Steele Resolve: A Hawke Family Story Read online

  Any excuse to get the fuck out of here. I rush down the back hallway past the girls’ changing room to the tiny employee bathroom at the rear of the club. The door clicks shut behind me, and I lean against it and drop the back of my head to the hard surface.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck have I done?

  I step forward and kick the cabinet under the sink. My foot goes straight through the wood. “Shit.”

  Add this to the list of things I’ve fucked up.

  I yank my foot out, bend down, and examine the damage. I’m going to have to replace this and figure out a way to explain it to the guys. But it’s the least of the things I need to worry about.

  Of all the stupid shit I’ve done in my life, sleeping with Steele…

  Shit.

  Sleeping with Luca has to be the biggest.

  The sworn enemy of the only family I have ever had was in my bed. Was inside me. I let him waltz right into my life and, by association, theirs.

  Jesus, what did I tell him?

  Everything we said to each other that night rushes back in one giant blur. I told him I worked at a strip club. He thought it was funny.

  Did he ask questions about them?

  I rise to my feet and scrub my hands over my face. I can’t remember. The beer and Scotch and lust created a foggy haze over the entire conversation. I had other things on my mind—like getting back to his place.

  He must have asked about them, right?

  The only explanation for any of this was it was a set up from the beginning. He knew exactly who I was when he walked into that bar. He was on a mission to spy on the Hawkes.

  He fucking set me up.

  I should’ve known something was fishy. A guy like that strolling in and being interested in a guy like me. The watch he wore cost more than my car. He was slumming it from the second he stepped foot in The Back Pocket, but I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Dark eyes and the flash of a smile was all it took for me to open myself up to him.

  Am I that fucking desperate for affection that I let the devil himself walk right into my bed?

  Apparently so.

  “How do I tell Savage and Gabe? How the hell do I tell Storm and Landon? Stone, or Nora, or Dani? How do I tell any of them?” My voice echoes around the tiny tiled room. No answers come.

  I crank on the faucet and splash the ice-cold water on my face, letting it run down my neck and the front of my shirt. It doesn’t help. Not one fucking bit.

  My hand shakes as I reach for a paper towel.

  Get your shit together, Byron.

  I can’t go back out there like this. They’ll know something’s up. There are far more important things to worry about than me right now, like the fact that man is upstairs and in Savage’s office right now.

  I just need to keep my cool and keep my shit together for a little while longer. Long enough to figure out how to tell the Hawkes what I’ve done. Long enough to come up with a plan.

  The ride down in the elevator to the main floor of the Hawkeye Club seems far slower than the ride up, but that may just be because I’m anticipating seeing Byron again. I lean back against the wall of the elevator car and watch the numbers drop from two to one. The doors slide open to bumping bass music and a girl wrapped around the pole.

  Her long, pale legs caress the shiny steel, and she swings around it, her red hair streaming out like a halo and brushing along the stage.

  She’s incredibly talented, and really, quite beautiful. Even if she isn’t my type, I can’t help but appreciate a stunning woman when I see one. She’s exactly the sort of woman I used to keep on my arm before…when I bothered to try to create the illusion of a “normal” relationship, so I wouldn’t be discovered. She may not be my pick, but she’d make a truly gorgeous trophy for any man.

  Now, onto my type…

  I slowly make my way across the floor and scan the club for a very specific set of broad shoulders. Ones I vividly remember squeezing between my hands as I pounded into him that night. But Byron is suspiciously absent from the bar where I left him stunned less than an hour ago.

  The massive black guy who’s been stuck to Storm like glue recently scowls at me from where he’s perched on a stool. His dark eyes follow me, and I flick him a wave and a grin. The guy is just doing his job. There’s no need to be anything but courteous. As long as he doesn’t interfere with my business, there’s no need to be enemies.

  Too bad no one else seems to be able to see that.

  I stroll past the man at the door, who gives me a sneer that’s probably meant to intimidate and ensure I get the message that I’m not welcome.

  No worries.

  I don’t have any plans on returning to The Hawkeye Club until my old friends are willing and ready to talk more and consider renewing our relationship.

  If that ever happens.

  A light drizzle falls from a pitch-black night sky as I make my way to the car. It fits my darkening mood.

  Though, I can’t say I’m surprised by the outcome of my meeting with the Hawkes. No matter what our history might be, it’s impossible for them to overlook who my father was and what he did. And I can’t say I blame them.

  The man was brutal. The man was harsh. The man was petty and fucking heartless. And I’m his flesh and blood, no matter how much I’d rather forget that.

  The only time I ever saw him give anyone real, true affection was to Antonia Hawke and her children. He certainly never showed it to Mom or me. He had a soft spot for their family, especially after Sam’s death, yet, he still turned on them. He still made the business his number one priority.

  He may have tried to explain it away as protecting Stone, but everyone knows that’s bullshit. He was protecting himself. He needed Stone and couldn’t lose him. It was never about helping someone else; it was about the man helping the only one who mattered to him—himself.

