Chapter 2
TWO
A week into my new job, and I’m elbow-deep in the Valerio family’s digital guts when the headache hits.
It starts at the base of my skull and crawls up to my temples, bringing with it a flush of heat that has nothing to do with the stuffy server room I’m working in. I freeze mid-keystroke while copying surveillance footage to an encrypted drive.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” This can’t be starting.
I press the heels of my palms against my temples, breathing through it. The suppressants should be holding. I took a double dose this morning, same as yesterday and every day since I walked into this building. With an alpha like Valerio around, I can’t afford to take any chances.
After a moment, the heat recedes, and the pounding in my skull fizzles to a dull ache, leaving me shaky and covered in cold sweat.
I glance at my watch. Eleven AM. The pills should be good for another six hours at least.
My heat isn’t due for another few days. If I keep dosing myself heavily enough, I might be able to suppress this cycle completely. Push it off another month, maybe two, until after Enzo Valerio is rotting in the ground.
I force myself back to work, ignoring the lingering tremor in my hands.
The footage I’m copying shows the loading dock from a little over six months ago—right around the time Sokolov’s missing shipment would’ve moved through.
If I can find proof that he redirected it, or proof that Marco stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to see…
The door beeps. I minimize the transfer window and pull up a diagnostic screen just as Esperanza walks in.
“Mr. DaCosta.” She doesn’t smile. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile since the first day. “Mr. Valerio wants to see you.”
My pulse kicks up. “Problem with my work?”
“He didn’t say.” She’s already turning, expecting me to follow. “Now, please.”
I save my work, pocket the drive, and trail her through Eclipse’s back corridors.
We’ve done this dance twice before, once for a progress update and once because Valerio wanted to show me a vulnerability in their perimeter security.
Both times, I’d walked into his office expecting it to be the moment I finally snap and damn it all to hell.
But I’d held back because the timing wasn’t right. Lucky bastard.
And both times, Valerio had been coldly professional. Observant as fuck, asking questions that made me second-guess every detail of my cover, but professional.
I tell myself this time will be no different.
Esperanza leads me to the executive level, but instead of Valerio’s office, she stops at a conference room. Through the glass walls, I can see him standing at the head of a long table, phone pressed to his ear.
He’s in shirtsleeves today, rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and the top button of his collar is undone.
My gaze catches on those forearms, the thick veins running beneath tan skin, and the casual way he’s leaning against the table. All confidence and power, and I feel a ball of heat rush south from the base of my spine. I tear my eyes away before it becomes a problem.
Get it together.
Valerio sure is an attractive man. I’ll give him that.
What I don’t understand—and definitely don’t like—is how his scent has been haunting me for seven days straight, creeping into my dreams, making me wake up hard and furious at myself for it.
In fact, I’ll add an extra bullet for that alone.
He sees us and ends his call just as Esperanza opens the door.
“Mr. DaCosta, sir.”
“Thank you, Maria.” He dismisses her with a nod, and she leaves without a word.
The door clicks shut, and suddenly the conference room feels too small, too warm. The air too thick with his scent.
His gaze travels over my face.
“Sit.”
I sit, taking the chair farthest from him. He remains standing, which puts him at an advantage, looking down at me. Probably intentional.
“Your progress report was thorough,” he says. No preamble or pleasantries. “You’ve identified seventeen vulnerabilities in our current security infrastructure, three of which are critical.”
“Eighteen,” I correct before I can stop myself. “There’s a blind spot in the parking garage camera coverage at the warehouse on West Forty-Eighth. Third level, southeast corner. Someone could intercept shipments there. Move product without any record.”
His eyebrow—the one with the faded scar—lifts slightly. “You found that this morning?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“And you were going to include it in tonight’s report?”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away, to submit.
My suppressants slip, and his scent hits me full force. Smoky cedar and expensive whiskey. And pure alpha dominance.
Pure fucking danger.
Heat sparks through me again, and I want to put my fist through the nearest wall. Either my suppressants are the worst brand ever or Valerio is the most potent alpha I’ve ever met, because dammit, these frequent slips cannot keep happening.
