Page 54 of Devious Eyes
Chapter Eighteen
Athief. A goddamn thief.
Of all the women I could have met.
I shake my head again and stare at the roulette wheel, my hand spinning it around for some unknown reason. It’s quiet in here but for a few morning cleaners and staff wandering around. And vast. I’d forgotten that about this place. The peace is settling in some ways, calming after the endless mill of people who circulate normally. Or maybe it’s simply the thought that Gabby is still asleep in the Cane room behind me.
We fucked and talked. And then we ate and fucked again, and again. I snort to myself and spin the wheel again, slightly amused that I’ve fallen in love with a criminal. One thing I said I’d never do.
Seems I’ve failed in that.
I can’t remember the last time I was here when it was empty. We’re old school like that. Doors close at 4 a.m., open again at noon. I don’t know why we’ve kept it that way. We could be making more profit, twenty-four-hour gambling, but we haven’t. Perhaps it’s a nod to old times, my father maybe. Who knows?
A thief.
My fingers tap the wheel and I pull in some smoke, unsure how I feel about the word, or her association with it. I might be in love with her, but after all the work we’ve put in to legitimise, after all the arguments and decisions we’ve made to pull Cane far away from that life, and after the fucking freefall that has been Quinn for the last year—with me trying to stabilise him somehow—having her lifestyle anywhere near us is a catastrophe waiting to happen.
And I hate the thought anyway—hate the thought of not being able to protect her. Hate the thought of not being able to trust her. A high-end thief is nothing but a liar. Conniving. Cunning. Ruthless. Just as we have been all these years. I could even consider myself one if I gave enough energy to discussing it with myself. That’s what this accountant has been doing all these years: moving money—stolen money—and then cleaning it up. Laundering it. It’s not that I couldn’t be a thief if I decided to be. Hell, Quinn would be all over that shit, and infiltrating everyone else’s accounts is easy enough when I’m bored, or when we need info, but these damn morals of mine stop me going too far. Always have. Thank fuck he doesn’t know what I could do should I choose to.
Still, I don’t go hunting the world for million-dollar diamonds.
Andreas Alves. That’s what she said her brother was called. What he has to do with Marco I don’t know. I’ve certainly never heard of him nor had any dealings. Maybe Quinn will, though. He runs that side of the deals, not me.
“Mr Cane, Sir?”
I look up from my musings to find one of the floor managers staring, as if he’s waiting for an answer from me.
“What?”
“I asked about the Cane room, Sir? We need it cleared for the party coming in and it’s nearly ten thirty.” I frown and look back at the corridor, not wanting to wake her. “I wouldn’t ask but it’s Mr Cane’sspecialguests, Sir.” I roll my eyes at that, knowing exactly who he means. Sheik Danali. Once a year, royalty deigns to grace us with their presence. It’s their Christmas trip to America apparently, and if he didn’t spend as much money as he does I’d probably tell this guy to move him to another room. But he does.
And money is money.
“I’ll go wake her. Give me thirty minutes.”
He nods and walks away, leaving me musing the time of year. When did it get to Christmas? Memories come from my childhood at the thought: the three of us around the tree, mother and father laughing in the corner as if we were some perfect family unit. Maybe us three kids were in some ways—brothers together. But then we didn’t know what was coming for us back then, did we? Josh certainly didn’t.
Jesus. I have got to let this shit go. She’s marrying my brother.
More fool her.
My fingers rub my forehead as I stand and look around the space, wondering what to do with Gabby. Up, dressed and gone is what I should do. It couldn’t be further from what my heart wants, but this isn’t simple. Nothing about us, or her, is going to be simple.
I eventually wander the carpets back to the room, long pulls of smoke trying to clarify what I’m about to say. Stay, leave? This is over before it’s begun? It was nice knowing you, but this isn’t going to work? Jesus. Why a thief? Why did she have to be a criminal, and certainly one who has something to do with Marco? I should have known something wasn’t right. Hell, I did know something wasn’t right. The money she spent in Bora. The phone calls. The way she clammed up when I asked anything. And now what? Let something go that I’ve longed for my whole damn life? Fucking dreams.
I push the door open and I find her still passed out under the sheets, cocooned in them. I frown and walk over to her, transfixed by her peaceful form. She’s pulled the covers tight around her, creating a shell, an attempt at protection probably. It makes me wonder what it’s been like for her all these years. One thing Cane does have is a base to feel safe in, a heart if I can call it that. But Gabby’s had none of that. Whether that’s been by choice or need I’m not sure, but she sure as hell hasn’t had a family to fall back on by the sounds of it. The thought has me sitting down next to her, my fingers running through her hair to tip it off her face, so I can stare at her and think.
Think.
That’s all I damn well do, isn’t it? Think. Process. Run the odds.
She stirs under my hands, a smile forming as her legs stretch out from their tucked-up position.
“Good morning,” she says. I smile at the sound of her voice, and then sigh a breath as I keep gazing at her.
“You need to get up.”
She pouts, eyes still closed, and pushes her arms up to the headboard, exposing everything I want to see. “And preferably without showing me anymore of yourself.”
