Chapter 31
31
Layne
E dward and Bella pick up the subtle change in everyone’s mood as we clean up the kitchen after breakfast is done. It draws them from the nap they were both having, out into the sunshine on the balcony.
I squat down to give them scratches behind their ears, hoping to reassure them, but it’s like they’ve picked up that we’re about to start talking about strategy and business, so they jump into active service too.
“I need to talk to Ronnie about you two,” I tell Bella, snapping my fingers and telling her to go check the house. I know they’re working dogs and need discipline and mental activity, but I like to balance it with cuddles.
Hopping up to my feet, I open the fridge, searching for drinks and snacks. I'm completely on task, wondering if I should cut up some of the cheesecake I find, when a pair of warm hands slip inside my dress to cup my breasts, and I scream.
“We can sit at the dining table, or we can use my office,” Valentine suggests, keeping a blank mask on his face, even when I twist around to check, because it sounds a lot like a setup.
He also doesn’t stop playing with my nipples after being called out. The deep rumbling moans he makes against my ear have goose bumps dotting my skin more than the cold coming from inside the fridge. Valentine finishes with a harsh bite on my nape that sends shivers all the way from my head to my toes, so strong, they nearly send me to my knees.
Grabbing onto the fridge, I press my head against his until the tremors stop. Except, of course, seeing me struggle because of his touch has him making suggestive noises against my skin again. I have to stop, or I’ll be yanking up my dress and presenting for him.
Clearing my throat and being more obvious when I push him away, I can’t look at him yet when I talk. “Come on, we've got work to do. Don’t you need to go out soon?”
Being a gentleman, he carries my hoard of supplies as we make our way to his office, and then he holds the door open for me. I nearly trip over my own feet at how much his office still stinks like sex. I spin and catch a new wave of satisfaction on his face.
Dante comes in behind us, and I see him missing a step on his way in as he slams into the same issue. He stops dead in his tracks and glares daggers at Valentine, his top lip twitching up while a rumbling snarl spills from his chest. It’s loud enough that the dogs trot over to see what the issue is.
“Is there a problem?” Valentine smirks, except when he sees how pissed his brother is, the smile twists into a full-blown one. The smug Alpha buries his hands in the pockets of his suit pants while he rocks on his heels, waiting for Dante’s answer. The way he acts and looks is wildly attractive, even though his ego is out of control.
Dante runs a hand through his ebony-colored hair to pull it off his face and makes another frustrated sound in the process. I move into the path between them, hoping to sidetrack Dante and also stop Valentine’s gloating.
“Don’t let him wind you up. Don’t you have things to tell us?” I suggest, even pointing for him to sit next to me.
“Not quite fair, though, is it? I was out all morning, working, and my brother was here fucking you the entire time,” he bitches, moving to the side so he can continue glaring at his brother.
It’s the first time being around them where I’ve ever wondered if they actually fight. Like, not argue but fight physically. Since they’re all about winding each other up, and are both stubborn enough to keep going, I’m confident in the assumption they have and probably still do.
“Come sit here, Dante,” I say, patting the middle seat on the three-person leather Chesterfield facing the fire.
On the other side, there’s a two-seater and a matching single. A coffee table in the middle finishes off the space and makes Valentine’s office resemble a gentleman’s club. I guess, this morning, I never really got the chance to see it for what it was, even missing the built-in library shelves running along an entire wall.
“Holy shit, I am never leaving here,” I say, and clearly, it’s the wrong thing because Dante growls again.
But it also kicks his butt into gear, and he flips Valentine the bird before parking his butt exactly where I suggested with the small change of me sitting on him, opposed to me having my own seat. He tucks me under his arm and takes a big, shaky exhale before sneaking a peek at me, and I roll my eyes at his dramatics.
Matteo joins us and immediately looks at me. “I’m instantly hard.”
I blush at the attention, but not because I’m embarrassed by what I did.
“Okay,” Dante says, balancing his laptop on my lap, and I watch as he fiddles with the settings until he streams it to the television. Of course, they have one of those slim TVs on the wall that looks like a painting when it’s not in use. Those are super expensive but such a good idea.
“Hey,” Dante says, calling my focus to him and only him. “You don’t need to see the images. I can explain the scene Legos and I found.”
I shake my head. “No. Honestly, I’m good.”
Dante looks to Valentine and Matteo to triple-check that they think it’s a good idea. It’s not like he would deny my request; more like he doesn’t want the burden to just be his if I change my mind. But I won’t.
And I don’t.
When the first photo displays on the television, the injuries on Rocco—and there’s no mistaking it is him—are graphic, but I stopped thinking of Rocco as a person a while ago. Now he’s nothing but a bad memory, and that makes it easy for me to disassociate when I look at what someone did.
“Legos got a tip and called me right away.” Dante slips into review mode, his emotions disappearing as he starts listing facts. “The location where he was found was not where he was tortured.”
