’t hard at the moment.

And I do mean at the moment because last night I discovered that it doesn’t take long to get him there.

“My eyes are up here.”

I snap up my head to meet his gaze.

A lazy, lust-filled grin spreads across his lips. “Now, do you want me to tell you about Damon, or do you have something else in mind?”

He waggles his eyebrows.

I laugh as I grab my fork and stab into my eggs. “Tell me about Damon before you get any other ideas.”

Ones I would certainly be on board with.

Atlas releases a heavy sigh and runs his right hand over his hair. “His real name is Damiano Satriano.”

He waits a beat, watching me, like he’s expecting me to react to that information.

I raise a brow. “Okay? Should that ring a bell?”

His lips press together in a firm line, and he shifts his weight, like the topic of conversation is making him uneasy already. “He is the single most dangerous man in New Orleans.”

I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth, a chill sliding over me. “How so?”

He sighs again and stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the river. “You’ve missed a lot since you’ve been gone.”

“Clearly…”

“His family’s from Calabria. He had a younger brother named Leonardo. Leonardo tried to kill the man you know as Damon so he could take over as the head of the family.”

His words process slowly.

“Triedto?”

Atlas bobs his head. “Car bomb that apparently failed, only no one knew that. Leonardo ran the Satriano’s empire over there for decades, believing his brother was dead.” He snags my coffee mug and slides it over the counter to me. “Cream or sugar?”

I shake my head. “No. Black.”

He winks at me again. “Attagirl. I always knew you were tough.”

Wrapping my hands around the mug, I let the scent waft up to me and inhale deeply. “What does any of this have to do with the Hawkes or New Orleans?”

“Isaac’s now fiancée, Jack—Giacomina—showed up with their daughter, on the run from Leonardo.”

“Why was she running from him?”

Atlas hesitates a moment, like he isn’t sure he wants to reveal it. “Because her mom is the head of the Italian mafia in Chicago. Leonardo wanted to marry Jack to force her mother into forging an alliance so he could get a foothold in the United States.”

“Jesus…that’s…a lot.”

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