Chapter One

Genevieve felt her stomach twist into knots the moment Mallory slammed her cards down on the table, a triumphant smirk lighting up her face. She wanted to blame the alcohol—or maybe it was Mallory’s piercing, relentless voice that had dragged her into this game in the first place. Usually, Gen was a solid poker player, but Mallory? She played like a pro, the kind you’d see on a high-stakes TV competition, sunglasses and all.

“What does that mean?” Jada asked, nervously adjusting the white sash that marked her as the bride-to-be.

Mallory leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with mischief. “It means,” she said slowly, “your sister owes me a ring.”

A collective gasp rippled through the group of women gathered around. Gen’s gaze dropped to her mother’s ring, which she habitually twirled around her right ring finger—her constant companion for the last fourteen years.

“Mallory, you can’t do that. I’m the bride, and you don’t upset the bride, right?” Jada whispered, her eyes darting between the two women locked in a silent battle of wills. “That ring… it was…”

Gen quickly raised her hand, cutting her sister off before she said too much. “Double or nothing,” she challenged, already passing the deck to Lucy, Jada’s college friend, who began shuffling the cards.

Mallory inspected her flawless French manicure with a critical eye. “Hmm, no,” she declared with that infuriating smirk that made Gen want to reach across the table and throttle her.

“Come on, Mallory,” Lucy urged, still shuffling. “That game was the highlight of the night!” She glanced over at Jada, who crossed her arms and pouted. “Sorry, Jada.”

Gen chuckled and downed another shot of tequila. She hated to admit it, but Lucy was right. This was supposed to be a wild bachelorette party—something with loud music, flashing lights, maybe even a strip club where they’d be throwing dollar bills and letting strippers lick vodka off their bellies. Instead, they were stuck in a sleek bar on the Lower East Side, a place thick with testosterone and a heavy, almost oppressive atmosphere. If Gen lived closer, she’d have planned the night herself—her sister would be fending off eager men, not stifling yawns.

Once again, Gen scanned the dimly lit bar, where a jazz quartet played softly in the corner. The place had an old-world speakeasy charm, with dark wood paneling, a lengthy polished bar, and a bartender who looked like he belonged in a tailored suit from another era. Under different circumstances, Gen could see herself dressing up to meet friends here for a late-night catch-up. But tonight? Even the men lingering around seemed weighed down by some invisible sorrow. Most were heavily tattooed, twice the size of the guys she usually encountered in Boston, all dressed in dark suits, their shoulders sagging under the weight of something unspoken.

Her eyes drifted back to the bar, where a man had caught her attention the moment she arrived. He sat alone at the far end, a buffer of empty space around him as if the other men instinctively gave him room. He hadn’t moved much since she first noticed him—head resting on his right hand, a cigarette dangling precariously near his thick, dark hair, combed back but with a few rebellious strands falling over his forehead. His left hand lazily spun a half-empty glass of amber liquid. His posture was slumped, as if his entire body depended on that one hand for support. When he lifted his head to take a drag, it seemed like it might crash against the bar. Gen’s heart clenched with an unexplainable ache for him.

“Yeah! Do the ‘How to Lose a Guy’ thing!” Rachel exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in her seat. Lucy and Jada quickly placed hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down.

Gen tried to focus on their conversation. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Mallory grinned. “I like it.”

“Like what?” Gen asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jada sighed, looking a little uneasy. “Rachel, being helpful as always, suggested Mallory pick a guy for you to take home.”

“Just like that bet in ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’!” Rachel repeated, eyes sparkling.

Gen laughed, drawing a few curious glances from the men nearby. “That’s actually a good one.”

Mallory chuckled. “I want to do it.”

“No,” Gen said firmly.

Mallory leaned forward, extending her hand. “Then give me the ring.”

Gen’s jaw tightened, and her fist clenched around her mother’s ring. She could feel the urge to punch her rising—Mallory wouldn’t be the first to bear the mark of that ring’s power.

“Fine,” Gen ground out through clenched teeth.

