He looks at the photo. A real smile spreads across his face.
“I’ve always wanted to be on this side of the camera. I don’t want people knowing me by name on the street. I don’t want to work every hour under the sun, two minutes from a heart attack at any given moment.” I set the phone down. “I want peace. I want to be free.” I hiccup on the last word. And it’s like a weight lifts off my chest as I say it, something physical, something that’s been sitting on my ribs for years, finally cracking loose and floating away.
He leans across the table and rests his hand over mine. His thumb traces a slow circle on my knuckle. “Whatever version of Lola you wanna be, I’ll always want her. You hear me, firefly?”
I nod. Lost for words. Because he means it. I can see it in his eyes. “Ask me another question,” I say quietly.
“How many boyfriends you had?”
I bite my lip. “Out of choice or pretend boyfriends for my parents’ business deals? Or are we talking men I’ve slept with?”
He runs a hand over his stubble. “I don’t wanna know your past fucks. Because next I’ll be asking for a list of names and I’ll be killing them off one by one.” He doesn’t even lower his tone.
“You wouldn’t,” I giggle.
He doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I would, Lola.”
I believe him.
“Now. Real boyfriends.”
“One.” I pause. Letting it hang. “And I’m staring right at him.”
He sucks in a breath. His thumb stills on my hand. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he tells me, and the roughness in his voice tells me it’s the truest thing he’s said all day.
“Your turn,” I tease.
“Shoot.”
“Why did you and Wyatt’s mom break up?”
Part of me is intrigued here, but I also want to learn. More about Hunter, his past. And how he ended up arrested for her murder. Did he love her?
He runs his tongue along his teeth and then looks at the table for a beat. Then back at me. “She liked booze more than her family. And I loved my son and my ranch more than her. It was a toxic mix.” He rolls his jaw. “Then she ran off with the mayor’s son, and the rest is history.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “Ain’t yours to apologize for. But thank you.”
“Wyatt is lucky to have you as a dad. You love that boy.”
He smiles. Big and real and unguarded. “I’d die for that kid.”
I don’t doubt it for a second.
“What is the real reason everyone in this town is so scared of you?”
He laughs and scoots around the booth until he’s beside me, his arm draped over my shoulder, his body warm againstmine. This question is deeper. I’ve seen how the circles work around my father and his business. The men there in suits that clearly have a dangerous edge. I chose to ignore it, but I wasn’t oblivious. It’s the same here, except this time, they’re in cowboy boots and hats and call women ‘darlin’.
“I’m not just a cowboy, Lola. I’m the leader of an organized crime group. I head up the operations here. Each family runs a different state, all under the same empire.”
I try to hide my gasp behind my hands. Turn to face him. “D-do you… kill people?” I blurt out.
“Yes, baby. I’ve killed a lot of people in my time.” He holds my gaze and doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it for me. “I don’t do it unless it’s necessary, and they’re always fuckin’ scumbags. We have rules. Morals, to an extent.”
I nod. My brain is spinning, but my heart is steady. Because the man sitting next to me, the one who makes hot chocolate from scratch and carries me up staircases and gets his son a goat-shaped birthday cake, is the same man who just told me he’s killed people. And somehow, I’m not running. Hunter does not scare me.
“Is there mafia in New York?”