“We don’t have an attorney,” Oliver blurts out, the admission as casual and embarrassing as revealing the lack of a second car.
“You do now. Margaux Chen, commercial real estate. She’s the best in the district, and she owes me a favor.” I slide a business card across the table. “She’s expecting your call.”
Lorenzo picks up the card, his thumb tracing its edge. His posture, which was rigid when I arrived, has softened, the tension draining from his spine. Recognition glints in his eyes where there’d been calculation. Oliver can’t hide it. He’s grinning so wide his cheeks ache, foot tapping against the chair leg with barely contained energy.
“This is—” Oliver starts.
“A good start,” Lorenzo finishes. He stands, straightening his cuffs. “Oliver, get Wilson a coffee. He’s been standing against that wall for an hour and he hasn’t blinked.”
“I blinked,” Wilson mutters.
“Barely.” Lorenzo’s mouth twitches. “Nicholas, stay a minute?”
I watch Oliver grab Wilson’s arm and tow him out of the office, chattering about the espresso machine he’s been trying to convince Lorenzo to buy. Wilson’s protest fades down the hallway, the sound disappearing the moment the door falls shut.
Lorenzo settles back into his chair. The pink suit he wears should look absurd in this cramped office of salvaged furniture and dented filing cabinets, but it doesn’t. He wears authority the way other people wear cologne. It precedes him into the room regardless of what he’s wearing.
“Thank you for the work.” His voice changes with the room empty, the performance stripped away. “The comps, the attorney, the counter-proposal. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
I shrug. “I wanted to.”
He leans forward. “I know. That’s what concerns me.” His fingers lace together on the table. “Nicholas, I don’t ask questions I don’t want the answers to. So, I’m going to ask you something directly, and I’d appreciate the same in return.”
I meet his gaze. “Ask.”
He fixes his eyes on me. “What are your intentions with Wilson?”
The question lands, a simple, direct thing that requires a similar response. Lorenzo’s eyes stay steady on my face, his expression carrying nothing except the focused attention of a man who protects what’s his.
I take my glasses off and wipe the lenses on my shirt, the nervous gesture buying me a few seconds. “I’ve been in love with Wilson since I was twenty-four years old.” The words come out plain without any drama or embellishment, my emotional range distilled into a sentence that costs everything to say. “I was in love with him before my brother claimed him. I was in love with him during the years Sebastian had him. And I’ve been in love with him for the two years since he disappeared.”
His expression doesn’t change, obviously waiting for the full story. I’ve never answered to a Beta before but with Lorenzo, I don’t feel disrespected. I feel like he’s asking me to prove myself to someone he’s already taken under his wing.
“Sebastian took Wilson from me deliberately. My brother and I have a history that predates Wilson by a long time, but Wilson became the sharpest weapon Sebastian ever used against me.” I trace the edge of the table with my thumb, feeling the smooth wood putty where the handle used to be. “Sebastian saw howI looked at Wilson. He catalogued it the way he catalogues everything he plans to use. And then he charmed Wilson into a bond before I could—”
Before I could what? Claim him first? Beat my brother to a bite? The truth is uglier. I was slow because I was being careful. I was giving Wilson time to trust me, time to choose, time to be sure. Sebastian saw that patience and exploited the gap.
“The nights Sebastian invited me into their bed were calculated.” My voice stays level, though I’ll pay the cost of that later, alone in my apartment with a glass of bourbon. “Sebastian wanted to remind me of what he’d taken. And I went because Wilson was there and my body has never been able to refuse Wilson. Every time, I told myself it was just physical for him, that I was a novelty. Sebastian’s brother in his brother’s bed.”
His chin dips a fraction to show that he’s listening.
“I found out two years ago that Wilson had the bite removed. Sebastian called me at two a.m., drunk and furious, raging about Wilson going behind his back. That’s how I learned Wilson was free.” My thumb stills on the wood putty at the shock on Lorenzo’s face. Fuck, Wilson probably hadn’t explained that but it’s out now. “I waited for him to come to me. For two years I orbited the edges of his old life, hoping he’d surface, telling myself that patience was respect when the truth is that I was terrified. Terrified that if I reached for him, I’d look like Sebastian, that wanting someone who’d just escaped a controlling Alpha would make me the same thing my brother is.”
Lorenzo leans forward just a little more, his head tilting to the side. His scent softens slightly, encouraging me to continue.
“I had no idea Wilson was here until I walked in for my shift last week and saw him behind the bar. I thought I was imagining it.”
Lorenzo’s jaw shifts, the first sign of reaction since we started talking. “And your intentions? Because my first priority is toprotect him, regardless of your investment.” I open my mouth to say something but he just shakes his head. “I know what webothwant but I want to make sure it’s good for the people it would hurt the most should it go sideways.”
I couldn’t be more honored to be part of something with Wilson with Lorenzo as the lead. I am so happy he found someone like Lorenzo after all he’s been through. “I don’t want anything from Wilson that he doesn’t want to give.” I spread my hands on the table, palms down, showing a piece of submission to the Beta sitting across from me. “I don’t want to push. I don’t want to crowd. I don’t want to be another Alpha who stands too close and calls it love. If Wilson wants me in his life, I’m there in whatever capacity, whatever distance, as long as he needs me on the other side of whatever wall he’s built.”
“And if he lets you in?” Lorenzo’s question is quiet, each word weighty.
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure he never regrets it.”
Lorenzo unfolds his hands, pressing his palms flat against the table, mirroring mine. An understanding settles between us as he lets out a small sigh. “Wilson flinches when Alphas raise their voices,” Lorenzo states, each fact delivered without ornament. “He’s had nightmares that wake him gasping. He apologizes when someone touches him and his body responds. He’s apparently spent two years learning to survive alone and he’s very good at it. Too good.”
I feel responsible for some of that but the only thing I can do now is make amends.