  What he did isn’t so easily forgotten, and I’m nothing but a reminder for them. One they’d rather not have to face.

  I slide into the Maybach and fire it up. The engine rumbles, but rather than tear out of the lot, I pull out my phone.

  Nothing from Byron.

  It shouldn’t be a surprise, but I had hoped to find a message from him now that he knows who I really am. Perhaps a request to meet to talk. A request that undoubtedly would lead to more if I have my way.

  Byron is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever met. His dark, dominant presence. His ability to stand his ground with me without a hint of hesitation or backing down. No one stands toe to toe with Luca Abello without flinching. It was impressive. And the way we fit so perfectly together…

  I shake my head and back out of the parking spot. He probably needs time to process. And as annoying as that may be, I understand it. The look on his face when I walked in…the poor man was white as a sheet. I thought he might pass out.

  He never expected to see Steele again. Certainly not in his domain and definitely not with another name. One he knows so well. And one he undoubtedly has connected with negative feelings. He knew Ben and Caleb, too. He’s close with Stone and the Hawkes like they’re family.

  If he had known who I was when we met, I likely would have ended up with a drink in my face if I were lucky, and a fist there if he were doing what he really wanted.

  My reputation precedes me. Even if he weren’t tied inextricably to the Hawkes, Byron would have judged me the moment I said “Abello.” The same way everyone else in my life has. Whether it was here in New Orleans as a child, or when Mom and I fled to Jersey, that name brought baggage with it I always hoped and tried to shed.

  No such luck.

  I tighten my hands on the wheel and peel out of the parking lot toward the Ritz-Carlton.

  Seeing Byron tonight may have ruined any chance of ever being with him again in the way I so desperately crave. The only good thing about coming to the club was I got to speak my peace, even if the Hawkes didn’t want to hear it.

  And they really didn’t want to hear
it.

  It stings they so easily believe the worst of me. That they’re so quick to think I would only come back to hurt them or that I would wish them any harm. They so easily forgot what we had as children. The friendship. The camaraderie. The trust.

  I didn’t expect the red carpet to be rolled out for me after twenty years and everything that’s happened in that time, yet I had hoped they would be a little bit more reasonable about listening to an old friend.

  It may have been asking too much. But I spoke from the heart, and that’s really all I could do. I’ve laid all the cards on the table, and it’s now up to the Hawkes to determine how to play them.

  The rain falls harder now, pelting the windshield and slickening the road beneath me. I press the gas pedal, and the car flies through the wet streets.

  Speed. The feeling of teetering just on the edge of control. The desire to push harder, go faster…

  It’s the only thing that will fill the void in my chest right now. One created by the double rejection tonight. I’m willing to give the Hawkes and Byron some space to consider their next moves.

  Maybe they just need a cooling off period.

  Showing up the way I did at Storm’s office the other day undoubtedly shook them. They need to digest the fact that I’m back. Once the dust settles, hopefully, my friends will return to me.

  And as for Byron…

  “Fuck.” I slam my hand against the steering wheel.

  That man will be nothing but trouble, yet I know I won’t stay away long. He’s not the type of person you forget so easily.

  In the meantime, I have business to attend to.

  2

  The man sitting across from me appears innocuous enough, almost like an older, kind Hispanic uncle or neighbor, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know looks can be deceiving. This man is lethal. He also has an agenda he very much wants to continue here in New Orleans. One my presence is going to impede upon. He almost took out dear old Dad before Gabe did, so he’s a very real danger to me, despite his outward appearance.

  Their turf war played a huge part in the violence happening during that unfortunate time not so long ago. The man swept into New Orleans in the wake of Katrina and set up shop when there was turmoil and people to take advantage of.

  He was smart then. I can’t say the same of him now. Which is precisely why I extended him this…invitation.

  I flash him a grin and nod toward him where he sits in the chair in front of my desk. “I’m so pleased you could meet with me today, Mr. Castillo.”

  He snorts and sits up straighter, trying to make his diminutive frame seem more intimidating. “I didn’t have much choice, did I, Mr. Abello? Or should I say, Mr. Clemenza?”

  Smartass.

  I may have tried to use Mom’s maiden name when we lived in Jersey to avoid all the trappings that came along with the Abello moniker, but he knows full well that I am back to being an Abello now that I’ve returned to New Orleans. It’s not something I can escape, no matter how hard I try, so it’s time to embrace it. That decision was made and final before I ever stepped off the plane here.

  He’s trying to rattle me. Attempting to get me riled up so I’ll make a mistake. I don’t make mistakes. At least, not in business.

  My actions in Baltimore outed me to my Jersey family and killed any chance I had of continuing to climb the ranks there. That was a personal matter that, unfortunately, oozed into the other side of my life. They would have killed me if I hadn’t been quick and intelligent enough to offer them something they could only get from me—a piece of the NOLA territory formerly controlled by the Abellos.

  Having to send a chunk of my earnings to Jersey isn’t ideal, and it grates on every nerve I have, but sometimes, uncomfortable arrangements are necessary to accomplish your end goals. I don’t have the strength or backing to do anything rash like take them out, so for now, it’s a necessary reminder of my former life there.

