This Thing of Ours

Chapter 7

7

Dante

L ooking at Layne, it’s hard to miss the darkness in her eyes. Matteo warned us about it before they arrived, but it’s different seeing it firsthand. And while it’s a “her” issue, and her past has nothing to do with me, a sense of failure and a resolve to do better as a male flames red hot.

She jumps a mile when I move back past her. Admittedly, she was still locked in a face-off with Matty, so she didn’t sense me. Not that Matty and Valentine give a shit. Even before I can mutter an apology for spooking her, they’re shooting glares my way.

Making more noise than necessary, I move around her and start grabbing food out of the fridge. Now that she’s snapped out of being bedazzled by Matteo, I can feel her watching. She’s back in the game, back to being calculating in her caution.

While Layne was distracted on her phone call, Valentine, Matteo, and I had a lightning-fast discussion and agreed to keep our initial meeting with her light and easy. Later, we’ll get pushy, demanding answers about the bruises and the haunted look in her eyes. It’s easy to see that her trauma goes back further than what went down in the alley, and I want to know what happened.

I’m purposeful in the way I move, twisting to catch her attention. “Have you eaten?”

When she shakes her head as an answer, I point to the chair closest to the stove, indicating where she’s to sit. Not waiting for her reaction, I line up a row of items to be cut up, also setting up a knife and a cutting board. It’s obvious what I’m asking her to do, and she moves in close, seeming comfortable now that she has a task.

“I’m going to make frittata’s. Is there anything you don’t like?” I ask, washing a couple of tomatoes and the scallions. Keeping my gaze away from hers is a necessity. Otherwise, I’ll end up picking her up and plopping her on the island, demanding to know who is responsible for the look in her eyes.

She takes a second to answer, her focus split between what she’s doing and being overly aware of us. “Seafood.”

“No shit? I can’t stomach it, either. Matty loves it.”

Layne shrugs before picking up the knife and peeling the washed scallions I placed near her board. I can practically hear her mind at work. Her scent starts to break through the blockers she’s taken, and I try to keep a straight face when I finally figure out her scent—caramel. I watch her mouth to keep me on track, as opposed to chasing more of her scent.

“I’m allergic to all seafood.”

Her quiet, almost reluctant admission snaps me out of my scent-struck state. But she’s not finished speaking, and she rolls her shoulders, sitting taller, making it impossible to miss the importance of what she’s saying.

“I hate to be that person, but if any of this has touched fish or shellfish, I can’t eat it.”

In the space of a millisecond, and before I answer, I mentally backtrack what we’ve had in the fridge in the past few days. “Wow, so it’s a bad allergy, then?”

She lifts her chin, and there’s a flare of spice to her eyes—and her scent—as her lips pull together. “Had I known I was coming to visit, I would have grabbed my EpiPen and a bottle of wine.” There’s a healthy dose of sarcasm in her voice, but she throws me a cute-as-hell, coy smile. It makes me want to taste her lips, to see if they are sweet or spicy. I could do both. Easily.

Instead, I try to keep things light as I snap back. “Bit early to drink. Plus, we shouldn’t drink when we have important things to discuss.” I bend down, so she can see my teasing expression.

The flare in her eyes brightens, but I turn away, leaving her hanging as I whisk the eggs and set the heavy frying pan on low, letting it warm slowly. Much like I’m doing to her.

“Like?” she asks eventually, giving away her impatience.

“We talk business on a full stomach,” I insist, and instead of arguing, she gets busy. But I don’t miss her small huff of annoyance. It gives me another dose of her sweet scent, along with more confirmation of the chemicals hiding the depth of her scent.

The quiet we share should be full of peace, but my imagination runs wild, coming up with scenarios for why someone like her would choose to use blockers. It’s hard not to be suspicious as fuck. I get I’m an Alpha and she’s an Omega, so in terms of strengths and weaknesses we’re as different as chalk and cheese, but denying your very nature is dangerous, and no way to live. Luckily, for her I’m a problem solver.

Inevitably my focus shifts from trying to figure out problems and falls back to watching her. It’s easy to see in the way she’s chopping that she has helped in a restaurant, but she’s no qualified chef. Not that it matters in the least. While we work through cutting up what’s left, Valentine and Matteo both disappear then return within moments of each other.

Valentine’s phone rings, Vitale’s number flashing on the screen, but given the company, my brother ignores the call. Before Vitale can try mine, I quickly call Valentine, and he answers. We leave our connection open, so Vitale will keep getting the busy signal or getting diverted to message bank each time he calls. And he will keep trying, because he’s like that.

