Emma, a former fashion model, was one of two omegas mated to the Rosencranz pack, who lived part-time in a mansion down the road from ours. Gabriel Rosencranz—Knox’s acquaintance who had originally suggested Portugal as a good place to retire—was allegedly even richer than Knox himself. His pack jet-setted back and forth between New York and the village of Reguengo Grande several times a year with their three children. The triplets, two girls and a boy, ran in and out of the trees ahead of us, shouting excitedly.
“I d-dread to think how difficult it’s going to be keeping those three corralled during their teenage years,” Emma said wryly, a faint stutter marring her fancy English accent.
I chuckled, my gaze darting to my two beautiful babies as they cooed and waved their tiny fists in the stroller. “Believe me, I’m not taking things for granted. We may not be getting much sleep these days, but I have no doubt that changing diapers and filling bottles is a lot easier than navigating adolescent dating drama and social media restrictions.”
Emma let out an amused snort at odds with her polished appearance. “Oh, you have no idea.”
Behind us, my mother laughed loudly at something her companion, an androgynous, dark-skinned alpha named Onyx, had said to her. I couldn’t help smiling as I glanced back at the pair trailing us. Not only had Mom moved here with us; she’d also made good on her promise to learn Portuguese faster than any of us. Having her here had been invaluable when it came to making me feel less overwhelmed and incompetent as a parent.
She looked so much better now than when I’d first seen her again, waiting for us in our St. Louis hotel room. Not only physically healthier, with her gaunt face and body filled out thanks to plenty of good food, sunshine, and gentle exercise—but also happier.
We all were.
She saw me looking and winked at me before turning back to her conversational partner. Emma, who’d followed my gaze, smiled at the pair as well.
“Have you decided to stay here permanently, then?” Emma asked. “It’s such a beautiful place... I just can’t quite seem to let go of New York. Not yet, anyway.”
“We’re planning on staying for the next few years, at least,” I said. “It might not be forever, but I do like the idea of putting down roots in a place that doesn’t have a bunch of baggage attached.”
Emma gave a thoughtful nod. “Oh, I understand completely. That’s exactly how Gabriel and I feel about London.”
“I think it helps that we don’t own a successful modelling agency back in the States, like you do,” Tony joked.
“There is something to be said for that.” Emma adjusted the rolled cuffs of her fashionable chiffon blouse. “I’m not ready to give up the rat race quite yet, but I c-could see myself changing my mind in a few more years.”
It had taken me the better part of a year to make the transition from scrabbling for every crumb of food and constantly scanning for danger, to living with no worries beyond interior decorating choices and the occasional bout of baby colic. I wasn’t sure if that meant I could relate to what she was saying, or if it just meant I needed more therapy.
“I’m becoming a big fan of being a rich man’s kept omega,” I told her, because that much was certainly true.
“Seconded,” Tony said. “I mean, except for not being an omega, obviously.”
The sound of heavy footsteps closing fast from behind us had me turning sharply as old instincts surged to the fore. Onyx had whirled as well, placing their body protectively between our group and the person approaching.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly, feeling a familiar presence through the mating bond. “It’s Heath.”
Onyx relaxed as a tall, red-haired figure jogged up to us.
“Out for an afternoon jog, mate?” they asked dryly, their Australian accent broadening the vowels. “Sounds like you could use a bit more cardio than you’re getting these days.”
Heath leaned over and waved a hand, getting his breath back. “Yeah, yeah. Very funny, Crocodile Dundee.” He straightened, turning his attention to Tony and me. “Come back to the house. There’s news about the sentencing.”
After some quick goodbyes to Emma and Onyx, the four of us returned home as fast as a group of people wheeling a pair of two-month-olds could manage.
“How long are they going to prison for?” Tony asked, power-walking behind the stroller. “Did they say yet?”
“Dunno,” Heath replied grimly. “Gage is recording the news feed. I came to get you as soon as we heard they were about to hand down the sentences. I expect Knox is on the phone with his lawyers as we speak.”
We’d been waiting on federal sentencing in the Vozzina case for what felt like ages. The case itself dragged on for months. But Paolo testifying against them, combined with all the evidence Knox’s lawyers had dug up, meant that a guilty verdict had been more or less a foregone conclusion.
The sentencing... not so much.
Tony and I went back and forth between following the trial obsessively and trying to pretend it didn’t exist. Even Knox had been taken aback by the sheerscopeof what Lorenzo Vozzina had been doing.
There was no real way to find out if I’d been in Vozzina’s pipeline or someone else’s when I’d been trafficked as a kid. Knox hadn’t let any of our names get dragged into the trial, which meant I would probably never know for sure. But as more and more information came out, it seemed increasingly likely. The Vozzina pack’s victims didn’t number in the dozens, or even the hundreds.
They numbered in thethousands.
Canada... Mexico... Central and South America... Africa... kidnapped omegas came into the country by boat, by semi, and by train. Some were sold locally. Some were sold to rich perverts overseas, in Asia and the Middle East. Many simply seemed to disappear without a trace.
