Tristan sets a steaming plate of pasta in front of me with a dramatic flourish. “Madam.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “Thank you, good sir.”
Diego, Rett, and Tristan take the stools on either side of me and across the island, boxing me in with a comforting, if slightly overwhelming, wall of alpha. Dane remains standing, leaning against the counter as he eats.
“Eat while it’s hot,” Diego urges, his eyes on me, full of anticipation.
I twirl some pasta onto my fork and take a bite. The flavors explode in my mouth almost immediately. “Oh my God,” I moan before I can stop myself. “This is amazing.”
Diego’s face lights up. “Gracias. My abuela’s recipe. Simple ingredients, treated with respect.”
“She taught you well,” I say, taking another bite. For a moment, the strangeness of this whole situation fades away. The pasta is really ridiculously good, the kind of soul-warming food that makes you feel safe. I look from the simple, perfect dish to Diego, then to the others.
“I have to admit,” I say, a small, genuine laugh escaping me, “this isn’t what I expected.”
Four pairs of eyes turn to me.
“What did you expect?” Rett asks, his voice neutral but his gaze curious.
I gesture with my fork. “This. You guys... cooking. In a kitchen. I figured your version of a home-cooked meal was having a Michelin-starred chef on retainer.”
Tristan snorts. “We tried that. Fired him after a week. He was an asshole, and he kept trying to put foam on everything.”
“And he didn’t respect the ingredients,” Diego adds, his expression turning serious. “He just cooked to show off. Food like this... It’s about taking care of people.” He looks at me, and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that makes my chest ache. “It’s the only way I know how.”
I blink, gaze dropping back to my plate. This is the first timeI’ve ever considered them not as four intimidating alphas, but as... brothers. A pack.
“We had to learn,” Dane says suddenly, his quiet voice drawing my attention. He’s not looking at me, but at his plate, swirling his pasta with his fork. “When we first moved to the city, we had nothing. Lived in a two-bedroom shithole over a laundromat. If we didn’t cook, we didn’t eat.”
I stare at him, completely floored. This is the last thing I would have ever imagined. The Sterling brothers? The powerful, untouchable Sterlings living in a rundown apartment?
“It’s true,” Tristan nods, his lips twisting into a fond, nostalgic smile. “Rett worked two jobs, Diego cooked, Dane handled... pest control,” he says with a wink, “and I mostly just stayed out of the way and tried not to break anything.”
Rett doesn’t deny it. He just takes a slow sip of his wine, his eyes holding mine over the rim of the glass. “We take care of our own, Zoe. We always have.”
I frown, my fork hovering over my plate. The pieces don’t fit. “But... you’re a Sterling.” Everyone knows the name itself goes with old money and sprawling family estates. “Sterling Industries. Your father...”
A shadow passes over Rett’s face, so quick I almost miss it.
“My father is a Sterling,” Rett corrects, his voice taking on a hard, precise edge. “I’m not. Not in the way you mean.”
I must look as confused as I feel, because Diego speaks up, his voice gentle. “Rett’s father disowned him when he was eighteen. For... choosing us over the family business.” He glances at Rett with a look of fierce, unwavering loyalty. “When Rett left, we stayed with him. We started…with nothing.”
“Sterling Solutions is ours,” Tristan adds, a note of hard-won pride in his voice. “We built it from the ground up. No trust funds, no handouts. Just Rett’s stubborn refusal to fail and a lot of cheap ramen.”
My gaze snaps back to Rett. Suddenly, his control-freak nature, his intense focus, and his almost suffocating protectivenessof his pack all click into place. He’s not just a CEO; he’s a pack alpha who clawed his way up from nothing to build a fortress for his family. For his pack.
He holds my gaze, and for the first time, I see past the millionaire, past the alpha, and see the man. The man who chose his brothers over an empire and then built them a new one with his bare hands.
And that, I realize, is a thousand times more terrifying than any trust fund.
I swallow hard, focusing on my pasta.
“What happens tomorrow?” I ask, setting down my fork.
“We have security coming to upgrade the system here,” Rett says. “A specialized team that works with high-profile clients.”
“And I’ll be coordinating with the police investigation,” Dane adds.
