Page 32 of Forged

Cash nods. “Good. We hold our ground, you track Sera, and together, maybe we can keep Falco from turning Austin into a fucking graveyard.”

“I’ll handle my end.” I check the time on my phone. “Send me the files and I’ll keep you updated on ‌the men.”

With the meeting done, I leave. Pulling out my phone, I type:

Me:

Reinforcements needed. Call a private line. ASAP.

The reply comes quickly.

Enzo:

Happy birthday, Fratello. Fifty men on their way. They’ll report to the Saints. Call tomorrow. Go have fun tonight.

I stare at the message, the corner of my mouth curling despite the weight sitting in my chest.

There’s a war coming. But the only thing I can picture as I slip my phone back into my pocket is a blonde poker shark with dark eyes.

Be in the lobby in ten. — L

The driver pulls upto the Argent a few minutes later. He steps out, opens my door, and then I walk into the lobby. And everything else evaporates.

She’s sitting in the lobby, in a curved velvet chair near a column of backlit marble. She’s sitting with her legs crossed, and one heel dangles lazily from her toes. The red dress hugs her body in all the right places. Hair pinned up with a few strands falling loose, just as I requested. And around her throat is the bell pendant. It’s small and gold, resting at the base of her throat like it was always meant to live there.

She looks up and it feels like taking a punch to the ribs. When I picked out the dress, I knew she would look beautiful in it, but my imagination didn’t do it justice. She is unbelievably gorgeous.

She stands slowly, her eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes heat coil under my skin. I stop in front of her, close enough to smell warm skin and her perfume, to see her pupils dilate. Close enough that I can reach up and brush my knuckles under the pendant.

My fingers tap the tiny gold charm.

“Perfect,” I breathe. “You look amazing, Bella. Absolutely breathtaking.”

The words feel foreign in my mouth—too honest, too exposed. Her breath catches softly, as if she wasn’t expecting me to be gentle.

Her hand lifts, brushing my wrist where it rests against her collarbone.

“You’re full of surprises, Lars.”

“You have no idea,” I say.

Her cheeks blush as her lips part. And for a beat, the entire lobby disappears. It’s just her and I sharing this moment.

I straighten, take her hand, and walk her toward the car waiting outside. The driver pulls the door open. She slides in first, her dress whispering against the seat, and I follow, our thighs brushing in a way that throws even more heat on everything simmering between us.

The car door closes, sealing us in the dim hush of leather and tinted glass. She leans in, shoulder against mine, her perfume curling into my lungs.

“So,” she says, eyes bright with mischief, “where exactly are you taking me?”

I look at her. This woman who bluffed a grown man into surrender. Who carries a gun like other women wear jewelry. The woman who smells like temptation and trouble that I would chase across continents.

“Vegas,” I say.

Her lips part, a slow, wicked smile forming. “Vegas?”

I nod. “We’re wheels up in 30.”

Her breath comes sharp. “Are you always this impulsive?”