Valentine jumps on the task of making coffee next, and when our guest makes an offhanded comment that cappuccinos are only for tourists, he nearly burns his hand on the steamer. Back home, we know coffee etiquette, here, we’ve come to realize people barely know coffee, period. Unknowingly, she seals her fate as being ours when she looks at him with challenge in her eyes and asks for an espresso.

Valentine fights to maintain a mask of indifference, but his unique coffee scent fills the kitchen more than the coffee he’s making, also signaling his interest in her. I get it—she’s fucking stunning. Period. But aside from her looks, she exudes an energy that’s more than a little appealing. The glimpses into her personality point to her having an edge of sass, without being a stuck-up bitch, and a healthy dose of independence and self-confidence, all attractive qualities. Despite having spent so little time with her, I have no trouble deciding that she is the complete opposite of the Mafia princesses we’ve been successfully avoiding.

As I’m plating breakfast, Matteo reappears, dressed in a suit, ready for business—or pleasure, judging by the extra effort he’s put in to what he’s wearing. He’s certainly feeding the mafia aesthetic of being more machine than man considering he got injured earlier, but appearances are everything in our world although she’s a big motivator too. Layne doesn’t focus only on him. She stays in the moment, dividing her attention—tiny smiles, quick glances—to include all of us and we all get swept up in her orbit.

I divide the portions, and we sit down to eat. She doesn’t pick up her fork immediately; instead, she peers at the plate nervously before eventually looking at me. Doubt clouds her pretty eyes, changing the warmth and the caramel color to something I don’t like one bit. I regret the bark as soon as it leaves my mouth. “What?”

“Do you promise there’s no seafood in this?” Her voice is reserved, more nervous than it has been since she first walked in.

“Of course.” I answer as fast as I barked my question at her.

She looks down again before turning slightly in her chair to look directly at Matteo. “It would be an easy way to deal with the no witness thing.”

He nearly flies out of his chair, wincing afterward, in desperation to touch her. No shit, he’s totally struggling not to sweep her up in a hug, but he gets his need under control before nearly begging her to believe him when he answers. “Jesus, I assure you, we are not killing you.”

Layne’s eyes fall to her plate, and she takes a series of small exhales, like she’s coaching herself into deciding. Pretty quickly, she picks up her fork. “Okay.”

The three of us share a look while she starts eating. It’s not a can you believe she accepts our word so quick? It’s more like who fucked her up so much, she has to triple-check that she’s not being poisoned? While she’s tentative, she’s also clearly hungry. Once she gets a taste of the frittata, she digs right into it.

Matteo’s fork clatters out of his grip when she makes a low moan, his eyes blacker than usual as he doesn’t even bother hiding what the noise does to him. “But, clearly, you’re trying to kill us.”

Instead of stopping eating or enjoying her food, she rolls her eyes and takes an even bigger bite. That sass of hers flares to life as she stares at him and swallows without making another sound of enjoyment.

“ Stronzo ,” I hiss at Matteo, slapping the back of his head.

Her fork hangs in the air, her head tipping to the side in question as she looks at me for answers.

“I called him an asshole. Food should be enjoyed. You want to moan when you eat? I’m all for it. I’m a big believer that pleasure should be loud and never denied.”

Shrugging, she returns to the plate of food in front of her, and the four of us fall into a companionable silence, listening to the news playing in the background. Although, I wish we were listening to her eating, but either way, it feels comfortable having her in our home, which is fucking weird, considering she’s a stranger. But it's a nice weird.

The moment she sees me put my fork down, since I’m the last to finish, Layne stands and clears the plates, completely ignoring our offers to help. Once she’s done, she drags her stool around the island, away from us, before she climbs back on it and waits for us to explain why she’s here, and probably why we haven’t killed her.

Matteo goes to speak, but Valentine stops him with a look. Though we don’t usually get caught up in roles and ranks, Valentine is today, for some reason. He takes over the conversation in his role as leader of our pack.

“Pack De Luca owes you a life debt for saving Matteo’s life.”

I watch her reaction as he talks. It’s my job as enforcer to assess people, and I’m pretty savvy when it comes to reading people. But watching her is like watching daisies grow in a blizzard—completely unexpected, and not just because she’s so fucking pretty to look at. It’s in the way she reacts, which is almost the exact opposite of how most people would. Instead of getting caught up in the notion of being owed something by someone as powerful as Valentine, and in turn the Gambrillo Family, she scoffs, unimpressed.

It’s as if what he said is exactly what she expected him to say, and it pisses her off. It’s also apparent she has little regard for the honor of being offered a life debt, which, in our world, is a big fucking deal. Her mood drops, and in case we needed clarification on how she feels about the whole situation, she crosses her arms over her chest, purses her lush lips into a sneer, and stares my brother down. “No.”