  But I’m not going to let Castillo rattle me.

  I’m here. I’m in charge. I’m alive.

  Those three things are priceless.

  I recline in the huge leather chair behind my desk, the same desk the former Abello sat behind when he ran his empire from this room. The same desk that sat between Castillo and him when they met a mere year ago.

  A blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, yet so much has happened since then, it feels more like an eternity. And Castillo has used every second of it to advance his interests.

  “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Castillo, so I won’t keep you long. Let’s get right down to business. You seem to think that because my father is gone, that means his territory is yours. Unfortunately, that is not accurate.”

  He chuckles and leans forward. “Your father’s dead. It’s been over six months. No one stepped up to claim this.” He raises his hands, waves them, and lets them fall. “I was well within my rights to take over.”

  I let his words hang in the air between us for a moment. He needs time to consider how asinine and stupid they are. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat while I stare him down.

  The longer you let someone sweat, the more impact your words will have when you do speak. It’s one thing I learned being the son of Dom Abello, one of the very few things the old man taught me—before he disowned me—that has actually helped me advance in life.

  I finally offer him a slow smile. “Wrong. It is rightfully mine, and I’m here to claim it.” He opens his mouth to object, but I raise my hand to silence him. “I have been here for weeks, watching, getting the lay of the land, figuring out where people stood, where we stood. And now, I’m letting you know how it is.”

  He snarls. “You think you can just waltz in here like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “I’m Luca Abello, and I’m here to take back what’s mine. If you want to stand in my way, then you will pay the price.” It’s as simple and direct as I can put it.

  His nostrils flare, and his clenched jaw tics. He flexes his fists on the armrests of the chair. “Is that a threat?”

  I grin and watch his face redden. The man’s anger is humorous. He’s been in this business longer than I’ve been alive, yet he still doesn’t understand the realities of it. There may have been an opening, some perceived weakness somewhere in the Abello empire when my sperm donor was at the helm, but there isn’t one now.

  I won’t make the same mistakes.

  “I don’t make threats. I make promises. Ones I always follow through on. So, if I were you, I would strongly reconsider your stance. Your disagreement with my father almost ended badly for both of you. I would hate to see you go the way he did, but I’m more than willing to do it if necessary.”

  I wasn’t lying when I told the Hawkes I’m not Dom Abello. I don’t hurt innocent people. But Castillo is far from innocent, and sometimes a little head bashing and smashing of kneecaps is necessary to get across a point. Other times, something a little more permanent has to occur to really send the right message.

  Castillo jerks to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides. “Your father thought he was untouchable, and he died sitting in the exact same place you now occupy. Killed by a family friend, if I remember correctly. You have no friends here. If I were you, I wouldn’t get into the habit of antagonizing your enemies. There may not be enough room in the family plot.” He turns and storms out of my office, slamming the door behind him.

  I lean back and grin. The reaction was exactly what I expected…and what I wanted. Now, Castillo’s the one rattled. All I have to do is sit back and wait for the time to strike.

  I drop my shoulder and throw it into Derek’s chest. He flies backward and slides across the polished court floor with a bewildered look on his face.

  “What the hell was that, Byron?”

  I drive the ball to the hoop. It drops through the net, and I come down on my feet next to where Derek is sprawled.

  Dammit.

  I scrub my right palm over my face to wipe of
f the sweat then extend my left hand to him. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. I got a little too aggressive there.”

  He clasps my hand and lets me pull him from the floor with a grunt. His soft blue eyes narrow on me, and he sets his jaw. “You’ve been like this all game. What the hell?”

  He’s right.

  Our Saturday morning fun league has not been so fun today. It’s been more of an outlet for my aggression and frustration over the whole situation with Steele than a playful game with buddies like it usually is.

  Fuck. Luca, not Steele.

  I can’t stop thinking about it, though, no matter how hard I try. Even days after his appearance at the club and the revelation of who he really is, his dark eyes still haunt me day and night.

  It’s not fair to the guys to keep playing when I’m a liability on the court. Someone could get hurt because I’m in a shit mood.

  “Let’s just call it, guys.” I raise my hands in apology.

  A rumble of agreement comes from the other players standing around, watching my conversation with Derek, and I jog off the court toward the locker rooms before anyone can say anything else or question me about what just happened. I’m not sure I could explain it or even want to try.

  Derek follows closely behind me, his heavy footsteps thudding against the tile floor in the locker room. “Are you okay? I mean, I know we really get competitive during the game sometimes, but you were taking it to a whole new level today.”

  I drop onto the bench in front of the row of lockers and pull my sweat-soaked shirt over my head. “Not really.”

  He sits across from me and bends down to untie his shoes. “What’s going on? Something at work?”

  Ha. I wish it were so simple.

  There’s very little drama at the club. Gabe and Savage ensure that by running a tight fucking ship…and by relying on me to keep things and people in line.

  I shrug and shake my head. “Sort of. You remember me telling you about that guy I met a couple weeks ago?”