Chapter 40
40
Matteo
L ayne is looking at me, but I’m pretty sure she’s not registering anything.
“Are you hurt, baby?” Dante demands her attention with the terse tone he uses.
He wants an answer and wants it now.
I go to tell him to lay off, but she blinks like an owl at him before closing her eyes and shaking her head.
Her whole face lights up when she realizes it’s him. “Holy shit, am I glad to see you, Dante. You would not believe…”
“Layne!” he barks again, more abruptly, making the dogs circle between her and him. “Are you hurt?”
Shock clouds her features but doesn’t dampen her beauty. “I don’t think so. Only, maybe? Not bad, anyway, so I guess that means no.”
Her words are all over the place, and her movements are jittery, but the way she wants to calm his storm is so easy to interpret. Our Omega is sensing his needs over hers, and I know she’s a survivor, but I’m concerned she might plunge into a state of shock.
Stripping out of my suit jacket, I push the dogs out of the way and wrap her in my warmth. “Arms up,” I demand, but there’s no bite to my voice, despite the fury coursing through my system. The only reason I don’t come across as a pathological asshole is because it’s her.
I’ve always seen Layne as part of our pack, but it’s moments like this when I get rocked by the fact that we found her and how necessary she is to our pack. And how much I need her in my life.
A smile dances over her face as I squat down in front of her to scoop her into my arms. One second in her presence, and I already start to feel better.
“Matteo.” She breathes my name, as relieved as I am. And then she wastes no time snuggling and brushing her face over my chest, in a very Omega-inspired move. I’m not sure she’s even aware of what she’s doing. It’s incredibly intimate and makes me feel invincible.
“We got you,” I say softly, surprising myself when I don’t squeeze her harder.
There’s something inside me needing the reassurance of holding her tight. I know it's the manifestation of my shock at her being taken. It’s as if I have residual grief on a cellular level that needs calming, despite having her back in my arms, where she belongs.
I’m pretty sure it’s going to take me a few years to feel whole again.
“I’m okay,” Layne says, answering Dante. “I just need this. Exactly this.”
Layne twists around, so she can look at each of us before her focus returns to me. The way she looks at me makes it seem as though we’re the last people on earth. Her focus is entirely on me as her hand cups the side of my face. She stretches up and demands, in her own subtle way, for me to kiss her.
“Jesus, Layne…” My pleas get cut off when her lips brush over mine.
She sighs against them.
Her eyes shut as a tremor racks over her from the inside out. She makes a small groan of pain, but when Layne pulls back a couple of inches, her eyes are clearer, and color is returning to her cheeks. Her hand makes it nearly impossible for me to look away. I’m sure my eyes are full of guilt, love, and relief.
I know she wants the same thing Dante did, a verbal confirmation I’m okay. And now that she’s back with us, I am. “Honestly, I’m good now. Holding and seeing you again, I’m okay.”
“Me too,” she says, pressing her forehead against my chest again before she turns and holds her hand out for Dante.
She doesn’t go to stand up; she stays in my arms as she reunites with him in a similar way she did me. She kisses him tenderly, then waits for him to also assure her he’s as good as can be, considering what she’s been through.
They talk quietly amongst themselves. Dante’s own version of hell sounds a lot like mine, and she soothes some of his lingering stress and bubbling emotions, much the same way she did mine—with small, scenting touches and carefully considered words.
When Dante steps away, he even looks more relaxed. He’s still ready to go to war, but his tension and stress is dropping, and his scent is no longer so sour it hurts when you smell it. The push and pull of his dominance fades too.
Layne untangles herself from my arms to face Valentine.
She’s not pushing Dante or me away, but in a very Layne way, she dealt with us before dealing with our Alpha. On an instinctual level, she knows Valentine needs something more than seeing his pack reunited.
I keep my hands on her. I still need the physical reminder that she's okay. I can see it, but I need the warmth of her.
“Val, come here, please,” she calls to him.
He’s standing as straight and as stiff as a board a few feet away from us. And I know why.
He’s struggling not to lose control in front of her. Since she was taken, he’s been working hard to fight off an Alpha rage.
But Layne isn’t scared of his emotions. She never has been. If anything, she wants the storm of his emotions, the ugly beauty we all sometimes have to bear.
“I am okay, Alpha.” Her voice rings out louder, clearer. And it’s a beautiful sound after not hearing her at all for a few hours.
