The Gut Feeling

HUNTER

My eyes drifted to the empty booth in the right sector of my club, and my lips curved into a faint smirk. Women had always been a way to disarm the rising tension within me—a pleasant but momentary distraction. I rarely cared for their names. I had never bothered to remember who they were or even what they looked like… But not this firecracker. Her image had already imprinted in my mind.

A delightful blend of fear and excitement—that was what I'd seen in her big emerald eyes. The taste of her was like the most powerful drug. Had I died from overdosing her, I would have died a happy man.

“She left,” Rowan grunted as he caught me staring at the booth again. “She wouldn't if you didn't ignore that other one.”

I turned to him and gave him a meaningful look. I had been around dumb sluts and gold-diggers for far too long not to recognize one even from a distance. That blonde in the pink dress easily met both categories.

Rowan chuckled and ran his fingers through his blond hair. “You could have stopped that redhead, you know? If you wanted to fuck her that badly, you could just—”

“What? Kidnap her?” I huffed out a laugh and shook my head before grabbing my glass of whiskey from the bar. “Why the fuck would I do that? There's just something about it that makes me… curious.”

Rowan nearly choked on his drink. “Curious? About damn time.” He smirked and raised his brows. I decided not to dignify that with any response. He studied me for a moment, then went on, “That would be progress considering you need to marry soon.”

A sinister smirk tugged at my lips. “I want a full report on her by morning.”

He held my stare. “Wait… you truly consider her, do you?” He studied me for a few more seconds before groaning, “Fuck…”

“I have a hunch she'll move straight to the top of my list.”

Rowan blew out a breath. “And you think she'll just agree?”

I huffed out a chuckle. “It's all about finding the right leverage.”

His lips twisted into a wry grimace. “And in her case?”

“Don't know yet.” I put my empty glass on the bar. “Give me that report on her, and I'll know exactly which buttons to push.”

“I begin to feel sorry for the girl,” he grunted.

“I want that report on my desk by seven,” I said, pushing from the bar and heading to the exit.

“You are aware that it's nearly three in the morning?” he called out.

I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “Then you'd better hurry.”

***

I probably should have postponed all of today's meetings and gotten more sleep. Choosing the sofa in my office instead of a comfortable bed wasn't wise either. I was used to sleeping less than four hours a day, but with all the attacks happening recently and the insane amount of work, I had exhaustion written all over me. I needed one peaceful day to recover, but I had a feeling that wouldn't happen soon.

My muscles screamed in protest as I rose from the sofa and walked to the bathroom to take a quick shower. I stripped off my yesterday's suit and stepped into the cabin, hoping that a cool stream of water would help me focus. I needed to secure my position as the head of Cartelli soon. For all those Italian fuckers, the status meant everything, and until I was officially proclaimed the head, my status was worth shit. Even my wealth and manpower were secondary.

Of course, I should have known there would be a catch in my grandfather's will. The great Massimo Cartelli wouldn't leave his empire for his half-blooded grandson to rule without writing down at least a few fucked-up rules. So far, I met all his requirements… except for one: I needed to marry. According to that point of the will, I would get the title and remaining assets on my thirtieth birthday, which I should celebrate with a wife by my side.

Sometimes, I wondered if Massimo didn't write that rule so that my uncle had a chance to screw me over. While assassinating me might be bothersome for him, making sure I didn't inherit the money and the status seemed a lot easier. I wouldn't be surprised if I found out the recent attacks on my clubs were a part of his plan, a way to keep me too occupied to find a wife and then protect her.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, hurriedly wiping myself before entering my walk-in closet. I finished buttoning my dress shirt when I heard the door to my office open and close. I grabbed a tie and walked over to my desk just to see Rowan striding toward me and tossing documents on my desk.

“Here's your damn report,” he growled.

I glanced at the redhead's picture on the front page and smirked. “Get yourself an espresso.” I pointed at the machine in the corner, behind my three-piece suite. “It works better than sleep.”

“Screw you, Hunter,” he grunted, and I chuckled.

He was the only one who dared talk to me this way. We had been friends for nearly two decades. He was one of the few people I trusted and the only one I valued enough to appoint as my second.

As he walked over to the machine, I sat behind my desk and went through the report. “Catherine Duncan,” I breathed out as if needing to taste her name on my tongue. My dick twitched in response.

“She's an outsider.” Rowan gave me a wry smile, waiting for his cup to fill. “Nothing to do with our world.”

I shot him a look. “I can read, you know?”

“Just saying.” He shrugged. “Doubt she'll live long if you drag her into this.”

I turned another page and breathed out a chuckle. “She'll live.”

Rowan scratched his chin. “She's not a Mafia Princess. She may not have a clue—”

“I told you I don't want another fucking Princess,” I growled.

Rowan grabbed his coffee cup and walked to my desk. “You are aware that by ‘marrying’ your grandfather meant someone of pure Italian blood.”

“Then he should have stated that fact clearly in his will. He didn't, which means I can marry whoever I want,” I argued, but then sighed and rubbed my temples. “Look, it's not that I've already decided.”

He studied me. “You won't form any alliances if you choose her,” he convinced.

“I went that road once, remember? We both know how that ‘alliance’ worked out,” I strained through my teeth.

Rowan stared at me for a moment, then let out a sigh. He walked to the sofa, finished his espresso, and slumped down, an empty cup in hand. “Just feel like I need to mention… the old Duncan's company is on the verge of bankruptcy. He'll probably sell his daughter to the highest bidder,” he mused.

“I have no intention of dealing with Ralph Duncan,” I told him, sitting in an armchair in front of him.

Rowan put down his empty cup on the table. “You may not have other options.”

“I'll make her come to me,” I said simply.

His brows climbed up his forehead. “Seriously? That's your plan?”

A wicked grin stretched across my face as I pulled out my phone, called my secretary, and put her on the speaker. “Livia? The other day, you said something about the wedding in Duncan's mansion.”

“Yes, Mr. Thorne,” her raspy voice sounded. “You received an invitation to Ms. Portia Duncan and Mr. Calvin Rollins's wedding. The ceremony will be held this Saturday.”

Rowan's mouth dropped open, making my grin even wider as I told her, “Call them and confirm my presence.”