Page 160 of High Roller

It’s Hunter Novak.

I straighten in my chair. Matteo or Owen are his usual calls when he needs to talk to us—not me.

“Mr. Novak,” I say. “How is your wife? Owen says she’s still in surgery.”

His voice is flat. Controlled. Dangerous in its restraint.

“I can’t leave her,” he says. “I haven’t stepped more than ten feet away from the OR since we got here. My staff doesn’t quite know what to do with me.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. Did you need something, Mr. Novak?”

“I do. Mr. Serrano. I need you to understand something.”

His voice is calm. Too calm.

“You brought this to my door. You didn’t pull the trigger, but it’s your personal war with Phineas Draven that landed her on that operating table. It’s your fucking vendetta and rash decision to kidnap his wife that has doctors telling me she may never walk again. The surgery? It’s to remove a bullet near her spine. There are arteries, nerves, all kinds of delicate things in the way. She could die on the table, or she could live out her days in a wheelchair if they move a scalpel a millimeter in the wrong direction.”

I say nothing. I let him unload. Because if the bullet had hit Lili today, if she were the one in that OR, I wouldn’t be speaking either.

“So hear me now,” he says. “I’ve had a good relationship with the four of you. I’ve looked the other way when I probably should’ve looked closer. I’ve helped and protected where I could. But now? My wife might die. And if she does…”

His voice lowers. Colder. Final.

“There’s nowhere on earth you’ll be safe. I will dismantle everything you’ve built and put you in the ground beside Draven.”

My throat tightens, and my fingers flex around the phone. It’s rare I let someone get away with threatening me or mine like this.

“But,” he continues, “if she lives, I’ll give you a chance. One chance to make this right. You have seven days from this moment to bury Phineas Draven. Prison. Body bag. I don’t care. Just get him out of our lives. If he’s still walking free a week from now? I’m coming for him. And I’m coming for you.”

He pauses.

“And if you think I won’t take down your friends too? Think again. Matteo, Luke, Owen. Every last one of you. You started this. Clean it up.”

Another beat.

“And Victor? You better pray that fucking the wife of your enemy was worth it. Because as far as I’m concerned, she’s still married to Draven. And if my Trinity dies? I’ll bury her right between you and Draven. Grace is innocent in all of this, but I will leave her to mourn you both.”

He hangs up.

The silence that follows is louder than the call itself.

I slide the phone into my pocket slowly. Deliberately. My pulse thuds in my ears, but I’m steady.

Down the hall, the two women I love are sleeping like they’re safe.

But Lili’s not. I kidnapped her. I fell in love with her. And now her life is at risk again.

I rub a hand over my face, scratch my jaw. The beard burns my palm—too long, too rough. I haven’t shaved in days. Maybe I haven’t even looked at myself.

One week. That’s all the time I have.

One week to end Phineas Draven. To tie off this bloody, tangled mess or lose everything I care about. My friends. My club. My girls.

Grace will cry when she finds out. Lili will blame herself.

And me? I don’t get to fall apart. Not yet.

I rise slowly and cross to the window to look out over the desert skyline as I consider my next move. The scotch still waits on the desk behind me.

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