Denver reared back, intending to slam the door in his face, but Marco calmly braced a hand on the wood, holding the door open. Smiling at her all the while.

“You’re not going to want to do that, love.”

Love. A word he never should have the right to utter.

He’d used that word with her so many times. She’d accepted it, rejoiced in it even, and repeated it back to him. Fully believing that this was the man she would marry and have children with.

Her fairy tale prince, come to sweep her away from a boring life of classes and schoolwork and staid family parties.

Instead he’d become her nightmare. One that couldn’t be dispelled by a flick of the lights or a warm hug to chase away her bad dreams.

“Marco.” Denver gripped the doorknob with every ounce of strength she had left.

If she hadn’t been holding on to something, she might’ve gone weak at the knees. God, she hated that he still had that effect on her even after all these years. She’d hoped time and distance would’ve erased his hold on her psyche. The way he could instill fear in her with a single look.

Yet here she was, a new woman in so many ways, and she was still on the verge of trembling. But this time, she would not break.

“You look good, Casey. This reminds me of the old days. A little lower-end now, aren’t we?” He reached out to skim his fingers over the sleeve of her gown and she struggled not to react. His scent of whisky and fancy cologne singed her throat.

But she kept her expression as composed as she could make it. Even a shudder would’ve pleased him. Anything to prove he still could influence her emotions. She’d be damned if she gave him that satisfaction.

“The days are certainly different,” she said. “I don’t have much cause to dress up this way anymore.” Great. Give him hints about her life now. She wanted to saw off her tongue.

Then again, the likelihood that he’d just stumbled upon her there in Vegas was slim. One of his old stomping grounds or not, he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Even his men didn’t have eyes and ears in every location. Too many for her comfort as it was.

So that meant either she’d somehow come onto his radar or he’d been watching her in some fashion all this time. Probably both.

“No, you don’t. Which is a shame. This lovely body was made for evening gowns and the finer things.” His dark gaze skated over her, lingering at her breasts and hips, and she tightened her grip on the knob. “He might be able to give them to you someday, but not now. Not like I could. And that little problem of his…” Marco sighed and shook his head. “You and I both know that a gambling habit is insidious. You start small, then get in deeper and deeper. You start risking the things that matter most, sometimes without even realizing it. Imagine, up for a prestigious award, and he reaches out to place a bet with the same bookies who helped make it easier for me to find you in the first place.”

She couldn’t process what he was even saying. “What do you mean? He bet on the awards? Is that…I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“This is Vegas, all sorts of games of chance exist. All manner of risks and rewards.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “He risked you.”

She fought not to bristle under the unwelcome touch. So much for hoping she’d somehow blipped onto his radar. He knew about her. About Ryan. God, he knew about them.

All the times she’d told herself her worry was irrational, and here Marco was. Instead of feeling vindicated at her justifiable concern, she just felt violated. Again.

Not only did he know about Ryan’s role in her life, he had information on Ryan and his gambling…whatever the hell it was. Interest? Hobby? She didn’t want to believe it was more. He’d told her it was just for fun, just something he did now and then, and she was trusting him.

Too little too fucking late there. If she’d told him the full truth about Marco and his numerous mafia ties and gambling connections, maybe Ryan wouldn’t have treated his gambling so lightly.

But that wasn’t important right now. Now she had to get herself out of this mess.

Her only defense was to act cool until she could figure out how the hell to get Marco gone. The problem was, he rarely traveled alone. She was surprised he didn’t have one or two of his thugs lurking in the hallway. Of course, he might. Maybe he’d told them to stay farther back. To lull her into a sense of safety. As if he ever could.

Not again.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice even. “You can’t believe I’d want to see you again.”

He dropped his hand from her cheek. “Invite me in, Casey, and we’ll talk.”

Her laugh surprised even her. “Not a chance. You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you at all.”

“Oh, am I?” His smile turned cold. “I’d say you’re the lucky one. You’ve had a nice run these past five years.”

“No thanks to you. So if you can’t reply in anything but riddles, I think this conversation is through.” Rather than try the door-slamming trick again, she darted forward, making it past him into the hall, only to trip on the hem of her dress.

He snagged her arm, turning her smoothly and pressing her back into the wall beside the door. He was still smiling as he lowered his head to speak near her ear, though his hold on her arm was bruising.

“You used to be faster. Or maybe you just like to be chased. To be caught. I remember that you enjoyed all manner of games.” He brushed his nose against her hair and the back of his thumb grazed the side of her breast. She struggled and he pressed her into the wall, his fingers sliding up her body to tighten around her neck.