Valentine recoils, like he’s been physically slapped.

He reacts quickly, his dominance surging to life, changing almost everything about him, including his ability to let her snub go. He rises to the bait, sitting taller in his seat as his Alpha designation becomes more pronounced. “It is not up for discussion. We owe you. Your choice is a life debt or…” He growls, his lip twitching for a moment as he takes a dramatic pause.

I’ve seen my brother lose his shit too many times to take notice, so I watch her. Instead of being intimidated by Valentine, she looks amused, but I also know my brother is toying with her like a cat does a mouse, and I want to see her reaction when he has her exactly where he wants her. She half glares at him and tips her head to the side, waiting for him to keep talking.

“I guess the thing with a life debt, it comes with lots of notoriety. People will know what you did, and they will know who you are. But the simple fact is we can’t just let you walk out of here without some sort of arrangement in place. If anyone heard Matteo was injured and we didn’t recompense you properly, it would make us look bad. Judging by the distasteful look on your face you agree in part to what I am saying. Maybe there’s an alternate we could consider.”

Then it’s her turn to look a little thrown at being called out maybe. She recovers quickly and waves him on. “Go on.”

And that’s when I do look at Valentine, who appears fucking triumphant already. “Perhaps the answer is we take a more quid pro quo approach. You help us, and we’ll help you.”

Layne stares at him for a solid couple of seconds, then throws her head back in laughter, doing a better job than Matteo’s act of dying earlier. Once she gets herself under control again, she smiles saccharinely at him. “We were talking ridiculous life debt scenarios and now you’re suggesting me help you by choice? What is going on right now?”

Valentine intentionally makes his designation fall away, so he’s less dominant and confrontational, to confuse her. Then he’s the one to smile at her. “All we need is…two, maybe three, months of your time.”

Her smile drops, and her mood shifts as much as his does. Now she’s suspicious of him. “Doing what? And why?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, looking right into her pretty caramel-colored eyes before he drops his voice, his Alpha influence coming into effect again. But it’s gentler, alluring almost, and he does it in a way that makes it impossible for her to look away. “We’ll make it worth your time of course but you let us court you. Publicly.”

For the first time since she walked into our home, into our world, Layne appears truly intimidated. The argument in her eyes, and the fight in her spirit, falters. I can see it in her eyes and the tension rising in her body. She swallows but doesn’t make a sound.

My twin jumps in to fill the silence, because now he must be feeling like a bit of a dick, and he’ll want to soothe her rising fears. “Along with the bruises on your face—that you’ve hidden very well, I have to say—Matteo also said you have more bruises hidden under his jacket, along with wrapping along your torso.”

She looks away, a slight shake of her head that neither confirms nor denies his statements.

I clear my throat. “So, helping us might just help you deal with that problem too. We can protect you, and you can stay here.” I don’t need to look at my pack to know they’re already including hunting down the person or persons responsible as a way we will deal.

Her gaze jumps to mine, and even though she wasn’t sharing much before, now she’s locked up tighter than a vault…except, she doesn’t manage to completely hide the coldness in her eyes.

Valentine, Matteo, and I are eager to ease her growing anxiety—which we’re responsible for in the first place, but that’s not the point. Matteo reaches out for her hand but doesn’t try to grab it. It’s merely a gesture to get her attention. “I’m sorry I had to share your secret with them. We can help you, even if it’s just with a place to rest. We’d pay you and help you get back on your feet.”

Layne shakes her head. “I have somewhere to stay. I have money.”

She might have money, but it’s not much. The clothes she wears aren’t new; the sneakers on her feet should have been replaced miles ago. And, despite having somewhere to stay, the evidence of her exhaustion shows in her eyes, all but confirming that she doesn't feel safe enough to properly rest.

Valentine stands, aiming for relaxed when he shoves his hands into his pockets, but I’d put money on my brother struggling with impatience and frustration. His hands are likely fisted. I get it. I really do. She’s no damsel in distress, but I still want to wrap her up in a mohair wool blanket, hide her in my bed, and treat her like the goddess she is.

“Sixty days with us.” Valentine rushes back into the conversation, his own anxiety spiking in response to hers, making him talk faster and be more abrupt than usual. He rocks back on his heels, likely to stop from picking her up and locking her away from the world. But the small pause makes him calm down again. “You get your own room, but you attend every event, function, or appointment we invite you to. Some may be with just me, or the others, but mostly, it will be as a pack. And all you have to do is act as though we are courting and do whatever is needed to make people believe we are. It might not even take that long for us to achieve what we need. Either way, you agree to be ours.”

