Chapter 34 #2
Every table is occupied by people who radiate the particular energy of those who operate in shadows. Expensive suits and designer dresses, conversations conducted in low voices, the understanding that what's said here stays here.
Our table is in the back corner—the best seat in the house for observing the room while maintaining privacy.
I pull out Aurora's chair, waiting for her to settle before taking my own seat across from her.
"This place is incredible," Aurora breathes, her eyes taking in every detail. "How did you find it?"
"Family business," I say simply. "The Bravati syndicate owns about a dozen establishments like this across Europe. Places where... certain conversations can happen without interference."
Understanding dawns in her expression.
"Mafia."
"Organized crime with pretensions toward legitimacy," I correct with a slight smile. "But yes. My family has been in the information business for five generations. We know things, facilitate connections, provide services that exist in legal gray areas."
I watch her process this, curious how she'll react to the reminder that I'm not just a tech genius from a wealthy family, but someone with connections to actual criminal enterprises.
Her expression shifts into something thoughtful rather than judgmental.
"That's how you knew about the surveillance equipment," she says slowly. "And the security protocols. And how you're so comfortable investigating things that require... technical rule-breaking. You and Adrian for that matter, though maybe that’s more billionaire protocol."
"Esattamente." I let the Italian slip naturally. "My world is darker than my soft voice might suggest. I wanted you to understand that before we go too far down this path."
The waiter appears—an older Beta man with the kind of professional discretion that comes from years serving clientele who value privacy. He takes our drink orders without writing anything down, recommends the evening specials in hushed tones, then disappears as silently as he arrived.
Aurora leans forward slightly, candlelight catching on the emerald fabric of her gown.
"You know what’s been nagging me? The kidnapping but in you guys’ perspective," she says quietly. "Like…tell me how it looked from your side."
The shift in conversation is deliberate, and I appreciate her directness.
"It was coordinated," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Not just random fan violence or opportunistic criminals. The timing was too precise, grabbing you during the narrow window between the press conference to simply using the bathroom.”
I pull up a mental file of everything I've learned in the weeks since.
"Three vehicles involved in the extraction, though only one was present on the road for the main event. The two others tried to flee but those were taken care of before your Father could interfere in those departments. Professional drivers, knew the city well enough to avoid main thoroughfares where cameras are denser. Reviewing the fact Roran was drugged before the initial race with custom compounds—not street drugs, but something manufactured specifically for subduing without causing obvious harm, also tells me that whoever plotted this hoped you’d jump in on Roran’s behalf and reveal your true identity to the world. "
Aurora's expression darkens.
"My family has handled it. My father would never let those bastards live forty-eight hours once he knew what happened."
The casual confirmation that her family executed her kidnappers doesn't surprise me. Gregory Lane's reputation for protecting his children is well-documented in certain circles.
"But it did seem unprovoked," Aurora continues, frowning. "Even with me revealing myself that same day. Like the kidnapping was planned well before anyone knew I was an Omega. Almost expected, as if that's exactly what they wanted."
Her observation aligns with my own analysis.
"A test," I suggest. "Or a message. Someone wanted to see how vulnerable you were, what kind of response your protection would mount, whether the pack bonds were strong enough to warrant concern."
The waiter returns with wine—an expensive Barolo that I selected earlier—and pours with practiced elegance. We wait in silence until he retreats before continuing.
Aurora takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine.
"You have a theory about who's behind it."
It's not a question.
"Several theories," I admit. "But I need your permission to investigate properly. Using methods that might be technically criminal, if we're being completely honest about it."
I lean forward, lowering my voice even though the acoustics of this room are designed to prevent eavesdropping.
"Hacking into protected databases. Bribing officials for information.
Applying pressure on people who might have relevant knowledge through means that wouldn't hold up in court.
" I pause. "My family has resources for these things.
Expertise. Connections that can make people very uncomfortable very quickly. "
Aurora's expression shifts into something that I can only describe as hungry.