Icy sweat slicked over her back. She couldn’t show him her fear. He got off on that far too much. “I remember that you taught me most of them.”

“I did.” His mouth curved, sickeningly. “You forgot to take the knot out of the pillowcase on the floor, by the way.”

She shut her eyes. The idea that he knew—had even the slightest inkling—of what she and Ryan did in bed made her skin crawl. The worst part? He probably assumed he’d been the one to create the desire for bondage and kinky play in her. Not that she’d had it all along, buried deep. That somehow he had unlocked the treasure chest to what pleased her sexually, rather than just being the first man she’d tried those things with.

“You’re going to want to let me go,” she said, opening her eyes. Making sure they stayed focused on his, no matter how much that same frightened part of her that had guided her actions for years shrieked at her to retreat. “Right now, we may look like we’re lovers because I’m not shoving you back—yet—and you’re pretending to kiss my hair while you try to make me feel ashamed. Newsflash. I’m not.”

“You were never embarrassed about how you found pleasure. That’s one of the things that made you so refreshing.” He twirled a lock of her hair. “We look like lovers because we were. So much closer than that, weren’t we? We were going to be married. We were going to rule the world together. Me as your king, you as my queen.”

She snorted. She couldn’t help it. Naive or not, she couldn’t believe she’d ever fallen for all that bullshit. Somehow he’d convinced her back then that most of his so-called enterprises were legal. That, yes, as time progressed he held more power over others, but that he was generous and benevolent. She’d seen evidence of his men’s trust and loyalty, and she’d been just young enough to believe that he’d earned it through methods other than brutality and intimidation.

But she’d learned. Oh, had she learned.

“Yeah, right, all while avoiding the cops. So sexy.” She tried to push him back, to gain some space to think, but he gripped her chin and forced her gaze back to his.

“Prison orange isn’t my color. Neither is this green yours. Tell me, Casey, what do you have on beneath?” He rubbed his thumb over her lips, and she pressed them together to bar him entry. “You used to favor skimpy lace. Is that still so?”

“You’re never going to find out, so let’s end this charade here and get to what you want.”

Slowly, threateningly, he licked his lips. “You.”

“Not a chance in twenty lifetimes.” She shoved him back with both hands, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to be making a scene. She was supposed to be biding her time, figuring out a plan, not responding from anger so he knee-jerk reacted and summoned his goons.

But he didn’t take out his phone. Didn’t do anything but lean against the opposite wall, watching her with that predatory gleam in his gaze that had once seemed so exciting. Back then, she’d loved that he had made her the center of his world when he was so respected. Among his peers, he’d commanded so much even then, and he’d only been rising through the ranks. She couldn’t imagine all that he had in his purview now.

The hallway was eerily silent. She kept expecting someone to walk through. Anyone. A bellhop, a guest. Maybe even someone headed to the awards show.

Oh God, the awards. She was missing Ryan’s big night.

She slid her gaze sideways. If she could just get back into the room and slam the door—

“Don’t try it. You forget that you might be able to elude me. Donovan’s associates have been successful on keeping you away from me thus far. His reach is impressive. But your Ryan is a different story.” Marco cocked his head. “His bright red tie was so jaunty. Did you help him with the knot as you always did with mine?”

A dry sob left her. There weren’t tears. She couldn’t cry. It was rage and frustration and pain, all balled up into one.

She’d brought this to their door. He’d watched them, could be watching Ryan even now. That was his implication.

Run, and you may escape. But Ryan doesn’t even know the threat he’s facing. Because of you. Because you refused to trust him with all of your past, not just pieces.

“He has nothing to do with this. With us.” The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she would say anything if it took the glare off Ryan. “He’s just a guy I’m banging. You said it yourself. I’m a kinky little bitch.”

“I didn’t use exactly those words.” He rubbed his thumb against the side of his mouth. “I’m not a fool, Casey.”

His quiet steel nearly made her sag against the wall. What did she really think she could do? Convince him that she still wanted him, so hey, leave poor, insignificant Ryan alone? She’d already said exactly the opposite. Marco was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He might pretend to believe her lies now, but that wouldn’t stop him from hurting Ryan. His fame would make it harder for Marco to do something drastic, but there were other ways to harm Ryan. Marco always found other ways.

“What do you want from me?” she asked softly. “Let’s say I go with you. Then what?”

