“No,” I said, mindlessly twisting the glass back and forth in my grip on the bar top. Christ, I needed to get an answer and get out of this place before I ended up asking her to dump three fingers of gin into the goddamned seltzer. “Got a question, and I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything.”
Her expression softened into sympathy. “I heard about Knox, if that’s what you mean. Has there been any change?”
That wasn’t a surprise, since the attempted murder had been all over the news.
“He’s stabilized some, but that’s not what I meant,” I said. “I’m trying to find any information I can about a male omega who works for the Vozzinas. He might be called Adrian.”
Ames’ face closed off again. “Heath, babes... the Vozzinas buy and sell omegas by the dozen. They don’t put them on thepayroll.”
I had more reasons than most to know that already. It wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, though.
“I’m well aware,” I told her. “But there hasn’t been anything making the rounds about an omega mixed up in their business somehow?”
She blinked, wiping her hands on a rag and leaning both palms on the bar across from me. “Well, I mean... when you put it likethat.”
I scowled. “When I put it like what?”
She tipped her head side to side a couple of times—a ‘neither here nor there’ gesture. “Nothing to do with putting an omega on the payroll... but Lorenzo Vozzina justmateda male omega, and it's big news in the gossip mills.”
My heart gave a little kick of excitement. “He’s mated? When did this happen?”
“Yesterday,” Ames said. “Sounds like it was more of a business transaction than anything else. It’s outside of a heat, so there’s a big reception going on tonight at the Waldorf Astoria.”
“Is there, now,” I muttered, my craving for a drink forgotten as I turned this new puzzle piece over in my mind. “What’s the omega’s name? Do you know?”
“Hang on... let me think,” Ames said. “Erm... Paolo, I’m pretty sure it was. I don’t remember the last name, but it probably wouldn’t be hard to track it down.”
“That’s okay,” I said, adrenaline chasing away some of the fog of exhaustion that had been surrounding me. “You said the reception is at the Waldorf? And it’s going on right now?”
“Yeah, I guess it’s a pretty big deal among the people who like to be photographed at that sort of event,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t have thought it was your kind of scene, though.”
“Oh, it definitely isn’t,” I replied. “Thanks, Ames—I owe you one.”
She snorted, and picked up a beer glass to wipe. “Right. I’ll add it to all the others you owe me, asshole.”
A mating reception at the Waldorf Astoria wasn’t the kind of party you gatecrashed while wearing rumpled street clothes from two days ago. So, I walked into the gleaming marble reception area and booked a room for an eye-watering sum, ignoring the way the receptionist looked down his nose at me. At least that way, no one would summarily toss me out onto the street.
It took a frustratingly long time to find a waiter who would let me borrow his jacket for a cool grand in cash—and I sure as hell hoped I wouldn’t need to bribe anyone else tonight, since that was all the money I’d been carrying with me.
As disguises went, it was paper-thin. Anyone who gave me more than the most cursory of glances would do a double-take...and my flaming red hair and beard tended to get quite a few glances at the best of times.
I grabbed a random tray from a pile in the kitchen and followed the parade of champagne and vol-au-vents to the ball room—where the reception was, as promised, in full swing.
My only saving grace was the fact that most assholes with a certain level of wealth looked at serving staff as scenery rather than as people. It didn’t take long to read the room and home in on the center of attention in the echoing space.
Lorenzo Vozzina was nowhere to be seen, which was probably just as well. Instead, a slender male omega was holding court by the buffet tables, surrounded by fawning hangers-on holding champagne flutes as they tittered with polite laughter.
Vozzina’s new mate was movie-star pretty in an androgynous sort of way, with jet-black hair artfully tousled over half his forehead, and a pair of cool gray eyes that were striking mostly because of their hardness. As I approached, an unpleasant hint of rosewater and peppermint hit the back of my throat.
I was only going to have one chance at this, and I only had a single piece of ammunition in my arsenal.
“Adrian!” I called, pitching my voice to be heard above the chatter. “I need to talk to you! Jez sent me!”
The fake name had only earned me the most fleeting of perplexed glances. But as soon as the wordJezcame out of my mouth, the omega’s eyes widened in clear alarm.
His gaze darted to first one side, then the other—a classic omega escape response. Then his face turned stony as he purposely returned his attention to me, lifting his chin.
“Security!” he called. “Someone detain that man! He’s impersonating a waiter!”
