Chapter 11: Seaside Serenades and Suspicions

The moon hung low over the coast along Las Arboretas, casting silver ribbons across the surf. The beach was public, technically—though in this neighborhood, “public” meant patrolled and politely-but firmly- curated. Two of my men trailed us at a respectful distance, their silhouettes barely visible against the dunes.

Lila walked beside me, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. I had been pleasantly surprised when she agreed to join me for a moonlit walk. The sequined dress caught the moonlight in flashes, like stars trapped in a spider web. Her hair had come loose in the wind, curling around her jaw. She didn’t speak, but her silence wasn’t cold. It was wary.

I kept my hands in my pockets, letting the salt air do the talking for a while. The waves rolled in slow and steady, like they’d been doing long before men built empires or buried secrets in ledgers.

“I used to walk beaches like this when I was younger,” I said. “Before the suits. Before the name.”

She glanced at me, skeptical. “Before you were the Don?”

I nodded. “Just a kid with a cart and a camera. I sold postcards to tourists. Took pictures of their dogs. I thought if I could capture the right moment, I could live inside it.” I was mixing Cole Vane and the Don in my head now. Perhaps they were becoming one thing.

She didn’t answer. Her gaze drifted out to sea.

“I think about that life sometimes,” I continued. “No debt. No regret. Just truth. A life where you don’t have to pretend to be someone else to survive.”

She stopped walking. The surf hissed at our feet.

“You mean like me?” she asked.

I turned to face her. “I mean like both of us.”

She looked down, then back up. Her eyes were sharp now, not sea-glass but flint. “You keep saying things like that. Like you want me to run away with you.”

I hesitated. “I want you to be free.”

Her jaw tightened. “You want me to be yours.”

The words hit harder than I expected. I took a step back, hands still in my pockets. “No,” I said. “I want you to choose. I want you to have a choice.”

She shook her head, the fringe of her dress swaying. “You say that, but you brought me here in a car I didn’t ask for. You dressed me in a costume I didn’t pick. You walked me into a room full of-” She didn't finish the sentence. I felt the implication. I hadn't meant to parade her in front of those women as if she should be grateful for my attention.

I tried to set the record straight. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you didn't,” she said. “But I got the message. I know what you want from me. What you expect. I'm not that naive. I knew where this might go when I took out those first loans.”

The wind picked up, tugging at her hem. She turned and started walking again, slower this time. I followed, careful not to crowd her.

“I’m not trying to trap you,” I said. “I’m trying to find you a way out. I'm looking for one for myself, but escape plans take time. And when the time comes, they require complete commitment.” As a detective, I'd watched witnesses get snuffed out because they couldn't fully abandon their old lives. As a private eye, I'd seen too many cases of half-baked escapes ruined by bad timing, coincidences, ambiguity that led to fatal miscommunications.

She didn’t respond. The guards kept their distance, shadows on the sand.

We walked in silence for a while, the moon trailing us like a witness. I wanted to say more, to explain the ache in my chest, the way her presence made the world feel less like a straitjacket and more like a poem. But it felt like I’d already said too much.

When we reached the edge of the cove, she stopped again. “I know what you want from me,” she said. “But I also know what I want. I want to be safe. I want to be free. And I want to decide what that means for myself.”

I nodded. “Let me help you get there.”

She looked at me, eyes unreadable. Then she turned and walked back toward the hotel, her heels swinging at her side.

I stayed behind, watching the tide roll in. The guards waited until she passed them, then followed.

I stood alone on the sand, the moon above, the city behind, and the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about walking away from me- not because she didn’t care, but because she didn’t trust the shape of my offer.

And she might be right. As the Don, maybe I couldn't offer anything that didn’t come wrapped in danger and shadow.