It’s not like people showing up around here doesn’t happen a lot. The area around The Docks attracts a large transient crowd.Of course, our people keep an eye out for newcomers, and she’d been spotted. But, for the past few weeks, her routine kept her contained in neutral ground; there were no immediate red flags.
The fact that she ran to help Matteo isn’t even a concern. I can read her compassionate nature as clearly as I can tell the shadows in her eyes weren’t put there by her own doing.
The red flags appeared after she left for work, once it was too late for me to pull out of our agreement to let her work tonight. Now I’m even more thankful Dante and I stumbled into a gentleman’s agreement with Ahmed.
Layne Miller is an alias. And while that’s a concern, it isn’t the reason I want to jump in my car and race to the restaurant. The redacted transcript of a woman recently attacked on the opposite side of the country—an Allison Monet—is responsible. I’m no psychic, but the evidence provided in a series of photos and medical reports detailing injuries eerily similar to Layne’s stacked up in such a way that nearly anyone with half a brain would be able to solve the mystery. Beyond the torture of having to read a detailed report of what happened to the Omega invading our lives, the blacked-out lines on the report are setting off all my alarm bells. The identity of whoever attacked Allison is classified information, a fact that has my blood pressure skyrocketing.
My phone buzzes, and Dante’s text not only confirms how much time has passed since I first sat at my desk, but also that we have a visitor in the lobby. I hit the call button, and my brother picks up before it rings. “Let me guess, you just want to freshen up?”
“Appearances are important.” There’s an edge to my response, and I know he doesn’t miss it.
Dante doesn’t miss much. The bond we share began in our mother’s womb and has only grown exponentially since, ensuring we share so much more than just our looks.
“I need to grab a couple of things, anyway,” he says. “It will be better if we go down together.”
He hangs up, and I use the bathroom attached to my office. I know I agreed on using scent blockers, but at the same time, in our world, scents are as important as who you swear your allegiance to.
Matteo finds me shaving, and opening the closet behind the door, he hands over a white button-down. Dante shouts out that he needs a few minutes, and by the time I’m fixing my hair, he’s yelling to haul ass.
“Did you check our security?” I ask on the way down.
Matteo confirms with a grunt as he studies the security feeds on his phone. “No one is getting in or out without us knowing.”
“But how, then?” I bark before scrubbing a hand down my face, then apologizing.
“Probably Vitale’s meddling again,” Matteo answers calmly, ignoring my frustration.
“I’ll kill the bastard myself,” I snap back without volume.
Matteo reaches over with a brief brush of his hand along my shoulder, a reminder of what we’re doing and why, while also sharing his ability to placate the highs of my emotions. With his assistance, I don’t feel peaceful enough to rest, but steady enough to not act like an Alpha out of control.
“That’s the plan,” Dante adds before he cracks his neck, a sign he’s as frustrated as I am. “We stick to the timing, Valentine. And we already have the tools we need to succeed.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but my focus is pulled to the two women causing a scene in the front of our apartment building. Since rumors started circulating that Vitale would soon be naming his successor, nearly every unbonded female with links—however small—to the Gambrillo Family has paraded like a peacock in front of us.
In Vitale’s ploy to ensure Dante, Matteo, and I are out of the running of being named his successor, he’s recently announced any pack who wants to be included in the running for his crown needs to be a completely formed pack. The only way to do that is to have either a wife, husband, or a bonded Omega.
He keeps taunting us by sending other people’s daughters our way. No doubt his latest change to the rules is a reminder he is still the Boss and can do whatever he wants. The other part of Vitale’s motivation would have to make things harder for Pack De Luca, already knowing we’ll reject each and every woman he sends our way. Each of them was born with the sole intent of fostering alliances. But they are Vitale’s alliances, and we refuse to tie ourselves to any of them. Once he dies, everything associated with him—alliances, deals, promises—die with him. The only thing I want is his title of Boss. And the only way I’ll take that is the way he took the position in the first place—with blood.
Like Dante said, we’ve needed to look and act the part until the time’s right. Lucky for us, fate stepped in and delivered exactly what we need—someone who isn’t dappled in allegiances or contrived for revenge.
Layne.
As soon as she walked into the apartment this morning, I knew there was no way I would let finding her go to waste. Especially when she, too, had a reason to jump so eagerly at our offer.
I’d rather spend the rest of my life trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Layne than to waste another minute of my time with the dolled-up bitches trying to slink inside my home. For some reason, they always travel in pairs.
“Valentine.” Claudia says my name like it brings her happiness.
The sound of my name on her lips is nauseating, but I don’t stop her, so she keeps chirping away. Her scent is so fake and spicy, making my head ache and my eyes water, I have to wave it away.
She blatantly ignores what I’m doing while continuing to talk in her nasally whine. “My card doesn’t work. Sorry you had to come down and get me, but I’m so happy you did.”
Both she and her cousin share the same look as nearly every other daughter in our world—manufactured beauty that’s all about enticement and entrapment. They don’t want us. They either want the flashy fame of being seen as important, or they want the notoriety of selling us out to our friends and enemies to get ahead. But I know lots about Claudia, things no one else might. For instance, she’s got bad habits of her own, like fucking her friends’ boyfriends and bodyguards before stealing from the poor bitches, even being low enough to wear their jewelry like trophies.
“I didn’t realize you had a card,” I offer blandly, and the way she looks over my shoulder gives away how she got the card. She does it in such a way, her manipulation appears like she’s doing me a favor.
Dante doesn’t miss her looking over at Otto, our building security manager. Or more accurately, our ex-security manager. How honest he is about what he’s been up to will determine whether he will be working in our city again. For the moment, Otto doing shit behind our back isn’t the issue; the two desperate and dateless women in front of me are.
