THE DAY after Jamie and I had our little run-in with the reporters, I called Grace Howard. Every athlete in the world was dying to be featured on the Grace Howard Show. The woman could singlehandedly make or break careers with a single interview.

I left my number with her people and a mysterious message: Michael Kage has something to say that will blow your fucking mind.

I figured that ought to get her attention, and I was right. Grace personally called me back. I was surprised to discover she was a big fan and was eager to have me on the show.

“If you want to break this story, it has to be now,” I told her. “How soon can you get me in?”

“I’m booked up,” she said. “But if it’s a big enough story, I can bump everything back and get you in here today or tomorrow. What is it that you have to say?”

“I don’t have time to go into it. Do you need to prepare some questions?”

“It won’t take me long. I’ve already been planning to get you on my sofa.” She laughed. “You’re a sports journalist’s wet dream. Underground fighter, undefeated, wealthy, engaged to a supermodel, recent tragedy in your life, upcoming main card fight. That ticks all of the boxes on my checklist and then some.”

“Do you have a box on your checklist for a gay fighter?” I asked. “Because that’s the one I’d like to tick for you today.”

Grace took an audible breath and blew it out. When she spoke, her voice was low and even, as if she was trying to rein in her excitement. “That’s the number one box on my list, babe. How fast can you get here?”

“As long as it takes to throw on a suit and drive to the studio. Bring your A game, Grace. This is going to be big.”

“Breaking the story that Michael Kage is gay?” She let out a delighted laugh. “Big doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I hung up the phone and got ready for the most important interview I would probably ever do.

That night, I came out on national television. I sat Jamie on my lap and fucked him slowly during the entire interview, though he was understandably distracted. After it was over, I took him to the bedroom and finished the job, making him come twice before we finally collapsed into each other’s arms and slept.

At that moment, it seemed to me that all of my cares had melted away. I had finally done it. No more hiding. We could flaunt our relationship publicly, and if I lost my contract, then so be it. I didn’t need a championship belt to make a living or to make me whole. I had all the money I would ever need, and I had the love of my life by my side.

But my euphoria was short-lived. When I got to my office the next morning—late, because I’d gotten waylaid by Jamie’s body again—an envelope was sitting on my desk. There were no postmarks on it, just my name printed in red ink. Inside was a single sheet of paper, and scrawled on it in the same red ink were two ominous words:

Watch yourself.

What did that even mean? Did it have something to do with my coming out? Maybe some crazy homophobic asshole was threatening me. Had a stranger somehow gotten into my office?

An even more sinister possibility was that the message was left by one of my own employees. And if it was one of them, were they pissed that I had come out as gay, or was it about business? It could have been the casino manager, who looked at me like he’d love to see my guts splattered on the pavement right beside my uncle’s. Or even Catwoman Cathy, who had doctored company documents on my orders.

The message was too vague to even begin to decipher it. I felt like I was in a movie, and unfortunately movie villains never left detailed messages. It was always some cryptic bullshit that the hero didn’t figure out until the last ten minutes of the movie, when the villain was already in position to fuck his world to hell and back. There would be a breath on the back of his neck before the world went black, and he’d wake to find his lover tied to a chair with a bomb about to go off. The hero never deciphered the code in plenty of time to thwart the villain and live happily ever after. There was always collateral damage while he flailed around ineffectually trying to figure shit out.

That thought scared me the most, because in my movie, Jamie would be the collateral damage. The hapless lover who had fifty-nine seconds to live unless I could figure out which wire to cut.

I tried to ignore the awful churning in my stomach. Maybe it was nothing. Just a weak attempt to unnerve me.

I pulled open the top drawer of the desk and placed the note inside, right next to the jewelry box I’d found on the first day I’d moved into my uncle’s office. I removed the box and looked inside, as I had done several times before.

My uncle’s necklace. A solid gold herringbone chain.

I had never noticed him wearing any jewelry, and I wondered why he kept it in his desk. It was obviously very expensive. Maybe a gift from someone special? I couldn’t imagine who would give him such a personal gift. He’d never even dated anyone as far as I knew. I always figured him for the type who focused on his work and fucked call girls when he got an itch, though I’d never seen any evidence of that.

I unwound the chain carefully, noticing for the first time that there was a small bend in the gold near the clasp. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the chain was not new as I’d originally thought, but slightly dulled from wear.

Why would a neat freak like Santori have a worn necklace stashed in his desk if it didn’t have meaning? He wasn’t one to keep random things lying around. His apartment had always looked like a museum. Spartan, with a place for everything, and everything in its place.

