Married into the Mob (The Wolves of La Luna Noir #3)
1. Hunter
ONE
HUNTER
I was the baby of the family and was spoiled rotten. And I’d leveraged that my entire life.
But now it might be coming back to bite me on my derrière.
I’d taken the initiative and been proactive, thinking I’d be taking care of my extended family in the event of a pack war. The plan was to build something that would protect them. I was proud of what I’d achieved, and I was going to do a big reveal when the last lick of paint dried and the final piece of furniture was in place this weekend.
That was the plan.
Sure, I’d cut a few corners that my older brothers, Flint and Ranger, weren’t aware of. Maybe that was a big oops, but at the time, the zoning officer at City Hall was a friend of the family, a human with a shifter dad. He did favors for us, and we reciprocated.
But that person had been shuffled to another department, a sideways move rather than a promotion, and the new guy was going overboard with dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s.
And I was frustrated, taking out that irritation on my vehicle’s steering wheel by pounding it with my fists as I sat in traffic. The accelerator and brakes were having a hard time too as I alternatively sped up and screeched to a halt, and my wolf’s ears were hurting as music blasted from the speakers.
Ouch! Please turn that down. How can you enjoy that damned racket ?
I gritted my teeth, a bad habit. Though shifters didn’t suffer from minor human ailments, I ground my teeth so hard at night, I’d visited a human dentist who warned me I was damaging them.
“Come on.” The car in front was so slow, I jammed my fist on the horn, and the high-pitched squawk had passengers and drivers on either side glaring.
My brothers might have been more patient, or the eldest one would have. Flint was our pack Alpha, having been thrust into the role after Papa was killed. If he’d been in the car, he’d have told me to stop being so damned annoying.
As the middle brother, Ranger was caught between Flint or Mr. Oh So Perfect, as I used to call him, and me, the youngest, the one who could get away with stuff.
My mind zigged and zagged, returning to the zoning officer who was using his influence to force me to take time out of my day and feed his ego by putting my name to a piece of paper. In his presence. The necessary forms had already been completed and submitted, but this new paper shuffler wanted to witness my signature.
In the past, any building permits we’d applied for had been rubber stamped, and I’d never shown my face at City Hall. But that was then and this was the new now!
The paperwork was for new construction at our club—the one that bore our pack name and had been started by our grandfather—La Luna Noir. It was my responsibility after I took over the job from Flint.
But making sure the new zoning officer knew the rules, the ones we orchestrated, was Ranger’s job. He should have seen to that, and as the littlest brother, I would enjoy kicking his ass, something I’d never managed to do.
He’s bigger and stronger than you . My wolf was on point, but I had moves Ranger didn’t.
Besides, I wasn’t going to fight him, just yell, bounce on my feet as boxers did, and raise my fists. He’d shout back and do the same, and we’d circle the room. Our wolves would snarl, and afterward, we’d back off and laugh . Or I would. It was what we used to do as kids when I was much smaller than my older brothers.
A car dashed across the intersection—some jackass running a red light—and I hit the brakes as my hand slammed the horn. The guy gave me the finger, and if I hadn’t been due at City Hall, I'd have followed him.
I wouldn’t have beaten him up. That wasn’t my style. Or maybe it was but only with bad guys. This driver was a fool, endangering lives. My shifter reflexes had saved me, but humans didn’t have that ability.
I hadn’t brought my bodyguards along, telling them they weren’t needed and could take an early lunch. The most trouble I’d encounter in a zoning office would be a guy wanting to prove himself to his new bosses by informing me my signature didn’t match how I’d signed the previous paperwork.
I found a parking space close by the large gray building, encrusted with decades of grime, and charged in. Wandering along the rabbit-warren of corridors, I passed doors labeled with obscure titles and job descriptions, until at the end of a dark passageway, I spied the section I needed.
The door displayed years of neglect with its scratched surface at floor level and around the handle, and it was warped slightly so it wasn’t quite flush with the frame.
I paused, a flicker of nervousness fluttering in my belly. My foolishness might get me in trouble, but nothing I couldn’t gloss over or fix with favors.
When I was ushered into the zoning officer’s private domain, he sat behind a large metal desk, piled high with files. Dust circled in the air and my nose twitched, but I held off the sneeze.
Stefan. The name had been on the letter I’d received, and the office name plate on his desk announced his name and title.
His tortoise-shell rimmed glasses were perched at the end of his nose. He peered over the top, his brown eyes raking over my expensive sports jacket and pants with a sharp crease. His eyes flickered, and along with his clasped hands on top of the desk and the distinctive scent of nervous energy, it suggested he wasn’t comfortable in my presence.
He had a faint whiff of shifter about him. Not surprising, as many humans did, especially ones in big cities.
I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and held out a hand.
Even without a mirror, I pictured the smile I was sporting. That grin had gotten me out of sticky situations, and I turned on the charm.
“Hello. I’m Hunter Durand.”
“I know who you are.” He didn’t offer me a seat, but I plonked myself into the office chair that squeaked under my weight and rested my elbows on the armrests.