“You’ll have everything you ever wanted. Money, power, respect. The finest clothes. Not like that dress.” He shook his head in derision. “You’re a vision, but that dress doesn’t do you justice. And you certainly won’t be driving a bus for pennies for a bunch of juvenile guitar slingers.”

“Those supposed guitar slingers are my friends.” She lifted her chin. “My family.”

“As is Ryan. Come now, you don’t have to lie to me.” Marco pushed off the wall and came closer, his expensive shoes whispering over the carpeted floor. “You care for him deeply. I’ve seen enough evidence of that.”

“You’ve been watching me. Us. For how long?” She swallowed over the dryness in her throat as her phone vibrated. It had to be Ryan. She should have been downstairs with him and the band.

She should have told him everything. She was so tired of being afraid.

But when she’d gotten through this mess, she would. When he was safe. And then she’d make all the promises to Ryan she should have before she’d let him walk out that door.

She’d never lie to him or hold back pieces of the truth—or herself—again.

“How many days has it been since you vanished on me after you wrote me that pathetic Dear John letter?” Marco didn’t touch her, just loomed close enough to make her gut twist from his nearness. “That’s how long.”

Her face heated with fury. “You didn’t follow me all this time. I know it. I went off-grid, changed my fucking name, learned every goddamn back road I could so you’d never be able to hem me in again.”

“Yet here we are. You put up a good effort, I’ll say that. But once you returned to your felonious uncle’s playground, tracking you was painfully easy. Add in your new boyfriend’s penchant for high-stakes poker in one of my clubs, and well, it only takes one time to have him roughed up and left in an alley for you to find. Counting cards is such a bad habit. You should have suggested he stop that.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You have your ways of being persuasive. I heard you using them on him just last night.”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know if he was lying or exaggerating or if he’d really been that close all this time. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. He’d invaded their privacy, time and time again. Where and when didn’t really make a difference.

His violation of her hadn’t stopped when she’d turned her back on him and his lifestyle. He’d kept right on doing it in all new ways. Not that she’d even left him because of his controlling ways and mental cruelty. She’d left because she’d seen him order another man injured, possibly critically, for a minor infraction. Because she’d seen him participate.

Hurting her had been okay. Hurting someone else had been way too much. And she’d known it hadn’t been the first time. Nor would it be the last.

But it wouldn’t be Ryan. Ever. Not if she could fix this.

If she wasn’t too late.

“It’s sweet how he has that picture of you in his wallet tucked behind his license,” Marco went on, probably reading her silence as fear.

That wasn’t far from the truth. It just wasn’t all she was feeling, not by a long shot.

“The one with his arm around your neck while he’s kissing your hair.” He stroked a finger down the side of her face. “Too bad you’re already spoken for. Too bad for him all the way around.”

“If I go with you, you’ll leave him alone.” She raised her face to his. “He’s a boy, Marco. You understand that. Not worthy of your time and energy. He was a diversion while I was driving the bus.” She shrugged, loathing every word, her body physically rejecting them until she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t throw up on Marco’s fancy Italian loafers. “No more, no less.”

“If you go with me, you’ll forget him soon enough. I told you I’d never let you leave me. That I wouldn’t be content if you weren’t by my side. Now we can resume what we had.” He smiled and touched her hair. “Our forever love.”

She nearly retched. Christ, if she could go back in time, she would smack her nineteen-year-old self unconscious for ever having a thing to do with this man. For ignoring her gut that said something was off about him. For not going to her uncle sooner to get help.

But this time, she would help herself. And Ryan.

They were going to have a future together, dammit. Maybe even one with a picket fence and some kids and joint electric bills.

“Promise me, Marco. If we leave together, you’ll pull your men off of keeping tabs on Ryan. I won’t try to contact him again.”

Marco angled his head, studying her for so long that she was sure he was about to call her bluff again. “You know I’d do anything for you. Even spare him.”

She reeled from that statement, from the bald honesty in it. She would never trust Marco’s promises again, but he truly believed he held Ryan’s fate in his hands.

Not if she had anything to say about it. Somehow she would make sure Marco and his bastards didn’t have a chance to get near him.

Her dress vibrated again and she had to bite back a sob. She would risk everything to keep Ryan safe. In a heartbeat.

“Let’s go in the hotel room now, Casey.” Marco gripped her elbow and shifted her toward the room. She dug her feet into the carpet out of reflex, but he just yanked her forward as if she were insubstantial. “You have a letter to write to Ryan to say goodbye.”