The mystery intrigued me.

I went into the adjoining bathroom and held the chain to my neck in front of the mirror. It wasn’t too thick or too flashy. It was elegant and masculine at the same time. Kind of sexy. I decided to send it to the jeweler and have it cleaned and polished.

For now, I replaced it in the box, glanced at the note one more time, and closed the drawer. I had more important things to worry about than mysterious chains and threatening notes, and whether or not my uncle had at some point had a secret girlfriend.

I had sent out invitations to a gala—my attempt at breathing new life into the Alcazar—and I needed to get the last of the RSVP’s to Enzo so he could do a final head count for the food. The party was in a week, and I was determined to make a good impression.

Tourism people would be there, the head of the Chamber of Commerce, local celebrities with clout. The idea was to transform the Alcazar into a premiere destination for discerning clientele who wanted to skip the Vegas glitz in favor of a more relaxing experience. I had also decided to target businesses for conferences and corporate getaways.

In the weeks directly following the gala, renovations would begin to convert part of the building into a top-notch spa. Jamie was so smitten with the idea that he was now spending most of his days researching spas and helping with the planning.

Steve, who had dreams of someday being an interior designer, had begged me to let him oversee the decor. I’d reluctantly gone along with it when he and Jamie had ganged up on me and begged, but I cringed every time I imagined what the self-proclaimed glitter whore might come up with.

“It has to be classy,” I’d told Steve, using my stern boss voice on him. As if that ever worked.

“Duh. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I gave him an obvious once-over, noting with dismay the peach-streaked blond hair, lavender satin bowtie, and jeweled fingernails.

“Shit. My spa is going to look like it was decorated by a unicorn with a Bedazzler.”

Steve laughed. “Really, Kage? Unicorns don’t have fingers. How would he hold a Bedazzler?”

I gave him an evil grin. “About as well as you’re going to hold a job if you fuck up my spa.”

He pouted and crossed his arms, stealing a move directly from Jamie’s playbook. My partner in crime, Steve had called him. And that’s when I realized my boyfriend was inadvertently training my employee on the subtleties of manipulating me.

“Just wait and see, Mr. Santori,” Steve had said, exaggerating the title he so rarely used. “You’re going to owe me an apology on opening day.”

So now I was playing a waiting game to see what we’d end up with. I didn’t want to be a hard-ass. I wanted to involve the people I cared about. It was becoming more apparent every day that I had collected a family of sorts—Jamie, Steve, Marco, Enzo, Jason, Vanessa, Jamie’s family, and even his annoying friends—and I wanted to make them happy. Even if it meant having a Bedazzled spa.

Oh God, please don’t let me have a Bedazzled spa.

* * *

“YOU READY for lunch?” Jamie poked his head in through my office door, startling me.

I realized I had dragged that damn red-inked note out again and was staring at it, imagining all sorts of hideous things. I shoved it back into the drawer and looked up at Jamie, feeling the guilt all over my face. The awkward hesitation in Jamie’s step as he entered the room told me he had noticed.

“Hey, baby.” I tried to cover, knowing it was pointless. “I was just sitting here thinking how much I’d love to have some seafood with you. And maybe a slice of Enzo’s white wedding cake?” I waggled my eyebrows, hoping to charm Jamie into forgetting what he’d just seen.

If the narrowing of his eyes was any indication, he wasn’t falling for the bait and switch. But he had enough class not to question me outright about why I had looked so guilty. Instead, he took a deep breath and waited for the right moment, which was apparently after lunch when our cake was served.

As we sat dining on the porch of the Grotto, Jamie shaved off a sliver of cake and popped it into his mouth, moaning like he was having sex rather than eating. When he had finished the bite and recovered from his foodgasm, he said, “To what do I owe this delicious bribe? Maybe I should check in on you at work more often.”

An accusation and a threat all rolled into one. Nice.

Our conversation during lunch had been light, lulling me into a false sense of security, but now the gloves had come off, and I was going to have to defend myself. Or not. I wasn’t sure how to deal with the situation without making things worse, but I gave it my best shot.

“I’m not doing anything you should know about, if that’s what you mean. There are just some things I’d prefer to keep to myself, and you’re going to have to trust me.”

There. I had to admit I was pleased with my response. I’d been honest and succinct, and I’d stuck to my guns on my need for privacy where some things were concerned.

Jamie nodded, but he had broken eye contact with me and was staring at his cake. He hacked off a chunk with his fork and shoved it into his mouth, clearly not as satisfied with my response as I was.

