“That sounds reasonable to me.” I offer him a cutting smile.
“There’s more we need to go over, but it’s late. We can tackle that in the morning,” Moretti says, holding his tie to his chest as he stands. “Hawk will be your full-time bodyguard until we can find a permanent team that I trust to keep you safe.”
My gaze moves to the massive bodyguard. His energy doesn’t seem pleased with this turn of events. I can go easy on him until my husband finds that new team he mentioned.
As far as Moretti goes, I haven’t decided if I’m going to torment him or peacefully assimilate into his household. It’ll be a surprise for both of us, I suppose.
Chapter Nine
Hawk
The mafia princess’s shoulders slump as we stand in the entryway to the primary bedroom. Her lips turn downward, and it seems like she’s displeased about something.
Yeah, me too, sweetheart.
Me fucking too.
Being demoted to her security team is a slap in the face. Or it would be if I didn’t understand Moretti’s reasoning.
I worked my ass off to earn my position as his number two, and I don’t want to risk losing it. If he drags his feet about finding her a permanent team, I’ll take over and do the interviews myself.
“Do I get a tour?” Vanessa asks, looking up at me from under her dark brown lashes.
She returned Moretti’s overcoat before we came upstairs, and there’s a lot more pale skin on display.
If I didn’t know my best friend, I’d be concerned that he’s testing me, but I know Emory Moretti. He hyperfocuses to the point he can’t concentrate on anything else. Right now, his only goal in life is proving Grigoryan’s guilt.
Vanessa should be grateful that his obsession with getting under Grigoryan’s skin extended to saving her. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had no interest in marriage, pack life, or finding an omega of his own. It still blows me away that he went to such lengths to make her his.
Vanessa’s head swivels as she glances around the sitting area just outside the primary bedroom. It’s where we stand now and where Moretti wants me to sleep until we get someone in to do full-time security for her.
Stomping over to the door that leads into the bedroom, I toss it open and head inside.
Vanessa doesn’t hesitate to join me, and she peeks up at me like she’s waiting for something.
“The bed is there.” I point, as if she can’t see the massive thing that takes up most of the far wall. “That hallway leads to the walk-in closet, the bathroom, and the nest. It was all professionally cleaned over the last few days.”
“Great,” Vanessa says, smiling tightly. “What am I supposed to do about clothing?”
I step over to the dresser, pulling open one of the drawers. “Moretti sent Francesca pictures of you. She did all the shopping for your basics. It should be enough for you to be comfortable until we can get your things from your father’s house or you order what you’d like.” My voice comes out low and scratchy, but I don’t talk much unless I have to.
Vanessa quirks an eyebrow. “I should probably ask who Francesca is, but I’m too tired to care. Do you think clothing constitutes as necessity items?”
“You should ask Em that,” I tell her, backing toward the door.
She makes me nervous with the smile that tips at her lips.
“Em?” She flutters her long lashes. “Is that another of my husband’s mistresses? Or…” She laughs. “Wow, I forgot his first name for a second. This seriously can’t be my life.”
Francesca isn’t Moretti’s mistress, although she probably does wish she was. As far as I know, the two have never fucked. The boss has a strict policy against romantic relationships with anyone who works for him, and that includes any of the women who work at his clubs. However, I don’t get paid enough to hash that out for him.
Vanessa smells way too fucking good, and she’s beautiful. It’s time for me to take my ass to bed and pray I wake up tomorrow magically not attracted to my best friend’s wife.
I back toward the door, grabbing the handle on my way by. “I’ll find you in the morning, and we can make a plan for the day.”
She turns toward me, and her face falls, but she quickly pastes on a mask of indifference. “Thanks. Any idea whether my husband plans to join me in our bedroom tonight?”
I grimace.
