Forty
FORTY
Mia
I WAS IN shock as I drove back to the house in Ladue. After we’d left the restaurant, Emiel insisted on walking me back to my car like a bodyguard. He even waited, watching as I started the Kia’s engine and pulled into traffic.
It was as though he expected some random white supremacist gang member to jump out from the shadows and try to assault me, which was frankly more alarming than the initial revelation about the Bella Vita had been.
Intellectually, I knew it was just alpha instincts kicking in. This was simply what alphas were like —even the ones who used pheromone suppressors and kept their emotions locked down tighter than Fort Knox, apparently. No one from the Bella Vita had secretly shadowed us out of the restaurant with an eye toward public mayhem in broad daylight.
It still took several minutes behind the wheel before my pulse stopped jumping like a startled rabbit confronted with a fox.
The Bella Vita was run by Luca’s old gang. What the hell was I supposed to do with that information? Should I tell Luca? I was pretty sure I had to tell him. Not telling him felt too much like keeping something secret when it was directly related to his business.
I resolved to pull him aside as soon as he got home and relay what Emiel had said. I wasn’t sure how much it would upset him, or if it would even upset him at all. But very few things pissed me off more than people who tried to wrap omegas in cotton wool as though they couldn’t handle life’s troubles. It would be the ultimate irony to let myself turn into one of those people, simply because I hated the thought of Luca’s distress.
When I eventually pulled into the driveway and parked, I sat in the car for long moments, trying to get my head on straight. I would tell Luca what was going on, and then at dinner, I’d ask Zalen what he thought I should do, if anything. I had a resident expert on gangs at my fingertips—it made sense to use that resource.
Feeling a little better about things, I got out and locked my car, then let myself into the empty house. It would be nice to have Princess here for company when the guys were at work... even if she ended up giving me the feline cold shoulder like she had in the alley. Had that only happened this morning? God, this Monday felt like it had encompassed an age, and it was barely midafternoon.
With nothing much to do for the next few hours except fret, I settled in the TV room and binged a few episodes of Life on Mars on the British streaming service Luca had bought for me. Both he and I were developing an unhealthy obsession with the main character who appeared in both this show and Ashes to Ashes . I wasn’t proud of the way my hormone-addled brain wanted to overlay Emiel’s overwhelming physical presence and gruff demeanor over Detective Inspector Hunt’s, but that was omega biology for you.
Apparently, my pre-heat libido was intent on acting like a magpie collecting shiny objects. Whichever alpha I’d been around most recently seemed to be the one that dominated my idle fantasies.
Mmm.
Dominated .
The front door opened, and I snapped back to myself. On the positive side, I’d certainly managed to turn off my brain. In fact, I’d managed to turn it off so successfully that when Luca’s light summer scent wafted into the room, I had a sudden urge to ask if he wanted to go steal one of Byron’s spice-smelling blankets and have a quickie before I needed to start work on dinner.
Then, the events of the day rushed back in, and my frustrated horniness crashed and burned against the proverbial mountainside of practicality. I dragged my attention away from the fiery wreckage with a sigh.
“Hi.” Luca poked his head in, offering me a strained smile. “Any updates on the heat blockers?”
At least there was some good news on that front.
“Expected delivery on Wednesday,” I told him. “Packages don’t usually show up at our place until the afternoon, but I’ll swing by after work and pick it up.”
“We should seriously send that seller a card or something,” Luca said. He cocked his head at me. “Everything else okay? You seem a bit...”
“Yeah.” I sighed again. “I am a bit. Come in and join me for a sec?”
I turned off the TV as he dropped his bag by the sofa and sat down, half-facing me.
“Okay, now you’re worrying me,” he said.
I shook my head. “Sorry—I don’t think it’s anything that’s genuinely going to cause a problem. I just thought you should know what Emiel and I found out at lunch.”
Luca blinked. “Wait. You and Emiel went out to lunch ? Like, together ?”
“Yeah, after we went shopping to get supplies for Princess,” I confirmed. “He’s planning on bringing her home tomorrow, by the way.” I waved that off. “Anyway, I dragged him to the Bella Vita so I could scope it out in person.”
He frowned. “That’s the place that popped up recently and started poaching your business, right? Any good?”
“It is, and the food seemed fine,” I replied. “They’ve got everything priced way too cheap, though. Honestly, that’s probably how they’re drawing so much business, even if it’s not sustainable.”
“Okay,” Luca said cautiously. “So, what exactly did you and Emiel find out while you were there?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Emiel says the place is being run by members of your old gang. He recognized the tattoos, I guess.”
I watched Luca’s face carefully. His complexion paled for a moment, but then he swallowed and nodded.
“The bigger gangs get into all sorts of shit,” he said lightly. “I mean... maybe don’t go there again unless you want to indirectly support human trafficking and the drug trade. But I’m not, like, shocked or anything.”
With what they were charging for food, I’d be surprised if the gross receipts at the Bella Vita were even funding their monthly payroll successfully. That wasn’t the point, though.
“Believe me, I don’t plan on making it a regular lunch spot,” I assured him. “But I wanted you to know upfront, because I figured I’d ask Zalen if there was anything else I should do about it.”
“The best thing to do is stay far, far away,” Luca said sourly.
“That’s definitely my first choice.” I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Right. I need to get the lasagna started.”
“Let me get changed. I’ll come keep you company in the kitchen, assuming you don’t mind me stealing bites.” He nudged me back. “I’m absolutely starving . Stupid hormones.”
