Matteo’s hand rests on my thigh. It’s that, or my leg bounces as I process what they have done and where we are going.
“It looks like you’re about to pop a vein,” he says quietly, handing over the glass of water before pushing the plate of cookies closer.
I shake my head; the loss of words is real. My eyes jump to Dante, and he’s got that kick-ass vibe going on, with a small smile on his face. “Are you reading the room right?”
Blowing out an exhale, and not answering him, because I still can’t quite talk, I look at Valentine, who’s lounging back in the seat opposite me, his legs crossed, his eyes blazing with as many emotions as I’m sorting out.
He takes a sip of his whiskey, swirling the ice once he’s done.
“Layne, it’s not a blindside. If you really don’t want us to do this, I will tell them to turn around and take us home.”
“But how did you do it? Why?” I find my voice, asking the easiest questions first. I think.
“We knew you were living under an alias, and once we discovered who you were, you know that we started recovering and removing the ways we had managed to find you. I suspect, if we didn’t have the contacts we have, your real identity would still be undiscovered, but lucky for us, we have incredible hackers hidden away.”
I take a small sip of the water, putting it back down before grabbing a hold of Matteo’s hand.
“The judge who helped me make you ours”—Valentine smiles guiltily, but also triumphantly—“answered a few open-ended questions we had about the reasons people use different names, and one thing led to another. The question was simple—could we delete Ariana Rothchild but claim her academic achievement under another name? He asked for some time to consider his answer, but he came back to us yesterday, citing cases and several relevant precedents.”
“You worked your ass off for your bachelor’s degree. You were admitted to Yale Law, where you then aced everything put in front of you,” Dante says, leaning forward and staring deep into my soul while he speaks.
The change in my ability to scent them properly doesn’t stop me from picking up the heady notes of his Amaretto scent.
“You just need your Juris Doctor, and you are fucking on your way.” The way Dante speaks, with so much conviction and confidence, is infectious.
Much like the way Valentine’s pride and encouragement slashes through a dozen or so reasons I maybe shouldn’t be doing this. Turning in my chair to look at Matteo, I find the same range of emotions on his face.
“You can do this. Your office is on the same floor as ours. You will be safe—we will make sure of it—but, Layne, you were born to be both a lawyer, and ours. Don’t let your family take away from you what makes you happy. Besides, I’m pretty sureyou will be the most successful criminal attorney, given the—” Matteo uses his finger, waving around to point out the obvious.
“You might be the only criminal attorney not to have to advertise their services,” Valentine adds. “You’ll handle everything for us, but Ronin and Santiago will also be on board.”
“What?” I stammer, getting knocked on my butt again.
“It’s part of the arrangement we made. Full support in any area I ask them to help me with.” Valentine keeps going. “Your success is important to our pack, which means they will be on board.”
Matteo squeezes my hand. “Val fails to mention, he has the same requirement on his shoulders.”
Valentine takes another sip, a purposeful gesture that screamsthis is your decision.
I look out the window. The clouds and the blue of the sky look the same as before Pack De Luca blew my mind. I’m not exactly surprised…more stunned at the thoughtfulness at their incredibly personal courting gift. When they said we were going to get a gift, I figured a shopping spree or maybe a home by the beach, but handing me my future on a silver platter? God, I’m back to being nearly speechless.
Without looking at them, I speak. “They didn’t remove my transcripts?”
“Nope,” Dante says almost immediately.
“Does it trigger anything? Like, does it give my location away if I claim them?”
“No.” Matteo answers this time. “We’re flying across the country, but we’re also not using the main entrance to the Sterling Memorial Library.”
God, just the thought of that library, of stepping foot back onto the Yale campus, almost makes me whine with want. But I can’t let myself get swept away.
“We can’t just access it online?”
“Fuck that. You are getting the graduation that was stolen from you!”
I laugh at that. Dante isn’t wrong, but he’s ignoring that he’s righting two wrongs with one right. The first is breaking into the library to steal my transcripts; the second is Dante being a comedian, because when we first talked about this, he told me that, for the day, he’s a professor at Yale, according to some doctored certificate someone made for him. The robes he bought online are currently hanging in the back of the Gulfstream, behind where Legos, Leon, and a handful of their most loyal men are sitting.
All they’re waiting on is my go ahead.
