Chapter 9
9
Valentine
I t was hard letting Layne walk out of our home, and the only reason we let her leave without any of us was because of Ahmed’s presence. Along with his small team of people, all trained in tactical and hand-to-hand combat and highly skilled at blending in, so no one would notice.
They offer some of the best in personal detail on the market, but I still have a clawing in my chest. As pack Alpha, I made the call that meant she walked out of our home by herself, so if anything happens, the responsibility of that rests on my shoulders alone.
Logic tells me she’s fine. The trackers planted in the bag and the ring mean I can see where she is and even how many steps she’s taken. To a degree, seeing the evidence for myself and knowing Ahmed and his team are watching eases my stress. But part of me is caught up in the reason she recently showed up from out of nowhere.
It’s not like people showing up around here doesn’t happen a lot. The area around The Docks attracts a large transient crowd. Of course, our people keep an eye out for newcomers, and she’d been spotted. But, for the past few weeks, her routine kept her contained in neutral ground; there were no immediate red flags.
The fact that she ran to help Matteo isn’t even a concern. I can read her compassionate nature as clearly as I can tell the shadows in her eyes weren’t put there by her own doing.
The red flags appeared after she left for work, once it was too late for me to pull out of our agreement to let her work tonight. Now I’m even more thankful Dante and I stumbled into a gentleman’s agreement with Ahmed.
Layne Miller is an alias. And while that’s a concern, it isn’t the reason I want to jump in my car and race to the restaurant. The redacted transcript of a woman recently attacked on the opposite side of the country—an Allison Monet—is responsible. I’m no psychic, but the evidence provided in a series of photos and medical reports detailing injuries eerily similar to Layne’s stacked up in such a way that nearly anyone with half a brain would be able to solve the mystery. Beyond the torture of having to read a detailed report of what happened to the Omega invading our lives, the blacked-out lines on the report are setting off all my alarm bells. The identity of whoever attacked Allison is classified information, a fact that has my blood pressure skyrocketing.
My phone buzzes, and Dante’s text not only confirms how much time has passed since I first sat at my desk, but also that we have a visitor in the lobby. I hit the call button, and my brother picks up before it rings. “Let me guess, you just want to freshen up?”
“Appearances are important.” There’s an edge to my response, and I know he doesn’t miss it.
Dante doesn’t miss much. The bond we share began in our mother’s womb and has only grown exponentially since, ensuring we share so much more than just our looks.
“I need to grab a couple of things, anyway,” he says. “It will be better if we go down together.”
He hangs up, and I use the bathroom attached to my office. I know I agreed on using scent blockers, but at the same time, in our world, scents are as important as who you swear your allegiance to.
Matteo finds me shaving, and opening the closet behind the door, he hands over a white button-down. Dante shouts out that he needs a few minutes, and by the time I’m fixing my hair, he’s yelling to haul ass.
“Did you check our security?” I ask on the way down.
Matteo confirms with a grunt as he studies the security feeds on his phone. “No one is getting in or out without us knowing.”
“But how, then?” I bark before scrubbing a hand down my face, then apologizing.
“Probably Vitale’s meddling again,” Matteo answers calmly, ignoring my frustration.
“I’ll kill the bastard myself,” I snap back without volume.
Matteo reaches over with a brief brush of his hand along my shoulder, a reminder of what we’re doing and why, while also sharing his ability to placate the highs of my emotions. With his assistance, I don’t feel peaceful enough to rest, but steady enough to not act like an Alpha out of control.
“That’s the plan,” Dante adds before he cracks his neck, a sign he’s as frustrated as I am. “We stick to the timing, Valentine. And we already have the tools we need to succeed.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but my focus is pulled to the two women causing a scene in the front of our apartment building. Since rumors started circulating that Vitale would soon be naming his successor, nearly every unbonded female with links—however small—to the Gambrillo Family has paraded like a peacock in front of us.
In Vitale’s ploy to ensure Dante, Matteo, and I are out of the running of being named his successor, he’s recently announced any pack who wants to be included in the running for his crown needs to be a completely formed pack. The only way to do that is to have either a wife, husband, or a bonded Omega.
He keeps taunting us by sending other people’s daughters our way. No doubt his latest change to the rules is a reminder he is still the Boss and can do whatever he wants. The other part of Vitale’s motivation would have to make things harder for Pack De Luca, already knowing we’ll reject each and every woman he sends our way. Each of them was born with the sole intent of fostering alliances. But they are Vitale’s alliances, and we refuse to tie ourselves to any of them. Once he dies, everything associated with him—alliances, deals, promises—die with him. The only thing I want is his title of Boss. And the only way I’ll take that is the way he took the position in the first place—with blood.
Like Dante said, we’ve needed to look and act the part until the time’s right. Lucky for us, fate stepped in and delivered exactly what we need—someone who isn’t dappled in allegiances or contrived for revenge.
Layne.