“Great!” Was he implying that I was mafia? I didn’t go around killing people on street corners if that was what he was insinuating.
I placed the stack of paperwork on the desk and flourished my favorite pen.
“I hope you’ve read the documents carefully.” Other than his lips, he hadn’t moved. I nodded and flipped over a page with a sticky tab.
He glanced at a spindly plant in a pot sitting atop a filing cabinet. I didn’t need shifter eyesight to detect a camera in the pot because I’d used similar devices when we were looking for the person selling details about our company. Was that usual? Or legal? Was that what city officials were subjected to in their probationary period?
“I understand you didn’t want to come here today, but it was unavoidable .” I looked up as he emphasized the last word.
This was a power move, showing me that despite me being a member of the most well-known mafia pack in the city and surrounding counties, he wouldn’t tolerate cutting corners.
And I was fine with him prattling on because I’d gone ahead with the construction, using workers who were paid well and kept their mouths shut. It would be disastrous if I was forced to tear everything down or had to pay a heap of money to make the problem go away.
A squiggle of my signature and I’d be outta here and never see Stefan again. And then I could breathe and not have to fess up to Flint about what I’d done.
As I pressed the nib on the paper, Stefan barked, “I hope what you’re going to build is strong enough to withstand any catastrophes.”
Gods, I knew the type. Humans who watched too many mafia movies and thought mafia organizations were always pitted against one another. And while I couldn’t deny there were some mafia groups who fit that stereotype, it wasn’t La Luna Noir.
We ran mostly legit businesses, and we weren’t involved with drugs, vice, or racketeering. Where we skated the line between legal and not so legal was our retrieval business. But Stefan knew nothing about that.
“I think you’re confusing my family with another.” Plastering on a pleasant smile, I allowed my beast to the forefront of my gaze. I pressed the pen deep into the paper and signed, one page after another.
Stefan said nothing, no nod or bobbing of his head. He didn’t snatch the paperwork, but his nostrils flared. “You can expect a visit from me to make sure the renovations are up to code.”
“Great. I’ll look forward to it.” I wouldn’t, unless he appeared months from now and I could pretend the work had recently been completed.
His predecessor would have stamped the paperwork, slapped me on the back, and probably offered me a whiskey. I would have reciprocated by telling him to come by the club any time. Drinks were on the house.
“Nice meeting you.” I flung the words over my shoulder as I left, leaving the door open.
I’d met guys like Stefan before, and that short interaction wasn’t enough to ruin my day, but as I made my way back to the building entrance, couples in suits with flowers in their buttonholes strolled toward a door that said, “Registry Office.” A woman in a short dress and a pink veil held a bouquet in one hand and her partner’s hand in the other as they opened the doors.
Awww, human weddings. How sweet.
Shifters didn’t do ceremonies. We could, I suppose, and some might, but we mated by marking one another, but a wedding with flowers, decorations, a band, and a huge cake with layers of frosting intrigued me.
Maybe it was the perfume or cologne or just the general excitement but there was a trace of a scent in the air, more like a whisper of one. Captivated by the aroma, I strode behind the couples. Having no idea what I’d find, if there was a guest list, I’d fib and give whatever official wanted to kick me out a cash bonus to soothe any complaints.
I slipped into the back of the room, lined with dark wooden chairs. The scent wafted around, not as subtle as outside.
Couples, some accompanied by guests, sat in rows, while a pair stood in front of a celebrant.The alpha with his back toward me had grabbed his partner’s hand, but the omega was pulling away, hissing at the guy to stop touching him. His red eyes and tear-stained cheeks suggested he was not going into the marriage willingly.
“Do you wish to continue?” The celebrant’s eyes darted from the omega to the alpha and back to the omega.
“We do, he does,” the alpha snapped.
“I don’t, but I don’t have a choice. I’m being forced into this sham of a marriage.”
Hackles rose on the back of my neck. This omega was against this marriage. There could be any number of reasons, trafficking being one of them, and once married, he might never escape.
The celebrant hesitated, and the alpha growled, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing. The alpha was a shifter, I determined by his scent.
“I am authorized by law to…” The celebrant winced under the alpha’s grip.
This was so wrong. While I didn’t know the omega’s story, he shouldn’t be made to marry anyone, especially the asshat opposite him.
Flint and Ranger would rage at me if I interfered. Not only would I be inserting myself in some human-slash-shifter business, but it could shine a light on our organization. And while we’d come up squeaky clean, we preferred not to have the authorities—the ones not on our payroll—sniffing around.
“Hey! This is against the law, forcing someone to marry against their will.” I wasn’t sure if there was such a law, but humans had a lotta rules, and buried in some dusty tome there was sure to be a ruling.
Three pairs of eyes, no, make that more, many more, stared at me, and I learned three things.
The alpha was someone I knew.
Stefan had snuck in through a side door.
The omega, whose scent drifted over the heads of the assembled guests, was…
Our mate!