The sweet and slightly tart scent of blueberries invaded my senses as my vision was filled with the patterned material of Ranierie’s shirt.
Looking up, I found the alpha to be smiling at me as if nothing was wrong.‘Let’s not watch these idiots fight, eh?’
Ranieri was the worst at signing in his pack, but he always mouthed whatever he was attempting to say, making it easier for me to understand.
I wanted to stay and figure out just what the hell had gotten into them, but Ranieri’s hands were already gently steering me toward the door.
Once we were in the hallway we came face to face with one of the housekeepers who looked as if she’d been waiting for me.
“Mr. Amante wants to see you,” she said, nearly speaking too quickly for me to catch her words.
All of the staff in this place spoke like I could hear them no matter how many years they worked here.
I nodded once to let her know I understood her—I rarely, if ever, signed to the people who worked at the mansion.
It’s not like they would understand me anyway.
It had been better when Alesso was alive. He called himself the tiny tyrant and wasn’t afraid to call the staff out for their treatment of me.
But that time had long since passed and most of the people who worked at the estate were new, save for a few who had never liked me much anyway.
Suddenly, I felt their presence behind me like a warm, sweet-scented blanket.
I turned to find all four of them crowding into the hallway, their expressions grim and their argument seemingly forgotten.
“What do you think he wants?” Nico asked, his eyes briefly darting to mine.
“Nothing good,” Elio replied, his shoulders tight as he stepped around me to lead the way.
***
My father’s office was a study in how money doesn’t and could never buy taste.
When I was much smaller and he had just taken over the family, it had been full of the warm leathers and rich smelling wood tones that my grandfather had favored.
Now, however, a massive marble desk sat in the center of the room, taking up most of the space and making it feel cold and clinical.
All of the dusty old books that had given the room a cozy air had been replaced with opulent statuettes that seemed to stare at me as I stood on the thick persian rug in front of the desk.
My father’s guards had also denied entry to Elio and the rest of his pack, leaving me standing here alone.
At first, I had hoped that maybe they would try to push their way in anyway—to stand behind me and support me in whatever my father was about to do—but instead Elio had just shot me an incomprehensible look and stepped back.
I could feel his inner turmoil down the strange, hazy thread we now shared, but even despite that he still kept in line with my father’s wishes.
Just like he had when my father nearly forced him to marry Peregrine Chandler.
Even the thought of it sent my stomach roiling with jealousy and hurt as I waited for my father to speak.
He hadn’t looked up from whatever he was reading in minutes—a common tactic he used when trying to intimidate people. Hewanted me to stew and worry over whatever it was that he had called me in here for and only once I started to fidget would he finally address me.
When I was little he would use the same strategy to get me to confess to any wrongdoings I had committed, even if he didn’t actually know about them in the first place.
Finally, blue eyes lifted to meet mine.
“Do you know why I called you in here today?” he asked, steepling his fingers underneath his chin.
I shook my head.