Valentine’s chest is rising and falling faster, which is a good sign. He can see her, can feel her sweet presence, but he’s locked up tight and about to explode.
She turns to ask both Dante and me to give her a moment. Alone with Valentine.
Fuck, I’d give her the world if I could.
Without a hint of hesitation, I drop my hands from her body, and she walks to Valentine. She grabs his hands, her fingers pushing open his fists, forcing the tension from him. Then she gives his hands a different purpose entirely, from fighting to loving.
Moving them so they hang behind her neck, she closes the distance between them again to wrap her arms around his waist, leaning up to talk him off the ledge. It’s easy to see that his Alpha is at the point where only the touch of his Omega will calm him now.
I understand that. I know firsthand the magical properties of her touches.
But Valentine is dealing with a crap ton of aggression he really needs to release before all the noise in his head pushes him to rage.
He makes a sudden, strangled sound but contains it to the back of his throat. He should just open his mouth and bellow as loud as he can, but he’s likely worried it would scare her.
Layne keeps urging him in her gentle persuasion to lean on her, to let her help heal the rift he's currently treading.
I can’t hear what she’s saying to him—it doesn’t really matter—but instead of inciting him to argue or bicker the anger out of him, like Dante would, she’s coaxing him to be here in real time, instead of being trapped by all the possible outcomes he’s visualizing.
Valentine moves fast like a whip and grips her face in one of his hands, bending down and staring at her. Maybe glaring is more accurate. The tension in his hold has me about to step up and challenge him to be gentler, more considerate, but Layne drops a hand behind her back, asking me to trust.
She keeps smiling softly at him, perfuming the air with her chemically altered scent, as he peers deeper into her soul.
Valentine is a ball of tension. His face is lined with it, but he’s trying to hold it together for her. He stays scarily still and silent as he continues staring into her eyes, but thankfully, his eyes eventually close.
He takes a small step backward as the sound of his anger and frustration rumbles again, like thunder in a retreating storm. Much like the first rumblings in a storm, once he makes the ominous sound, the noises don’t stop.
But Layne doesn’t let him retreat far away. She steps into his space and encourages him with her sweet presence to let everything out. He won’t. Valentine has more control than that, but you can see a part of him wants to. His throat bobs as he works through everything inside his head and heart.
Each time he makes another sound, she steps in closer to him, until her head is against his chest and his hands cradle her head to hold her there.
And now I can hear his words over his anger. “What the hell happened?”
“You found me,” Layne says softly. He has no choice but to lean down and focus really hard to hear her as she continues to speak. “When it’s me and you, and our pack is safe and the dogs are fed, I will tell you play-by-play everything that happened, but first, I need you for something else.”
“What?” His question is snapped like a cracking whip. His impatience cuts.
Not using her words, Layne wraps her hands behind his neck, pulls him down, and buries her nose against the side of his throat, right over his scent gland. She breathes only the scent of her Alpha.
He thaws. Of course, he does. She reaches through his violent mood, and in one move, she gives his very dominant side the one thing it needs—her.
Everything about him lessens, including the atmosphere around us. Valentine’s hands stay gentle, his fingers moving slowly through her hair, and each second they stay intertwined in each other, he returns from the bullshit in his head to being with us. Layne takes another inhale of his scent, and her knees nearly give out. He responds with a strong hold around her, but his scent leaks of his relief, which also reaches her. He pushes a hand under her chin, so he can see into her eyes, and as he drops his forehead to hers for them to share one more fortifying breath together, they return to us as themselves.
Layne looks at each of us, her eyes full of sparkle again, and then she opens her mouth. “Diego has my engagement ring. I shot Santiago. There’s a bag in the van full of money. And there’s a whole lot more bullshit waiting for us in the hangar.”
Dante laughs while Valentine snaps.
“Excuse me,” he barks.
And Layne leans against him, ignoring his outburst and Dante’s laughter. “Right? Talk about a day. Honestly, you couldn’t script this shit.”
“Wind it back, wife,” Valentine snarls, glaring down at her.
Not her, but the fuckery she just explained. She gives him a quick kiss on his chest before taking a couple of steps away, so she can see each of us better.
“Oh,” she says, talking with a fair amount of sass, “and I met Ronin. He’s a delight, isn’t he?”
“How?” Valentine asks, his eyes lasering.