“Those are electrocution burns, right?” I ask, because the markings are that or close-contact burns.
“Yeah,” Matteo says as he shuffles to sit on the edge of his seat, leaning in to study the picture.
Valentine is doing the same, but he clicks his finger impatiently at Dante for the next image to be shown. It’s from a different angle, and from this perspective, even though Rocco is still mostly dressed, you get to see his pants have been ripped at the front, and the marks that were on his chest are painfully evident around his groin.
“That’s a bit gross,” I say, but it’s not so stomach churning that I have to look away. Honestly, the photos I have seen as evidence in some cases are horrible. Rocco’s torture isn’t pretty, but it looks like whoever did it was going for maximum pain in a hurry.
“That is not a burn from fire or chemical,” Valentine says, studying the images.
When Dante changes the image again, it paints a different picture, and I amend my earlier guess on the length of time he was tortured. I’m pretty certain I already know what I’m looking at.
“That’s Bratva.” I climb off Dante’s lap and sit on my own spot, so I can see everyone better.
“Which is exactly what we thought. Just for interest's sake, why do you say that?” Matteo asks. The way he looks at me like I’m an important player is the first time in a long time that someone has seen me in such a light. God, it unlocks the thrill I used to get when talking cases with my classmates. It's a sensation that strums through my body, and it feels like a part of me wakes up after a long, long sleep.
“Is there another image, or is that it?” I ask Dante.
“A couple more but not showing anything different. What gives, Nancy Drew?”
I don’t get the impression that his question is a test. It’s more like he wants to keep the flow of our conversation moving.
“Bratva use electrocution as a form of torture. And, yeah, you can tell a lot by the form of torture as to which syndicate it is.”
“What do we like?”
“Depends on how much time you have, generally, but certainly guns and strangulation, along with brutal bone snapping, sets you apart from say, the Cartel, who like power tools, electrocution, and using chilies—of all things—in people’s eyes, mouths, cuts. The Irish like pain, so they tend to use chemicals and knives, and the Yakuza are more traditional in their methods, removing body parts before assault with bars, rods, bamboo.”
I shake my head when they all look at me, impressed. “I told you I had a stomach for this.”
“Holy shit,” Dante says. But he’s also got nothing but blazing lust in his eyes when he catches me by the back of the neck and pulls me closer before ruining me with one of his hard and dirty kisses. “Marry me again.”
We break away at the same time, breathing a little too heavily, considering we’re talking about people hurting people. But this is their world. And mine now too.
I might have come into their world from a different angle, the “right” and “proper” side of society, but I would much prefer to live the way Pack De Luca does—with honest brutality—rather than the games the “good” people play. My father is the epitome of that high moralistic standing, despite being the snakiest snake in the snake pit.
“The way his hands are tied downward is also confirmation. The missing fingers, well, there are a few ways to interpret that, but I’d say he was touching something he shouldn’t have.”
“Or touching someone,” Valentine adds, his eyes looking a bit shielded when they land on me.
“That’s a bit of a jump, though. No one knows I’m here with you.”
“Did you find his fingers?” Matteo asks Dante.
“No.”
During the entire conversation, Valentine holds my gaze, and I can see the argument growing about Rocco’s fingers being removed. But instead of him getting caught up in an Alpha moment and needing to know he’s right, Valentine urges me to continue my version of what I think of the scene.
“I’d say Rocco was dead before he was transported and dumped because those photos show early rigor mortis. The way his arms are set show he was tied and hung on a rack, or something similar, and held in the position while he was being tortured. Maybe they even left the bar in place when he was being dumped.”
“One hundred percent,” Valentine agrees, before he sits down and we move away from the body of evidence to what is always more difficult to solve—the reason. “He was associated with the Bratva, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what the detective said. I pressed for a bit more information, but he was reluctant to share. I was pretty anxious to leave, too, so I only got the basics that Rocco was in a gang with association to the Bratva. But he was not Russian, unless I missed his accent, on top of everything else about him.”
“Doubtful, Mrs. De Luca,” Dante says, tipping his head to the side. “You wouldn’t have missed that. Either way, he was an asshole who died too quickly and without enough pain, in my books.”
We kind of make heart eyes at each other before we get back to discussing the other aspects.
Valentine uses his laptop to stream more photos to the TV for comparison. “And the images we got from camera feeds across our territory show that Rocco and a few of his friends were the people responsible for the hit on Gambrillo property. In light of his death and punishment, it would be easy to assume Rocco was acting on his own, and his attack was unsanctioned—without the blessing of the Pakhan. Dumping his body in our territory is a sign from them that the person responsible for making waves has been dealt with, and they’re aware they shouldn’t be but are making amends.”
We spend a few more hours talking about business. Valentine checks his watch, then excuses himself and Matteo to do a favor for a friend of his, the same guy who called this morning.
Dante looks at me and says we’re training. The hint of trouble in his eyes doesn’t seem all bad.