Page 46 of Cruel Existence

I was always careful with it, but I could never bring myself to use my parents’ wedding gift. It sat on the edge of the table. I noticed my father wore his readers. Glasses that he reserved for fine print and intense reading.

He looked over the frames. “All right. What do you have for me?”

“I didn’t have much time to go into all the details in the reports, but I think I have a few things to share with you.”

“I’m interested to hear what those things are. Specifics, Amara. I want to hear your specific thoughts.”

“Right.” I cleared my throat.

“Start with shipping,” he directed. “You did read that report first, didn’t you?”

One of the sheets of paper fluttered to the floor. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry.” I heard him exhale while I crawled under the table, collected my notes, and pushed back into my seat.

“Are you prepared or not?”

“I am.” I flattened out the sheet. My notes seemed frivolous now that I was about to read them to my father. “Okay, shipping.” It sounded as if I was about to perform a book report in front of the class. Something I barely remembered, but the feeling was familiar. There was a knot in my stomach and the inescapable pressure to perform perfectly. On command.

My father’s attention was sharp and focused. The words I chose mattered. Each one represented my analysis of the last quarter’s shipping efforts since he had redistributed half the company to New Orleans. It was going to take another year to make the full shift, but that was part of my recommendation for the fourth quarter.

“I think it would be a good idea to keep a quarter of the shipping in the northeast. I know you intended to be a hundred percent invested here, but I think the last quarter shows that the northeast is still strong, and you can keep diversifying. It’s safer and the profits are too dependable to shut that down and move it. Let Uncle Gio carry that burden.”

He folded his hands together in his lap. “What about the hotels? The boutique one. Vieux Carre. I’m sure you know by now the Novikovs don’t want me to buy it. They don’t thinkI’ve paid my dues here. But it’s valuable and they want it for a reason.”

I knew more about the boutique hotel now than I had when Luka first mentioned it.

“Papa, I think you should go for it.” I smiled. “That hotel will symbolize your position in this city. You can’t let the Novikovs push you aside because you’re new blood. There’s nothing wrong with new blood. I think New Orleans could use a little bit of it.”

My reasons may have been personal for targeting the only thing I knew Luka cared about, but I had made a strong business case for the Amato family. My father agreed.

His eyes widened. “Those are my thoughts exactly, but I was wondering what you would say.” He grinned.

It wasn’t often I witnessed my father look genuinely happy. I saw his fingertips twitch as if he was considering reaching out to pat me in some way. Congratulate me for arriving at the conclusion he saw from the beginning. However, he didn’t know I was capable of sharing his business strategies.

Neither did I.

Twenty

LUKA

Isurveyed the room. It was the usual collection of investors, along with a few new faces. The bank opened a second room to allow space for everyone to gather around two sets of oblong tables. I knew it would be crowded. I knew the auction would attract a high level of clients. But I also knew I had spent the last few weeks making sure the word was out that the Novikov organization was going to be the owner of the Vieux Carre. There shouldn’t be any threats of real competition. This show of force was for the bank clients who didn’t realize who they were up against. The bank expected us. I assumed we would be out of here in thirty minutes.

Then she walked in.

I spotted Ciro first. He was easily a head taller than everyone else. He cleared the area before Amara walked in with a man who I presumed was her father’s attorney. I wondered if thesecond bodyguard would be in tow. The one with the jagged scar across his nose. My uncle’s killer.

What was she doing here? I had made it clear Lorenzo didn’t have a chance in hell of getting this hotel. He sent her? What kind of plan was this?

The powder blue dress made Amara look innocent. Almost angelic. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun. Her lips and cheeks were a light pink. Fuck. She looked beautiful. I knew she saw me sitting at the end of the table, but our eyes never made contact. Could I blame her?

I had tossed her out of my apartment after bringing her to the pinnacle of vulnerability. After promising her she was mine. I gave her utter protection. A vow. Then I broke it. I saw the shattering effect in her eyes. I wasn’t proud of what I did, but it had to be done. For her sake. To keep her alive. It had tortured me every night since. She was the last thing I thought of when I fought sleep. The first thing I thought about in the morning, but fuck me, I didn’t expect to ever see her again.

Lorenzo’s attorney held a seat for her while she positioned herself at the table far from me. I couldn’t see her face from the new angle. Ciro stood outside the room. She wasn’t the only woman present, but there were only a few others. She stood out. She was young. Graceful. Fucking sexy. Every man getting ready for the auction noticed her. It was impossible not to. If it had been possible, I would have shuttled her into the hallway and told her this wasn’t a good idea. She shouldn’t be here. Lorenzo shouldn’t have sent her. It wasn’t safe. None of the men here were safe. My chest hammered with a need to shield her.

I had to pry my eyes away from Amara when the bank’s president stepped up to the podium.

“Good morning.” He didn’t bother to smile. He shuffled a tablet on the podium until the screen behind him was illuminated with the name of the bank and the property number. It was a stark contrast to the brightness of the room when the lights were turned off.

“You are here because of property 6-4-3-2-1-1.”

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