Page 65 of Restless Hawke
I take a second to try to regain my composure before advancing farther into the condo until the dim moonlight trailing in from the patio windows offers enough light to see the man sitting in the leather armchair near the fireplace.
He offers me a tight smile.
“Damon”—I incline my head toward him—“to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
He chuckles, low and deep, the sound lacking all humor and full of sinister intent. “Oh, I think you know very well what I’m here to discuss: your debt.”
I force myself to turn my back on the man, even though every instinct in me screams never to do it, but I have to show I’m not afraid of him. Even if my legs are trembling and my hands shaking as I make my way to the bar. “Drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Too bad I can’t slip some cyanide into it.
That would sure solve a lot of problems, even if it created another one by setting his crew on us in retaliation.
I pour myself a bourbon and one for him, then make my way back over and offer it with an extended hand. He looks up at me, leaning back casually in the chair, and I scan the darkness of the room.
No sign of any of his guards.
Even now, with all he has done, he trusts me enough to know that I won’t try anything with him. If I did, I know what his men would do to the rest of the family.
Besides, however he got in here undetected, it would have likely been impossible with those goons who don’t know the meaning of the word discreet.
Satriano motions to the couch facing him. “Take a seat, Coen. Relax.”
I snort as I lower myself into the plush leather.
He kicks one ankle up onto his knee and takes a sip of his drink. “Where do we stand on repayment?”
I take a gulp of mine, keeping my gaze locked on the most dangerous man I’ve ever known. “I should have all of it next weekend.”
His silver brows rise. “That quick?”
I nod.
“And what about theotherrepayment?”
My shoulders tense, and I look down at my glass, swirling my drink, trying to forget how the taste of bourbon in my mouth reminds me of Allegra. “You haven’t given me any indication of what you would like me to do in that regard.”
“No ideas?” He gives me a grin before taking another sip. “And here I thought you were intelligent, Coen.”
I lean back and watch him carefully, trying to assess what it is he wants from me. “There are so many things you could ask for, so many things I can offer. How am I supposed to know which one you want?”
He nods slowly. “I guess that’s fair. And I wouldn’t want there to be any confusion between us.” His foot drops to the floor, and he leans forward slightly. “I’ll make this very clear. I’ve left your family alone, allowed Atlas and Wren to run off to Bali for the last month?—”
I cringe—he knew exactly where they were.
That shouldn’t be a surprise.
“Allowed them to bask on the beach and pretend like everything was fine, but it’s far from it, Coen, not with the amount of money both you and he cost me. I never would have set those odds if you hadn’t confirmed how bad off he was before the fight. I never would have lost that kind of money if it hadn’t been for your bet. Yes, Atlas is ultimately the one who betrayed me by failing to throw the fight, but it also lands squarely on your shoulders.”
I clench my jaw and my hand around the glass.
He doesn’t need to remind me.
I’m acutely aware of where I stand.
“Damon, stop toying with me and just tell me what the fuck it is you want.”