"I'm kind of turned on by this side of you," she admits, voice dropping into a register that makes heat coil in my belly. "The Bravati heir who casually discusses criminal investigation methods over expensive wine."
She takes another sip, then meets my eyes with deliberate intensity.
"You have my permission. Full permission, for whatever you need to do to figure this out.
" Her voice softens slightly. "Thank you for even wanting to try.
It's been bothering me…wondering who's behind it, whether they'll try again.” Her voice is even quieter as she adds, “This whole pack thing is new and well…
I know you guys can handle yourselves but it would give me some reassurances to know my pack is safe. "
Relief floods through me at her trust.
"I haven't gotten any major threats since," Aurora continues. "No more incidents beyond the usual online harassment that comes with being publicly Omega in racing. So that's good, I guess."
"For now," I say quietly. "But whoever orchestrated the kidnapping has resources and patience. They'll try again, probably when we least expect it."
The waiter appears to take our dinner orders.
Aurora chooses the mushroom risotto after I recommend it, while I order the osso buco. We both agree to save room for dessert, which makes the waiter smile knowingly before disappearing again.
"Tell me something happy," Aurora says suddenly, clearly wanting to shift away from the darkness we've been discussing. "Something about you that has nothing to do with crime, racing, or pack dynamics."
I consider the question, sorting through memories for something appropriately light.
"I collect antique watches," I admit. "Have about thirty of them, all mechanical rather than digital. There's something beautiful about the engineering—hundreds of tiny components working in perfect synchronization to measure time. The artistry combined with precision."
Aurora's smile is genuine.
"That's so perfectly you. Appreciating both the aesthetic and the mechanical function."
Our food arrives—presented beautifully, aromatic enough to make my mouth water. The risotto looks perfect, creamy and rich with truffles shaved over the top. My osso buco is falling-off-the-bone tender, braised in wine and herbs until the meat is practically melting.
I cut a small piece of the meat, then hold the fork out to Aurora in offering.
She blinks in surprise but leans forward, accepting the bite with her lips closing around my fork in ways that are absolutely devastating to watch.
"Mmm." The sound she makes is borderline obscene, her eyes closing in appreciation. "That's incredible."
"Try this." She offers me a forkful of her risotto, turnabout being fair play.
I accept it, letting the creamy texture and earthy truffle flavor coat my tongue. "Perfect. Though not as delicious as you."
The flirting is easy, natural, the kind of back-and-forth that happens when two people are genuinely attracted and comfortable with each other.
We eat and talk, sharing bites of food and sips of wine, the conversation flowing between serious topics and playful banter without awkward transitions.
Aurora tells me about her first time rebuilding an engine at age twelve, how her father found her covered in grease and so proud of herself for getting it running. I admit a few of my hobbies that I do outside the garage, beyond the typical tech stuff or anything with building — except for Lego.
That is one of my guilty pleasures when it comes to building.
The jazz trio transitions into something slower, more sensual, the saxophone carrying a melody that makes the room feel even more intimate.
I can't help myself.
I lean across the table, close enough that Aurora has to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. Her pulse is visible in her throat—rapid, excited, anticipating what I'm about to do.
I press my lips to that pulse point, feeling her heartbeat against my mouth. Then I let my teeth graze the sensitive skin before closing my lips and sucking.
Aurora gasps, her hand coming up to grip my shoulder while I mark her deliberately. Not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to leave a hickey that will be visible tomorrow.
I pull back slowly, admiring my work. The mark is already forming—a lovely purple-red against her pale skin.
"Elias," she breathes, voice shaky with arousal.
"Maybe I can stay over tonight," I suggest, keeping my voice low and intimate. "Continue this properly without the constraints of public spaces."
Her grin is immediate and delighted.
"We have an early morning tomorrow. Training starts at six."
"That shouldn't stop us." I wink, enjoying her flustered response. "I'm excellent at functioning on minimal sleep when properly motivated."
She giggles the sound so genuine and unguarded that it makes my chest warm.
“We’ll see.”