PRESENT DAY
A Year and a Half Later
"I’m bored," I grumble to Martin, leaning back in my chair.
Golden Eagle is supposed to be one of the most upscale restaurants in the city, but damn, it’s stiff as hell. All serious-faced waiters and big-shot businessmen coming in after meetings to eat calamari and caviar.
There are private booths with sliding glass doors so VIPs can talk without worrying about nosy alphas and omegas eavesdropping.
Martin rolls his eyes. "You’re always bored, Sun. Tell me something new. That’s getting old."
I scrunch my face at him and flip him off. One of the waiters sees it and gives me a tight-lipped grimace full of disapproval. Figures. My trashy behavior doesn’t really vibe with their whole posh aesthetic, but I couldn’t care less.
Martin leans over his plate and stares at his perfectly cooked steak like it’s hiding the secrets of the universe.
I don’t say anything, ’cause I’m over him. It’s probably time to find a new boyfriend. How long has it been? Three months? For me, that’s basically forever.
He glances at me, his dark brown eyes narrowing slightly.
"What’s with the face? You don’t have to look bored on purpose ."
"We could’ve gone to that little grill on 22nd Avenue. At least they play decent music…"
"Too many bikers. The place reeks of sweaty leather jackets. And they stare!"
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, but at least it’s not boring."
Silence stretches between us. Finally, Martin mutters, "Why don’t you come up with something interesting for once? You always expect to be entertained, and when I do suggest something, you turn your nose up at it. Nothing ever pleases you."
"Oh, fuck you."
We eat for a while, and then my mind drifts to something my brother, Storm, texted me yesterday.
"Actually, I do have something interesting to say! My cousin Gabriel, you know, the eco-terrorist one? He got himself into deep shit right after the college year ended. He and his little group of broccoli-eating activists broke into a Malden Pharmaceuticals lab. They torched it but didn’t know the night cleaning crew was still inside.
Six people could’ve died, some were injured.
He’s being blamed for the whole thing, and he’s in serious shit. "
Martin raises his eyebrows. Guess I shared something that got his attention, after all.
"No kidding? That company’s CEO, Blue Lowen, pretty much holds the record for most attempts on his life, or on his labs. People hate him for, like, a thousand reasons…"
"Yeah, he’s a weird one. My uncle Van’s trying to figure out a way to get in touch with him, to beg for some kind of leniency for Gabriel. One of my brothers works for Blue’s brother, so they’re hoping they can get through somehow."
"Maybe they need legal representation?" Martin flashes a grin. Of course his family would jump at the chance. For a nice fat fee.
"Thanks, but my uncle can’t afford that. He’s a retired cop," I mutter. "Gabriel’s on his own."
"Well, if you say so. My dad would love to take on a case involving Blue Lowen himself. That kind of lawsuit gets media attention. We’d get our name out there…"
"God, Martin, do you ever not think about business? I’m telling you my family shit and you’re like how can I make money off this . That’s fucked up."
He shrugs. "I’m just offering help, calm your ass. If it weren’t for idiots like your cousin, my family wouldn’t be making money. People just need lawyers."
I feel a wave of irritation but force it down, staring out the window, redirecting my thoughts to something more relaxing than his smug face.
The view is of the ocean, and I lose myself in the vast blue space and the birds flying high. Summer’s starting to kick in. I might try some nice beach shots soon. People love my pictures in speedos. Some new followers always show up when I present my flawless abs.
The waiter slides the door open to the terrace, and a blast of warm air rolls in. It hits me like a memory.
Hot wind, a roaring bike, me on the back, Dogger at the front. We spent so many summer days riding all over the state. Yeah. No longer on my schedule.
Now my life’s all modeling gigs, posting on Insta, and the occasional jam session with my band. Though even that’s fading out. High school ended a few weeks ago. Everyone’s going their separate ways. I’m heading to college. They’re scattering across the country.
And now? I’m stuck with a boring law student, aka trust fund baby, Martin.
Ever since Dogger, I haven’t felt that spark with anyone. All my flings have just… been. Nothing special. No thrill, no butterflies. They come, they go, I don’t miss any of them.
I’m just about to tell Martin we should call it quits when he tilts his head slightly and locks eyes on a group walking into the dining room.
Right from the entrance, the waiters swarm them like excited flies, guiding the guests into one of the fancy glass booths reserved for the pickiest VIPs.
They’re practically bowing to one of the guys.
