“How far are we?” I asked, interrupting their football conversation.
Luis leaned forward, trying to see ahead of where we were. “Looks like we’re coming up to the George Washington Bridge. From there, depending on traffic, less than forty minutes.”
I spent the last part of the trip trying to keep my mind off what was going on. I ended up playing on my phone, but instead of getting my mind off it, I ended up checking the damned weather in Germany and searching for average flight times. I even looked up the website for the castle in Germany that the royals owned. I spent a solid minute just staring at the pictures of the stone walls, wondering if Maddy was inside them at this very minute.
Forty-five minutes later, the car lurched to a halt, and I finally looked up from my phone. To say I was confused was an understatement. The only time I’d ever been to New York had been on a layover when I was nineteen, and Dad had taken Diego and me on a trip up to Canada for a business meeting with some bear shifters he knew there. We’d had time to go see Times Square, eat lunch, and then head back to the airport. This was… not New York.
I glanced around and saw more trees than I did buildings. The buildings I did see weren’t the stereotypical brownstones you saw on TV. Instead, they were the grassy lawns and rocky outcroppings tucked between sidewalks. This looked like a suburb of Chicago or something.
“Where the hell did you take us, Luis? This doesn’t look like New York.”
Luis looked over his shoulder. “Oh, it’s New York. We’re in the Bronx. This is Fieldston. And that”—he pointed out the windshield—“is my guy’s place.”
I opened the door and looked across the street. The huge building must have been at least five thousand square feet. The exterior was stone and stucco with moss and ivy growing up the north-facing walls. It basically looked like a castle. It made mea little wary. So far, all my dealings with castles had been in relation to the royals.
“Are you sure about this guy?” I asked as the others got out of the car.
Marcus glanced around and frowned. “Where are all the yellow cabs and stuff?”
“Jesus, guys. You really need to get out more. There’s more to New York than high-rises and Madison Square Garden. Come on.”
We followed Luis across the road, kicking yellow and brown leaves aside as we went. The late fall air was brisk, and I realized in my haste to get going that I was still dressed for Florida weather. We stepped up to the house, and Luis pressed the doorbell. I didn’t hear anything ring inside, but a few seconds later, a response came from a small intercom beside the doorbell.
“Is that you, Luis?” came a drawling voice.
“It’s me. Let us in, Donatello.”
Marcus swatted his brother Darren in the arm and whispered, “Donatello? Like the Ninja Turtle?”
“Quit it,” I hissed. “It’s just a name. I’ve got a brother named Rafael. It doesn’t matter.
Darren shook his head. “These people areobsessedwith the Ninja Turtles, bro.”
Before the Alabama brothers could embarrass Luis further, the door swung open to the slickest-looking dude I’d ever seen in my life—bright, almost-white blond hair combed back, small round glasses that sat at the bridge of his nose. His face looked like it had been carved out of marble by a Renaissance sculptor. He wore a fitted blazer over a dark gray turtleneck, skinny slacks, but bright white high-top sneakers. I did a double-take when I saw the Prada symbol on the side of the shoes.Everything about him exuded money and confidence. Who the hell was this guy?
The man—Donatello, I assumed—smiled. “Luis. My friend.” He put a well-manicured hand out, and Luis shook it.
“Don. Glad you could help us on such short notice.”
“Nothing makes me happier than helping a friend in need. Come in. All of you, come in.”
Donatello stepped aside and swept an arm toward the foyer. We stepped in, and I was thankful there wasn’t some cliché butler or maid running around. The home was large but not ostentatious. There were lots of dark mahogany and black walnut accents and antique furniture and artwork from what looked like the Victorian or Edwardian eras. Nothing about the house was modern. It was kept perfectly and elegantly how it must have looked in the roaring twenties. I could easily picture a Prohibition speakeasy party happening here with all the city's wealthiest families. As much as I hated to admit it, I was impressed.
“So, I understand you and your friends are in a bit of a bind?” Donatello said, giving Luis a wry grin. “Tell me what you need.”
Luis nodded grudgingly. “Well, my three friends and I need fresh passports and identification, and we need your jet to go to Germany.”
“Would you like a brand-new Ferrari and some ladies to enjoy for the flight as well?” Donatello asked, giving Luis another strange smile.
Luis put his hands on his hips and glared at Donatello. “You owe me. No jokes. Can you get what we need or not?”
Donatello’s smile evaporated, but the good-natured glimmer in his eyes stayed. He put a finger to his chin and thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think this is doable. How soon do you need it?”
“Today,” I said, interjecting into the conversation. “We’ve already lost a lot of time. We should be halfway to Germany by now.”
Donatello raised an eyebrow at me, then glanced at Luis. “Is this your alpha? The one you were telling me about?”
“Yeah,” Luis said. “He’s right. We need this ASAP.”
