Chapter 66
Massimo
T he sound of the oven door closing is a small comfort as I work my way through the kitchen. I’ve always found peace in cooking, the rhythm of preparation soothing my mind, allowing me to focus on something tangible. But today, there’s a weight in the air, and no amount of flour or seasoning can ease it.
I’ve got a roast in the oven, a few pastries on the counter cooling, and a pot of sauce simmering, but it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s a certain heaviness here, an unspoken tension that seems to grow with every minute.
Rowan’s upstairs, napping. She’s exhausted, physically and emotionally. It’s been hours since she got back, and while she’s not asleep long, I know it’s the kind of rest she needs. She’s fragile, still piecing herself together, but I can feel her, just a little, through the bond. The comfort of sleep is helping, but it won’t be enough. Not for what she’s been through.
Xavier and Sébastien haven’t left her side since we got back. They’re practically glued to her. I can’t say I blame them, Xavier’s been like a different man. He’s always been protective, always the steady one, but right now, there’s a rawness in him I’ve never seen before. Sébastien, too; his usual calm has shifted, and I can feel the undercurrent of worry from him every time I get close.
I pull the roast from the oven, carefully checking its temperature before setting it aside to rest. There’s a slight hiss from the sauce, the heat making it bubble gently. I breathe in deeply, letting the familiar scents ground me, and glance over at the door.
Cole and Laurent are in the kitchen now, taking turns pacing. They’re both on edge, neither one able to sit still. I catch Laurent’s eye, and he takes another swig from his glass, the amber liquid sloshing against the side. He doesn’t even look at me as he pulls a bottle of Scotch from the counter, before topping off his glass. His shoulders are tight. His jaw clenched.
Cole joins Laurent at the counter, his fingers brushing against the smooth glass as he pours another drink, the amber liquid filling the space with a comforting sound. Laurent takes the glass, his eyes still on the door, restless. They don’t say much. The silence is heavy, each of us waiting for something we can’t control.
Just as Cole’s about to take a sip, there's a knock at the door. It’s sharp, urgent, cutting through the stillness of the room. Both men freeze, their gazes shifting to the door. I don’t need to ask. They’re already on edge. I set the towel down on the counter and make my way toward the door.
When I open it, the last thing I expect to see is a uniformed officer standing there, flanked by a couple of other officers. The man in front, wearing a sheriff's badge, looks directly at me. His face is stern but calm, like he's been dealing with high-stress situations all day.
“You Cole Kingston?” the sheriff asks.
I shake my head, “No,” I say, “Come in. Cole’s in the kitchen.”
I step aside, motioning the officers to follow me into the kitchen. The sheriff, flanked by a couple of deputies, enters the house with a purposeful stride. I lead them through the hallway and into the kitchen, where Cole and Laurent are still waiting, the tension in the room palpable.
The sheriff addresses the room. “Which one of you is Cole Kingston?”
Cole looks up from his drink, the sudden shift in his energy apparent. “Me,” he says, setting down his glass on the counter.
“We caught them,” the sheriff says. “The men who tried to grab your Omega. They’re in custody.”
I see a flash of relief in Cole’s eyes, but it’s brief. He’s not ready to let his guard down, just yet.
“Go on,” Cole presses, his gaze never leaving the sheriff.
“They broke during interrogation. They were hired thugs, not pros. Rowan’s mother hired them. We have a warrant out for her arrest. We’re unsure if her fathers or brothers were involved. We’re looking into that now.
Cole’s jaw tightens. Laurent’s grip tightens on the glass; I fear it’s going to shatter. He takes a deep breath, leaning back against the counter, processing everything. I can see the wheels turning. With no hesitation in his voice he asks, “What happens now?”
“We’ve handled the arrest. NYPD is enroute to pick up Rowan’s mother. We’ll keep looking into it to see if any other family members were involved.”
The sheriff starts to walk down the hall then turns. “You take care of her. We’ll keep you updated.”