Valentine doesn’t let her speak. He hardly takes a breath or blinks as he keeps laying it out, clearly hoping to appeal to her need to stay in control. We’re all aware of the delicacy needed to keep her from bolting.

He stops rocking and faces her. “We’ll pay half now and the rest when we tell the world our courtship didn’t work out.”

Standing, I mirror my brother’s stance and temperament, and her eyes dart my way. “I’ll teach you how to protect yourself, so you never get attacked again.”

Instead of looking impressed, Layne squints, half glaring when she looks at our Beta. “And what about you, Matteo? What are you going to offer as your incentive for me to stay?”

“You look like you need a friend. I can do that,” he says genuinely. Reaching out for her hand, unperturbed by the way she’s looking like she might stab it, Matty’s smile only grows. “But I strongly suggest we also do that friends-to-lovers thing, or friends-with-benefits, and you use my body to find yourself. Plus, don’t forget my car. You get me, you get the car. We already established that when I nearly died.”

This time, when I hiss asshole at him, I don’t hide it behind our Italian language. Sensing my irritation, which may or may not be motivated by jealousy, he grins and adds, “How about weekly spa appointments? Or I could do daily bakery deliveries? Do you have a favorite—chocolate croissants, cupcakes, macarons?” He waves a hand. “No matter. I’ll get you one of each.”

When a smile—a real one—blossoms on her face, he keeps going.

He taps a finger to his lips, as though deep in thought. “Oh, I know. A vintage Chanel bag. Doesn’t every woman alive lust after those? A new wardrobe is a given?—”

Layne slaps her hands over face and screams behind them. Another shorter scream of frustration follows before she peeks out from behind her hands. “What the living shit is going on?”

“You’re negotiating with Pack De Luca.” Matteo winks as he relaxes back in his chair, keeping up the calm facade we’re all striving to uphold. “You hold all the aces in your hand, and our offer currently stands at one million per month to act like we’re courting.”

“A million a month!” she screeches before jumping off her barstool and storming over to the fridge.

Without asking for permission, she grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge and keeps her back to us while she drinks the whole thing. She’s clearly treading water, and that’s cool; it means she’s considering our offer. We don’t move, all of us enthralled and eager for her response. Seeming more put together than before, she leans against the counter, making sure to look at each of us before she focuses back on our Alpha.

“No.” She shakes her head. But she also waves her hand to tell us to wait while she thinks before taking a small breath. “One hundred thousand a month, paid in untraceable US bank notes. Where possible no photos of our time together. And if we have sex, you agree not to get weird about it.”

I knew she was smart as fuck. It’s inevitable we’ll be fucking like rabbits.

The three of us start nodding heads like those bobblehead figures do, agreeing instantly to her counteroffer. The money thing is a real problem, but her comment about us having sex is all I can focus on. I dig my hands into my pockets and squeeze my thighs to stop them from moving me over there and grabbing her right this second.

Obviously now isn’t the right time, but try telling my brain and my dick that. I pinch my skin as a way to focus, then backtrack through our conversation. The money. It’s embarrassing how little she wants.

I look at my pack mates, and they’re all caught in a similar conundrum. Probably about both the money and the fucking thing too.

She doesn’t look away or fidget. “And one last thing—you all agree to wear scent blocking spray.”

That all but confirms how fucked by an Alpha she has been. Scents are as important as facial expressions or the cadence and tone in speech. It can tell a lot about a person’s intentions. Some Alphas use the ability to scent as a powerful persuasion to take whatever outcome they want. I’d say she was still too thrown by the situation with whoever it was who gave her the bruises to be able to trust her nose and intuition at this stage. She’s using whatever alternate means she can. Taking the influence of scents and her ability to scent out of the equation is a short-term solution though.

“Of course,” Valentine agrees quickly. God, he’s good, but I also know all this has been a song and a dance to get her to where he was always going to take her. He’s so even and measured in his approach, smiling softly at her. “As long as you wear something for us, we can easily agree to your request to wear scent blockers in our home.”

Her shoulders relax, and she blows out a loud breath before standing taller again, rightly sensing we’re finalizing the details of our fake courting arrangement. “We do it old school. A handshake only. You’re all honorable and trustworthy, right?”

Little vixen nearly beats him at his own game, and it’s an interesting development that she doesn’t want a paper trail. It not only confirms her dark past, but also how different she is from the greedy, vengeful bitches in our world.

“We do it old school.” Valentine stands, his hand outstretched in agreement.