Or maybe I just need to get laid. It’s been three years since I’ve let anyone in my bed, and my body’s so starved for it that it’s latching onto the first powerful alpha in close range.
A good, hard fuck will fix whatever fuckery in my head that’s making me feel like some desperate omega in a bad boss-employee porno every time Enzo Valerio looks at me too long.
God, if Marco could see me now. He’d be horrified.
Or maybe he’d laugh, shake his head and tell me I always had shit taste in alphas. Just like that time I brought home the bouncer from Rossi’s who turned out to have a wife and three kids in Queens. Marco had laughed until he cried, then made me promise to vet my hookups better.
The memory makes my throat tighten, and I have to blink hard to keep my eyes dry.
I snap back to the present as Valerio circles the table and starts closing the distance between us.
“You’re very good at your job, Mr. DaCosta.” His voice is silk over steel. “Almost too good. Most consultants take weeks to map a system this complex. You’ve done it in one.”
Fuck. I’ve been too efficient, showed too much competence too quickly. I let my desperation to find evidence make me sloppy.
“I’m motivated by money,” I say simply, keeping my voice level. “The faster I work, the faster I can move to the next contract.”
“Mmm.” He stops two chairs away from me. “And what’s your next contract?
“Whoever pays best.”
“Practical.” He leans against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. The position pulls his shirt tight across his shoulders, and I hate that I notice how broad they are.
“I see from your work so far that you’ve been spending considerable time on historical data.
Specifically shipment logs from six, seven months ago.
” He leans back slightly, focusing those dark eyes on me, and suddenly I feel like a suspect in an interrogation room.
“Any reason for that? Most security consultants focus on current cracks in the system. You seem interested in how they were exploited in the past.”
A cold chill runs down my spine. I thought I’d been careful covering my searches among routine checks. Should’ve known a man like him would be paying closer attention than I assumed. Though I wonder how much he knows. His expression gives nothing away.
I keep my composure neutral and pull the first believable explanation out of my ass.
“Understanding how a system was breached tells you more than looking at the system itself. Patterns repeat. People get comfortable using the same tricks.”
“Patterns.” He lets the word hang between us. His scent hits me again and my thoughts scatter for a beat. I drag them back through sheer will. Focus. He’s fishing. He has to be fishing.
“You think they’ve been using the same tricks for a while?” he asks.
“I think your internal threat has been operating longer than you realize. Whoever’s doing this isn’t new at it.”
A flicker of what might be satisfaction or approval crosses his face.
“Interesting theory.” He moves closer, and I have to fight the urge not to lean back. “We’ll discuss that in detail later.”
“Sure, we can—”
The hard edge in his expression dissolves into a smile I’m not prepared for.
“I’m having a dinner party tomorrow night. At my estate. Small group, just family and key associates. I’d like you to attend.”
The sudden pivot throws me, and my brain stutters for half a second.
He was just picking apart my work like he suspected something, and now he wants me at his dinner party?
“Y-you want me to attend a dinner party at your home?”
“Yes.” He says it like we’re discussing a routine business meeting. “Tomorrow.”
Every alarm bell in my head starts blasting at once as my brain scrambles to catch up. Is this some kind of the test? Does he suspect something?
“I appreciate the invitation, but—”
“It wasn’t a request, Mr. DaCosta.”
Huh. Yeah, this stinks like a trap.
“I’m just a contractor,” I say carefully. “Not family.”
“You have access to our security systems. That makes you family, whether you like it or not.” His mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile. “Besides, I find it useful to see how people behave outside work. You can learn a lot about someone over a good meal and wine.”
Or you’re testing me. Trying to get under my skin to see what I’m up to.
“Do you invite your staff casually for dinners in your home, Mr. Valerio?”
“No.” He tilts his head, studying me with that unnerving focus that makes me feel like a specimen pinned under glass. “Only when it matters.”
“And what makes me matter?”
He doesn't answer immediately, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“It’s been a while since I found someone…” He pauses, letting the silence stretch until my pulse kicks up. “Interesting.”
“Interesting,” I repeat flatly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”