He's a Beta, probably in his forties, of average height, with a slim build and black slicked-back hair. His face is unreadable, handsome in that cold, austere way. He acts like he doesn’t see anyone else in the room.
Next to him is another beta, this one overweight and visibly nervous, talking nonstop, gesturing wildly, clearly trying to get the guy’s attention, but Mr. Slick Hair doesn’t even blink.
He sits, picks up the menu, and starts reading it like he’s completely alone.
Following behind them are two alphas, both around thirty, maybe a little younger. Also black-haired and dressed in sharp suits. One has a long scar under one eye. His gaze sweeps over the restaurant like we’re all bugs as he takes his seat.
Next to him sits a massive alpha, probably something like seven feet tall, with a face that’s either completely indifferent or just plain bored. His eyes also sweep across the room, but differently, more like he’s sizing everyone up, calculating.
The whole group gives off this standoffish vibe, like they’ve all been constipated for a week straight.
"Holy shit, what a stiff-ass crew," I mutter under my breath and go back to my food.
The guys are flipping through the menu, but Martin’s sitting there with his mouth half-open.
"Are you serious, Sun? You don’t know who that is?"
"Nope. Some politician? I don’t give a crap about politics, it’s all garbage." I shrug and stab a shrimp with my fork.
"First off, that chubby dude is my uncle Carl. He’s a lawyer, like half my family. And that group?" He leans in and drops his voice to a dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "That’s the Ferros."
My eyebrows go up.
Who hasn’t heard of the Ferros?
The biggest mafia family in the city. They’ve already wiped out two rival gangs, and now it’s just them versus the Russians.
Their boss has a reputation. Cautious but ruthless.
He took the family to the top. The previous capos were a mess, constantly fighting other mobsters and never getting anywhere.
"Well damn, look at you taking me to the mob’s favorite lunch spot," I snort, but I’m not even mad. Finally, something interesting in this boring-ass day.
"Sorry, I didn’t know the fucking mafia comes here," Martin hunches over his plate like he’s trying to disappear.
"So what now? Should we go say hi to your uncle?" I smirk, mostly just to annoy him.
"Have you lost your damn mind?!" he explodes. "I’m not saying hi to my uncle while he’s talking to the freaking capo di tutti capi! "
But I’m already standing. Why the hell not? I’ve always been chasing something to fill this empty pit inside me. Maybe it’s time to stir things up a little.
I yank him by the arm, and even though his whole body screams what the fuck is happening , he follows, reluctantly, swearing under his breath.
We stop at the table, and all the men look up at us.
My boyfriend gulps and mutters, "Oh, hey Uncle, just wanted to say hi. Everything good with you?" His voice is all apologetic. Chicken.
Martin’s uncle just stares at him and blinks, shocked that his nephew’s walking up to him at a table full of mobsters like it’s a backyard barbecue.
Meanwhile, my gaze lands on the black-haired beta’s face. Now that I know who he is, I take a good look. Gotta admit, he’s holding up pretty well for someone well into his forties.
Anzo’s dark eyes meet mine. They lock onto my face, totally still, unreadable. But wait, there it is. A flicker. Just a shadow of curiosity hiding in that cold stare. I can always recognize it, with sharp precision.
I give him a smile… the smile . The one I’ve perfected.
The one that works every damn time. All those guys who claim they’re only into omegas?
One look paired with that smile, and suddenly they’re into me too.
A ‘pretty’ alpha. I’m famous for it on Insta.
Not much competition in my subgender. I fight omega models for views and followers.
The capo keeps that unfazed face, but I know fake indifference when I see it. And I know what’s underneath it.
So, as always, I don’t break eye contact. I just keep looking, lids half-lowered like a promise of bliss.
In the background, Martin’s uncle finally says,
"I’m fine, fine. But Martin, you need to let us get back to our business. This is an important meeting."
His voice is tense, and the look he throws Anzo is submissive, practically begging for forgiveness.
The two younger guys at the table glance at me too.
The alpha with the scar has the same intensity in his gaze as Anzo, maybe even more forceful.
But the giant? Nothing. Zero. He looks right through me like I’m just another piece of furniture.
Then he glances at Martin. It’s obvious, he’s just taking mental attendance.
No spark. No reaction. Huh. Interesting.
Maybe he’s taken? But that usually doesn’t matter.
"Sorry, Uncle, but Sun insisted," Martin mutters, throwing me under the bus with a glare sharp enough to kill.
Like I care. Let him toss me to the wolves. Anyway, I’m so over him.