God, I hated upsetting him, but I hated scaring him even more. If he found out about the creepy note in my desk drawer, he would be even more worried than I was, and the illusion of the perfect life that I was trying so hard to maintain for him would be shot to shit.

It was proving difficult when he was around the hotel all day. I needed to be able to separate him from the daily activities at the Alcazar so that there was less chance of him learning too much. Maybe he needed to find a hobby. I opened my mouth to suggest he do just that, when he pushed his plate away and stood up.

“I’m going upstairs,” he said. “Maybe we can watch a movie or something tonight if you’re not too busy.”

“You didn’t finish your cake,” I said, but he was already halfway to the exit. “Fuck.” I threw my napkin onto the table, suddenly finding myself with no appetite and even less of a desire to go back to work.

A half hour later, Enzo found me still sitting on the porch of the Grotto, staring at the shrubs that separated us from the outside world.

“Was the cake not good?” he asked when he saw my barely touched dessert and the hacked up remnants of Jamie’s. “I didn’t do anything different, I swear. You guys loved it so much last time.”

I pulled my gaze away from the shrubs and attempted a smile, trying to ease the genuine alarm on Enzo’s face. “The cake was delicious, as always. We just weren’t very hungry today.”

Enzo slid his thick body into the seat Jamie had vacated and propped his elbows on the table. “Anything you want to talk about, my dear?”

“Not really,” I said. “I just have a lot on my mind these days. Running a hotel isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, and I guess I’m letting it get me down.”

“You know what your uncle would say?” He dipped a meaty finger into the leftover icing on Jamie’s cake and tasted it, then gave himself a silent nod of approval. “Santori would say you should delegate more responsibility. Could it be that you’re trying to do too much on your own?”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I want to do more with the place. There’s so much untapped potential here. And before you point out the fact that I could let this place rot to the ground and still be set for life, it’s not about the money.”

“I know it’s not,” Enzo said with a fatherly smile. “It’s never been about money for you, Kage. You’re a good boy, and I have faith that you’ll work everything out. But in the meantime, please try not to drive yourself crazy. You’ve got a good thing going with Jamie, but I see some of the light has faded from your eyes. Don’t let the business ruin your happiness, okay? You waited too long to find it.”

I nodded, knowing Enzo was right. Even without being told, he had seen right through me and located the source of my sadness.

“How did you get to be so wise?” I asked, spinning my knife on the table, playing my own makeshift version of Wheel of Fortune. Except for one spin, it kept pointing at me, making me suspect the table wasn’t quite level. Or maybe like everyone else, the knife found me guilty.

Enzo reached out and flattened a hand over my knife, stopping the obnoxious spinning and ending the game that was distracting me from the conversation. And from reality. I folded my hands in my lap to resist the temptation to do it again.

“Failure makes you wise,” he said. “If you only knew how many mistakes I have made, you would wonder how I’m still standing. Why I haven’t given up.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Did I ever tell you about my childhood back in Italy?”

I shook my head, wondering what kinds of horrible mistakes the jolly chef could possibly have made.

“My father was a street vendor. Every day he would pick fresh vegetables from our garden and sell them out of his cart. I was ashamed of him when I was younger, because he didn’t have a real job like the other parents.” He paused again, and this time his eyes sparkled with the faint sheen of tears. “Before he died, he said something to me. Something that kept me going through the hard times. He said, In this life we all have our carts to pull, Enzo. Each filled with burdens and sorrows and regrets. But God doesn’t fill the carts of the weak with a heavier load than they can bear.” Enzo laughed and swiped at his eyes. “I hope that didn’t lose meaning in the translation.”

“I don’t think it lost any meaning, Enzo.” I reached out and covered his hand with my own. “That actually made me feel better, so you and your father have accomplished a miracle today.”

“I’m glad we could help a little,” he said. “Just remember, when the burden seems too heavy to bear, take a look at your cart. That is how strong you are.” Enzo stood up and patted me on the shoulder. “I have to get back to work before these buffoons burn my kitchen down. You take care of yourself, okay? And take care of your young man up there. Your burdens are his now, too.”

Enzo walked away, his ample butt jiggling beneath the frayed tie of his apron. I watched him go, replaying his words in my head.

Your burdens are his now. Jesus.

I imagined the cart of horrors I had to lug around, filled to overflowing with all of my bullshit. Enzo was right; I was strong. I was an ox, conditioned through physical training and emotional tragedy to push through the pain and persevere. To hunker down and muscle my way through adversity.

But Jamie? He wasn’t strong. He was an innocent, sheltered thing. And he damn sure wasn’t strong enough to pull my fucking cart.