As soon as she walked into the apartment this morning, I knew there was no way I would let finding her go to waste. Especially when she, too, had a reason to jump so eagerly at our offer.
I’d rather spend the rest of my life trying to unravel the mystery surrounding Layne than to waste another minute of my time with the dolled-up bitches trying to slink inside my home. For some reason, they always travel in pairs.
“Valentine.” Claudia says my name like it brings her happiness.
The sound of my name on her lips is nauseating, but I don’t stop her, so she keeps chirping away. Her scent is so fake and spicy, making my head ache and my eyes water, I have to wave it away.
She blatantly ignores what I’m doing while continuing to talk in her nasally whine. “My card doesn’t work. Sorry you had to come down and get me, but I’m so happy you did.”
Both she and her cousin share the same look as nearly every other daughter in our world—manufactured beauty that’s all about enticement and entrapment. They don’t want us. They either want the flashy fame of being seen as important, or they want the notoriety of selling us out to our friends and enemies to get ahead. But I know lots about Claudia, things no one else might. For instance, she’s got bad habits of her own, like fucking her friends’ boyfriends and bodyguards before stealing from the poor bitches, even being low enough to wear their jewelry like trophies.
“I didn’t realize you had a card,” I offer blandly, and the way she looks over my shoulder gives away how she got the card. She does it in such a way, her manipulation appears like she’s doing me a favor.
Dante doesn’t miss her looking over at Otto, our building security manager. Or more accurately, our ex-security manager. How honest he is about what he’s been up to will determine whether he will be working in our city again. For the moment, Otto doing shit behind our back isn’t the issue; the two desperate and dateless women in front of me are.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“We had a date.” Claudia waves her hand like I’m being silly, purposely making the shimmering gold on her slender wrist catch the light.
“I don’t appreciate liars. And trust in our world is important, wouldn’t you say? Since I can’t trust you, why would I even think of asking you out on a date?” I drop the pretense of trying to be anything but pissed off as I challenge her, staring at her jade-green eyes, demanding she grow the fuck up and act better than a three-year-old.
And rather than looking uncomfortable at being called out, she just shakes it off. Thankfully, she drops the baby voice. “Vitale said you’d need the company.”
“Vitale sent you here?” I ask for clarification.
She nods eagerly. “And Daddy,” she says, standing up straighter, tits pushed out.
Her father is a desperate man with a gambling problem who owes Vitale a lot of money. Vitale sending the daughter our way is as offensive as her agreeing to it. I look at Dante, and he shakes his head, unsurprised, but he’s also telling me not to worry about it. In the scheme of things, it’s nothing but an intentional jab in a fight we’ve been readying ourselves for.
“And her?” I point to Vivian. I know them both. I wish I didn’t, but we all grew up in the same circles.
Claudia flutters her eyelashes. “Moral support. Unless you need extra company.”
I look to my brother and Matteo. My moral support. Hopefully they kick her ass before I have to.
She ignores the dip in my mood, instead refocusing on her ploy to get inside my building. She must think I’m batshit fucking crazy.
Honestly, I’m floored by her audacity. Waiting until she’s sure my pack are watching, Claudia does a slow spin before bending down to pick up something behind her. She makes sure to do it in a way that ensures her skirt rides up high enough to show me, and the rest of the goddamn world, that she’s shown up on our doorstep without underwear.
Vivian giggles as she watches us, feeding more encouragement to Claudia to keep up the show. From next to me, I can practically hear Matteo rolling his eyes and Dante’s scent gets tart in his growing frustration.
“Whoops,” Claudia says in a breathy voice. But instead of jumping up and tugging her skirt down, she makes her ass cheeks wobble and sway suggestively before wiggling her skirt down and standing up with a Belmondo bag swinging in her hand.
Belmondo is renowned for bringing late-night Italian delicacies to our side of the world. They’re popular and expensive because they’re authentically good. It’s no secret I’m a regular customer at Belmondo. Tonight, seeing the bag turns my stomach, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to visit them again, which pisses me off more.
“I brought your favorite. It’s pistachio gelato, right?” She makes a big show of peeking in the bag, then looking back at me, her lips pulling down as she mimics being on the verge of tears. “Oh no, they forgot to pack spoons. Guess we’ll have to use our fingers.”
I go to tell her to fuck right off—I come so close to kicking her slutty ass to the curb—but before I can, Dante clears his throat, diverting my attention away from the desperate diva to something way more my style.
A soft cloud of caramel is the first thing I notice, and it immediately douses the sourness of my mood. I watch with interest as Layne climbs out of Ahmed’s car.
She doesn’t make a scene; she doesn’t even glance our way as she laughs at something he says. He goes to help her retrieve her luggage from the trunk, but she says something, and he reaches out to shake her hand before getting back in the front seat, leaving her to get her things. And it’s not much.
