“It seems so,” Valentine says, his mannerisms so different from how he was with me earlier. But this more businesslike, colder version is no less appealing. “We were also able to pull images from the camera feed when we got attacked here, and if you’re saying the image Jana sent is Rocco, then I can say the same. He was involved in the hit on our building and the others on that day.”
“He’s dead?” I ask, my gut dropping but hope swirling. It’s not great to wish death on someone, but at the same time, what he did to me was inexcusable.
Matteo starts plating the food. “Okay, we’re going to hit pause on this discussion. The three of us have no issue talking shop and eating, but we won’t do the same with our wife. She needs food because we’ve had to ask her to restart her medication. And looking after her welfare is more important than pretty much anything right now.”
The other two agree in an instant, bustling around to help Matteo finish with breakfast, and I swear something in me melts even more as I get a very real reminder of how sure they are of me.
I blow out a huge sigh. So big, the three of them turn to look at me.
“You just keep chasing away bad memories. Thank you.” I talk quietly, making sure to look at each of them in their eyes, too, so they understand my sincerity. I get varying degrees of acknowledgement, as unique as they are. Then I slip into a slightly different persona than they’re used to. “We can talk shop. I’d love it, actually. I haven’t used that side of my brain for way too long. Don’t forget, I grew up poring over evidence photos, reading hospital or police reports, and combing through witness statements. I don’t think there is an injury or death I haven’t seen, and considering how the Rothchild family got their reputation, you know I’m pretty much immune to the practices some syndicates use on their victims. I may be able to help.”
Dante is still standing on the opposite side of the island, but when I finish speaking, he rounds the counter and slams his lips against mine, growling and snarling like a wild wolf. He pulls back when Valentine starts dragging him away, but he makes heart hands.
His dramatics stop the creeping tension, and when he sits down, he winks before grabbing the ketchup and smothering his eggs.
“Dante,” I hiss, looking distastefully at his plate. “That really does change things between us.”
He shrugs, unconcerned, because he knows I’m lying before he points at my plate, the message to start eating impossible to ignore.
Valentine walks over and takes a seat next to me, waiting for me to eat before he does. “Your involvement is welcome in anything we do. If I’m honest, I want you involved in everything we do. Matty was right to be worried about how you would react if we disclosed his injuries before checking. It’s eerie how effortlessly you fit in. Somehow, you have this ability to make usfeel like we’ve been together and doing this for a long time. The sensation is crazy, and it sometimes makes us forget you haven’t been with us that long at all. Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I say, scooping some omelet onto my toast.
“We always eat together. This”—he waves his hand around the kitchen—“is why we do what we do. For times to sit and eat and simply be a family.”
And, no shit, it’s lucky the suppressors are kicking into gear, or Pack De Luca would have to watch me burst into tears again at how poignant, but also how necessary, his words are.
31
Layne
Edward and Bella pick up the subtle change in everyone’s mood as we clean up the kitchen after breakfast is done. It draws them from the nap they were both having, out into the sunshine on the balcony.
I squat down to give them scratches behind their ears, hoping to reassure them, but it’s like they’ve picked up that we’re about to start talking about strategy and business, so they jump into active service too.
“I need to talk to Ronnie about you two,” I tell Bella, snapping my fingers and telling her to go check the house. I know they’re working dogs and need discipline and mental activity, but I like to balance it with cuddles.
Hopping up to my feet, I open the fridge, searching for drinks and snacks. I'm completely on task, wondering if I should cut up some of the cheesecake I find, when a pair of warm hands slip inside my dress to cup my breasts, and I scream.
“We can sit at the dining table, or we can use my office,” Valentine suggests, keeping a blank mask on his face, even when I twist around to check, because it sounds a lot like a setup.
He also doesn’t stop playing with my nipples after being called out. The deep rumbling moans he makes against my ear have goose bumps dotting my skin more than the cold coming from inside the fridge. Valentine finishes with a harsh bite on my nape that sends shivers all the way from my head to my toes, so strong, they nearly send me to my knees.
Grabbing onto the fridge, I press my head against his until the tremors stop. Except, of course, seeing me struggle because of his touch has him making suggestive noises against my skin again. I have to stop, or I’ll be yanking up my dress and presenting for him.
Clearing my throat and being more obvious when I push him away, I can’t look at him yet when I talk. “Come on, we've got work to do. Don’t you need to go out soon?”
Being a gentleman, he carries my hoard of supplies as we make our way to his office, and then he holds the door open for me. I nearly trip over my own feet at how much his office still stinks like sex. I spin and catch a new wave of satisfaction on his face.
Dante comes in behind us, and I see him missing a step on his way in as he slams into the same issue. He stops dead in his tracks and glares daggers at Valentine, his top lip twitching up while a rumbling snarl spills from his chest. It’s loud enough that the dogs trot over to see what the issue is.
“Is there a problem?” Valentine smirks, except when he sees how pissed his brother is, the smile twists into a full-blown one. The smug Alpha buries his hands in the pockets of his suit pants while he rocks on his heels, waiting for Dante’s answer. The way he acts and looks is wildly attractive, even though his ego is out of control.
Dante runs a hand through his ebony-colored hair to pull it off his face and makes another frustrated sound in the process. I move into the path between them, hoping to sidetrack Dante and also stop Valentine’s gloating.
“Don’t let him wind you up. Don’t you have things to tell us?” I suggest, even pointing for him to sit next to me.
“Not quite fair, though, is it? I was out all morning, working, and my brother was here fucking you the entire time,” he bitches, moving to the side so he can continue glaring at his brother.