She closes her eyes, her lips moving, like she’s talking to herself again. Maybe she’s talking herself into or out of it, but when she takes a step forward, my pack mates all breath in relief.

“Okay. I agree to help you out for sixty days in a fake courting arrangement. One hundred thousand a month, and I can come and go as I please.”

Her words are like a punch to Val in the face.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” he snarls, getting all loud and blustery.

This time, she doesn’t react. Instead, she coos softly, smiling sweetly, letting me get a read on her damn fine negotiating skills but also her saucy side. She teases and traps him so effortlessly, it’s spectacular. I should be worried and protective of my brother, but I’m as spellbound as he is.

“Relax, Alpha. I mean that I can come and go as I please, as long as I tell you where I’m going.”

Valentine’s eyes continue to slit, but he’s back in the game after being caught, and he just grins back at her. “And you take a guard.”

Her smile falters, and she goes to pull her hand away at the last minute. “I can’t go to work with a guard.”

“You don’t need to work,” Matteo pipes up from the sidelines.

Her hip pops out, and I can see the argument building, the fire in her eyes igniting, as she puts her foot down. “I’m working tonight, or this deal is off, even before we shake on it. How shitty would it be for me to say I would do something—like my job, when I just spoke to my boss—and then not show up? I have people relying on me. And besides, you’d think less of me. One day, you’d throw it in my face and say how quickly I flipped on Jana before you somehow made me flip on this deal. This fake deal of ours.” She purses her lips again, her chin lifting as the challenge flares again. “I’m working, with or without your permission.”

Valentine releases a low, threatening growl, probably getting a bit miffed at the “with or without your permission” comment, but amusingly, she stops talking while her eyebrows rise even higher. She’s going to push him—I can see it plain as day—but my brother needs the challenge. He needs a person who will push him to be better and think different, and I think Layne is that person. Then again, I could say the same for me and Matty.

From out of nowhere, when we least expected it, the universe delivered the answer to our prayers. There’s no way I’m letting her escape.

I close the distance and manage to wrap my hand around hers before she and Val start arguing over nothing at all. “Deal. But we cover all your expenses while you live in our house. Any costs that we see fit.”

When she shakes, she gets that same triumphant look in her pretty eyes that my brother does sometimes. “And you’re on your way to becoming my favorite twin.” She teases me with a cheeky grin, thinking she’s won. I mean she has, but so have we.

Not letting her drop our handshake, I tug her closer and use a little of my Alpha influence this time. “I’m with Matty about reclaiming your power with sex, but I’ll also teach you how to fight back better. We can start with hand-to-hand combat while I build you up a nice cache of weapons before together we go make those who hurt you bleed and suffer. Dante De Luca, your favorite fiancé.”

“Layne Miller, your fake fiancée.” Her brown eyes flame when she answers, and her chemically hidden scent dips. But I catch it. Calling it out would be for nothing. I let it pass, preferring her hand in mine. For the moment.

Valentine steps up, and without saying a word, he demands I give him the opportunity to shake on the deal with her. Then Matteo is doing the same.

Just like that, we end up with a courting pack mate. Which solves about a hundred problems, giving us a chance to breathe, but it also makes us contenders again in the game of being announced as Vitale’s successor.

Of course, Valentine pushes the moment hard, because that is him to a T. He walks off, then returns as quickly as he left, carrying what he wants her to wear. Yeah, we really are old school. He holds our nonna’s antique engagement ring up to the light, pretending to inspect the shimmering, fancy rosette setting with flawless black diamonds. And while he selected one of the smallest from our grandmother's jewelry collection, by the look of horror on her face, size is subjective.

“Thanks for agreeing to wear this,” he says almost too offhandedly as he places the very expensive engagement ring on the island. Without saying another word, but also keeping his eyes locked with hers, he reaches blindly into the cabinet next to him before spraying a liberal dose of the scent blocker all over him, smiling at her the whole time.

Layne does a good impersonation of a stunned mullet—though she’s the most gorgeous fish I’ve ever seen—her mouth hanging open as her eyes flash from the ring back to him. It’s funny how she does the same thing with her eyes when Valentine passes the spray to Matteo, then me.

Valentine got her good. I wouldn’t say he tricked or coerced her, but he certainly led her down the path he wanted her to take when he said, as long as you wear something for us without additional clarification. Of course, she followed because this Omega, who unwittingly stumbled into our world, has more spunk in her little finger than anyone I’ve ever met.

She also has so much fucking integrity. No matter how much she wants to argue, she won’t, because we shook a deal on her wearing what we wanted, and us wearing what she wanted.