“Well.” She spins around and starts to look upward, searching until she finds what she wants. She backs into Valentine and grabs his hand, using it to point. “See that? That’s the private jet I was supposed to be put on. The Russians are involved, but I killed the one who was meant to get me on the plane, I think. I have no idea how Ronin and Santiago are involved, and how they ended up here, but they saved me. I think?”
Dante shakes his head, trying to keep up, but he also takes an obvious step closer, wanting her full attention for a minute. “Back it up, babe. Diego?”
She lets go of Valentine’s hand and walks straight into Dante’s arms, wiggling her way in until his arm is over her shoulders. “Right? Now, let me see if I can remember his exact send-off. I mean, it was great, very theatrical, full of threat too.” She looks away again, thinking hard before her mouth twists into a scowl and her mood drops to near glacial. “Oh, now I remember… ‘I hope he fucking destroys you painfully. Daily. Until you are nothing but a husk’ were the exact words he used. I’m putting money on him being a rat. He probably sold out my location out to Rocco.”
I hiss under my breath as everything falls into place. “Fuck. He’s the one leading the Bratva here.”
Valentine grunts. But the inflection clearly indicates he wants a more detailed response than the one I provided.
“He’s playing both sides. Even the timing makes sense. Diego is the one who started all the bullshit about the Irish fucking us over. After what our wife just said, I suspect Diego’s been pushing Vitale to use the Russian ports because he’s already got an alliance going with them. He and Rosa must have been returning from a meeting with the Bratva when they ran into Layne. It was pure fucking coincidence, but it also gave them an even bigger smokescreen to hide behind after meeting her.”
Dante gives her one last kiss before he takes a step away, needing the space to think. Same as Valentine, they both start pacing, and at the same time, a new wave of violence settles over their matching features.
Valentine buries his hands in his suit pants, thinking out loud and bouncing the theory for accuracy. “He’ll be pissing in Vitale’s ear that she was a rat, bait to get into our family and she’s now run off, taking our family secrets with her. As far as Diego knows, our wife is on a plane right this minute, and his treachery hasn’t been discovered.”
“Fucking bingo. He’s going to be so fucked up by the time we’re finished with him, he’ll wish he was fucking dead,” Dante snaps coldly.
Unintentionally, I bark out a laugh. But what he said was pointless. It’s a given in my mind, but still, I say it out loud for everyone, in case they need reminding. “You’re not fucking wrong. And not because he’s been dealing with our enemy, but because of what he did to Layne.”
Valentine smiles like a shark, nodding his head in agreement. “A hundred percent. Now that we’ve solved that mystery, we're not even going to bother trying to figure out Santiago and Ronin’s involvement until I’ve spoken with them,” Valentine says as he turns to look over his shoulder. “Who the fuck is in there, then?”
Layne goes to march off.
“Hey!” I bark at her, unnecessarily aggressive, but she just shocked the shit out of me by walking off.
She twists mid-step, her caramel-colored eyes full of amusement as she waits for an explanation for my outburst. But since she swung around, she also sucker punches me with her scent.
Even layered under chemicals, stress, and blood, her sweet perfume hits home. Because we were, and are, destined to be together. Layne’s scent is so compatible, for me, and my pack, it’s almost like a gift from the gods themselves.
I need her nearer, so she’s all I can see and breathe. I point to a spot in front of me. “Get your tush here, Mrs. De Luca.”
“Yeah, why?” A smirk dances over her lips as she sashays closer, looking like a fucking goddess. Maybe Valkyrie is more fitting, considering her incredible inner fortitude, as well as her current state. Her pretty clothes are torn and she’s covered in blood and dirt. Her makeup is smeared over her face, but to me, she is still the most exquisite person I have ever seen.
The way she comes closer, and stares into my soul so effortlessly, brings fire through my veins and burns through my lingering frustration. Layne has me feeling more like me in a handful of seconds, and now I can focus on returning the favor.
“I want to give you something,” I say quietly as she looks up at me, with so much fucking trust in her eyes.
“Yeah?” And when she talks, her scent blows into my face.
I press my mouth to hers, holding her so she can’t escape until the only thing I can breathe is caramel-flavored air, and the only thing I can hear are her small sighs as she follows me for more.
I have to pull away, distract myself with the task at hand, or I’ll spread her over the front of the Escalade and claim her for the world to see.
I blow out a steady exhale, pretending I’m calm. “You need weapons.”