“Tell me about it.” I always ended up gaining ten pounds in the run-up to my heats, even when I blocked them. “See you in a bit.”
At dinner, Zalen took the news that gangs were getting into the restaurant business in Soulard with surprising equanimity.
“Not a surprise, I’m afraid,” he said, pausing with a forkful of lasagna halfway to his lips. “And I wouldn’t suggest taking it to the authorities. There isn’t any solid proof of illegal activity, so there’s not much they can do. Restaurants are actually a pretty common sideline for organized crime.”
“But why?” I asked. “They’re not exactly a quick path to untold riches, and I say this with some authority on the subject.”
“Maybe not, but they do a fair amount of turnover in cash.” At my blank look, he went on. “Money laundering. Car washes and laundromats work well, too. Any kind of business where banks don’t look sideways at you when you bring in large cash deposits multiple times a week.”
Byron, who’d looked grim-faced at the mention of Luca’s old gang, had pity on me. “Drugs and prostitution generate loads of cash. But you can’t just take it to a bank and stick it in a personal account. You’d get flagged and investigated within a week. So, instead you buy a business that has a steady influx of legitimate cash, and you pad it out with some of the illegal cash every time you make a deposit. Who’s to say your car wash isn’t really successful?”
Understanding clicked. “Or your restaurant. Wow.”
“That’s probably why the prices were so cheap,” Emiel muttered.
“Because they don’t really care if the restaurant is making a profit in its own right,” I finished. A dark snort of laughter escaped me. “Must be nice for some.”
“Not really,” Luca said mildly.
I shot him an apologetic smile, though I was relieved he didn’t seem too upset about the whole situation.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I promise this eggplant lasagna is free-range and cruelty-free,” I said. “I’m reasonably sure we’re not supporting any illegal activity by eating it.”
“It’s better than that stupid chicken parm from lunch,” Emiel said, his attention fixed firmly on his own plate.
“Best tacos I’ve ever had,” Byron added. He saluted me with a forkful of sauced pasta and cheese, although his striking features were still drawn and unhappy.
Despite his seeming indifference toward the news about the Bella Vita, Luca wordlessly stepped back to let me into his nest when I showed up at his door at one a.m., unable to sleep. We didn’t end up having sex, but somehow, lying tangled up with him among the profusion of sweet-scented pillows and blankets also fulfilled a need in me that I hadn’t been aware existed before I came to this place.
As was becoming the norm, I woke alone the following morning, the others long gone for their jobs. A quick check on my phone showed that the heat blockers were out for delivery a day early. I let out a relieved breath, glad that something was going to plan.
With luck, I’d have them safely in hand when I returned here tonight after work. Between that and Princess’s arrival this evening, today was shaping up to be an all-around good day.
I left a few minutes early for the Elderflower Inn, eager to catch up to Nat and give him the scandalous gossip about the Bella Vita. He was at his desk, running accounts, and he looked up with a hesitant smile as I walked in.
“Hi, Mia. You’re early today. How is everything?”
I hitched a hip on the edge of the desk, suddenly missing the easy familiarity we’d once had. Hormones , I reminded myself. Heats are the ultimate rose-colored glasses .
“Things are good,” I told him. “I’ve got some hot gossip about our new competitors, though.”
I watched Nat’s eyebrows climb as I relayed the news about the owner and the probable money-laundering scheme. When I was done, he sat back in his chair and blew out a breath.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Do you think they could somehow be behind the sabotage of the hanging rack?”
“Uh...” I paused. “Did we decide for sure that it was sabotage?”
Nat leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the desk as he looked up at me. “You saw the hooks. Why would two of them fail at the same exact instant? It wasn’t as though Shani was hanging off the thing like a trapeze artist. There was no more pressure on the chains than there ever is.”
I really, really didn’t want to think about someone having orchestrated that accident deliberately.
“Why would someone from another restaurant want to do anything like that?” I asked, my voice weak.
Nat’s brows drew together. “I don’t know. I mean... they’ve taken some market share in the area, sure. But they’re never going to become the go-to option when they’re located a couple of streets over from the only Michelin-star restaurant in the Midwest.”
I huffed, looking away. “If that’s their worry, they could just wait around until next January when the new Michelin guide comes out,” I muttered.
Nat’s warm hand covered mine where it lay on the desk, giving a brief squeeze before withdrawing. I glanced up at him.
“Hey. Nothing’s certain until it’s done,” he said. “And besides, what we’ve built here is more important than a star in a pamphlet printed by a bunch of food snobs.”
I mustered a smile for him. “Way to spin it, babe. I’m still planning on being super-upset about it, though. Just a heads up.”
“Fair,” he said. “Now, do you have a few minutes to go over some figures with me?”
I nodded and lost myself in the minutiae of business management until the rest of the staff started trickling in, only realizing after the lunch crowd had come and gone that I’d forgotten to tell Nat about the package.
I caught up to him after the midday rush thinned out. “Hey, I almost forgot. I’ve got an important package arriving at the house this afternoon. I’ll need to swing by after close tonight and pick it up.”
Nat’s expression went suddenly blank. “Wait, it’s being delivered to our house? Today?”
An unpleasant, tight sensation lodged in my throat. “Yes? Why?”
“How big is this package?” he asked. “I mean, is it too big for our P.O. box? And, when you say ‘important’...”
He trailed off. I swallowed past the lump growing ever larger in my throat. “Nat. Talk to me. Why would there be a problem getting a package delivered to the house?”