I don’t feel sorry for Layne. If anything, I feel proud she’s managed to survive with so little. Seeing Layne’s independence, her unwillingness to be waited on by others, is such a breath of fresh air in our world. In time, I will teach her to gracefully receive, but seeing her determination to do this her way is seriously turning me on.
Claudia keeps talking, unperturbed by what is happening behind her, which confirms how desperate and stupid the woman is. My attention flits between the two women, but as Layne comes closer, I fall fully under her spell. Claudia is forgotten. Vivian too. My brother and Matteo…well, it’s lucky we share a bond, because their presence is completely overshadowed by the Omega in front of me. Her hair is a bundled mess, she has dark circles under eyes, but I’ve never found any woman so fucking tempting.
“Hey, baby, so sorry I’m late.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s standing in front of me, balancing on her tippy toes, waiting.
And, yeah, I absolutely fucking preen that she’s wearing my hoodie, smelling like me and wanting a kiss. It flips a switch in my brain, and I curl my arm around her to pull her against my chest. And then I am kissing her like we’ve been sharing life and all its secrets for years.
Layne’s lips are as soft and sweet as the way she talks. They taste incredible, like my favorite dessert, which is now melting caramel. I have to break away and look into her caramel eyes to make sure it’s her because I’m so shocked by the way she makes me feel and fucking want with the barest of touches.
But one kiss isn’t enough, and I take the bags out of her hands, dropping them to the ground before I pull her back in, half feral for another taste. She grins just before our lips touch again; her breath rushes out and fills my lungs. I growl against her lips—fucking growl —making her quiet laugh move farther down her throat, but the sound is just for me. The noise is like the whisper of a siren’s song.
She pulls away way too soon for my liking, cupping my face with one hand and pushing my chest away with the other. “I missed you too.”
Then Layne steps in front of Matteo, lifting up for a kiss, which he gives her, small and soft, before collecting all her bags and boxes once more.
Dante crooks his finger at her, beckoning her closer. Taking everything out of her hands, he holds some and leaves the rest for us to carry. Then he swoops low to pick her up, throwing her over his shoulder and holding her still with a large hand groping her ass.
It doesn’t take twin intuition to understand why Dante picked up Layne up and carried her back inside our building, so she’s secure behind the door. Claudia is about to erupt. There’s no real physical threat to Layne, considering the three of us are here to defend her, but at the same time, Dante isn’t taking any risks, something I approve of wholeheartedly.
Still ignoring Claudia’s theatrics, I watch Layne slide down Dante’s front before he dips down to take her mouth. I can’t hear what he’s saying to her each time he nips and licks at her mouth, but I see Layne’s hands clawing into his shoulders, like she’s trying to pull him closer.
Matteo steps in front of me, blocking my view of Dante and Layne. His pupils are blown nice and wide, and he’s leaking scents, which he only does when he’s pissed off or aroused. Right now, he’s undoubtedly both. He’s never been a fan of the games Vitale draws us into, and he’s never trusted one thing about Claudia. But his scent is because of Layne. I have no doubt he’s just as eager to get her upstairs as I am.
“I never figured someone like you would stoop so low, Valentine,” Claudia hisses.
I knew it was coming. A woman like her is used to having men fall for her games. But I’m not, nor will I ever be, one of those people.
“Don’t make a scene, Claudia.”
“Me, make a scene? You’re the one disrespecting me with that…that thing,” she bites back, her voice getting squawky as her true ugliness shows through her fake exterior.
“That thing ?” I look at Matteo.
With a measure of calmness I don’t feel, I take a step closer to Claudia, but my eyes aren’t on her. They’re on her two guards, who are climbing out of their vehicle. If the rumors are true, the taller one is her current boy toy.
Behind them are Ahmed’s people. On quieter feet, with weapons drawn.
“Call off your men, Claudia, or I will cripple your lover.”
She runs her hand through her hair, plumping her curls around her shoulders before she laughs, finally showing her hand. “Don’t act surprised when I come for her.”
I watch Claudia, waiting for her next move. I don’t bother hiding how little I think of her, but she’s all talk, whereas I’m a man of action. I nod, and from out of the shadows, a man appears. Still, I focus on her. “You should know I take threats against my fiancée very seriously, Claudia.”
“Your fiancée, Valentine?” She scoffs before breaking out into laughter. “Now, that is a joke. She won’t last a day in our world. Come crawling to me when she’s run off screaming, and we can have this chat again.”
“I take threats against my fiancée very seriously,” I repeat.
Claudia opens her mouth to say something, but her attention jumps behind us as a man yells and groans in pain. I watch as her eyes flare wide in shock at how quickly I acted. Her current lover-slash-bodyguard is wailing like a fucking bitch about the blade protruding out of the front of his knee, making it impossible for us to ignore him. At the same time, she doesn’t run to his aid. But why would she? Claudia has only ever worried about herself.
I wait until she’s looking at me again before I speak nice and slowly, an obvious threat in every word I speak. “Let your father know I’ll be around on Monday to collect the money he owes.”