Rachel clapped her hands in excitement. “Let’s see, who can we find to…”

“Him,” Mallory interrupted without hesitation.

The women gasped again, following the direction of her finger. Gen’s heart skipped a beat as she looked over her shoulder. Mallory was pointing directly at the man at the bar—the same man Gen had been unable to tear her eyes away from all night. She smirked but quickly masked her amusement as she looked back at Mallory.

Jada’s eyes widened with concern as she turned to her future sister-in-law. “Mallory, no. Pick someone else. I won’t let…”

“Deal,” Gen said, leaning in to shake Mallory’s outstretched hand. When she tried to pull away, Mallory held on tight.

“Remember, when he turns you down, I get your ring,” Mallory warned with a sinister grin that reminded Gen of a horror movie villain.

Gen yanked her hand free, downed her last shot, and rose from her seat. She smoothed her dress and flicked her long black hair over her shoulders. Jada jumped up and grabbed her arm before she could step away.

“Do you even know who that is?” Jada whispered, her voice thick with worry.

“No. Is he some kind of celebrity?” Gen asked, eyes fixed on the man as he took another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. He sighed, pulled a cigarette from his pack with his lips, and fumbled for a lighter in his pocket. This was her chance.

“Yeah, he’s…”

“Thanks, little sister, but I got this. Don’t tell me—won’t help. I have to go,” Gen said, gently freeing herself from Jada’s grip.

She made her way to the bar, ignoring the concerned murmurs from the women behind her. The man was still searching for his lighter. Gen closed the distance quickly, deflecting the curious stares of the other men. She slid onto the stool beside him; he didn’t seem to notice her approach. He let out a frustrated growl as he plunged his hand deep into his right pocket.

“Vodka tonic,” she told the bartender, who nodded and moved off. She glanced at the man, who seemed to have given up on finding his lighter and now stared down at the drink he held tightly between his cupped hands. “Need a light?” she asked cautiously.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, revealing a prominent Adam’s apple and the taut tendons in his neck disappearing into a thick dark beard.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, the sound so raw and close to being sensual that Gen felt her legs suddenly tighten.

She pulled a lighter from her purse, lit the cigarette resting on the bar, and held it out to him between her middle and index fingers. She winced at the red lipstick stain marking the cigarette’s tip. His head dropped forward, and he took the cigarette without a word. He inhaled deeply, then let his hand fall onto the bar with a heavy thud before exhaling smoke through his nose.

His eyes opened, and he stared down at the cigarette in his hand, turning it slowly to see the full imprint of her lips. Gen held her breath as he glanced sideways at her, his gaze immediately drawn to her mouth. She parted her lips slightly under his scrutiny. For the first time, she took in his full face and was struck by his rugged handsomeness.

His soft brown eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes, set above a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. His lips were full and seemed incredibly soft as he bit his lower lip. He looked away quickly before meeting her eyes again, his expression unreadable.

“You’re a lousy poker player,” the man said, taking another drag. His voice was deeper than she expected, with a faint Italian accent, as if he’d spent years living there. Gen settled more firmly on the stool, trying to steady the sudden weakness in her legs.

“Excuse me?”

He nodded toward the table of women watching them intently. “When your hand went bad, it showed all over your face.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“From the moment you walked in,” he admitted. He took the last sip of his whiskey and whistled for the bartender, who quickly replaced the glass. “Where’s her vodka tonic?” the man growled. The bartender stammered excuses before magically producing her drink.

“Thanks,” Gen murmured.

“So, what did you lose?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” she replied, sipping her drink.

The man chuckled. “Mallory Carmichael doesn’t let people off that easy. You owe her something.”

“You know her?”

“Unfortunately.”

Gen drummed her fingers on the bar and glanced back at the table. Mallory lounged with a smug grin, Jada tapped her fingers nervously, and Rachel rubbed her shoulders anxiously.

“It’s you,” Gen said finally.

The man snorted. “What about me?”

Gen took a deep breath. “Double or nothing. I go home with you, or I lose my mother’s ring.”