Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
LEO
They convened in the back room.
Same space as their first meeting, but the energy was entirely different. The pool table had been pushed aside, replaced by a large table covered in maps, financial documents, and Leo’s meticulous notes. No assessment. No sizing each other up. This was strategy.
“As you already know, Victor’s been targeting the ward anchor intersections.” Leo spread the documents across the table’s surface. “What we now know is where he’ll strike next.”
He pulled out a file of shell company registrations and financial records, the paper trail he’d been building for days.
“Sable Acquisitions has made offers on four businesses in the harbor district already. All rejected so far, but his pattern suggests escalation is coming. Create instability, spread rumors, wait for owners to get desperate, then swoop in with lowball offers. It’s what he did at Castellan Ventures on a smaller scale. ”
The door opened. Hux slipped in, impeccable despite the late hour, his lion’s grace evident in every movement.
“Apologies.” He surveyed the spread of documents with keen interest. “Councilwoman Marsh wouldn’t stop arguing about parking meters. What did I miss?”
“Victor Sable wants to own Haven Shores or burn it down,” Beck summarized. “Leo’s about to tell us how to stop him.”
“Ah.” Hux’s smile sharpened. “The exciting part.”
“Junie’s shop.” Beck’s voice cut through, drawing every eye. “Moonrise Mixology sits on one of the strongest intersections. That’s why she was hit, isn’t it?”
Leo met his gaze directly. “Her location makes her strategically valuable. The ley line running beneath her property connects to three of the seven ward anchors.”
“She’s been staying at the Siren’s Rest.” Beck’s tone was carefully neutral, but an edge lurked beneath. “Under your protection.”
“Under the town’s protection.” Leo didn’t look away. “I’m not claiming ownership.”
“Aren’t you?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. Theo shot Beck a warning look, but the wolf didn’t back down. His easy charm had dropped entirely, replaced by an honesty that was almost brutal.
“I’m protecting someone who matters to me.” Leo kept his voice even. “The same way you would protect someone who mattered to you.”
Pain flickered across Beck’s features, quickly suppressed. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“She’s been my friend for years.” The words came rough, reluctant. “I’ve watched idiots come and go, each one failing to see what she was worth. She deserves someone who’ll stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“You have a pride in San Francisco. An empire. A whole life that has nothing to do with this town.”
“I’m. Staying.” Leo let the predator rise enough to add weight to the words. Not a challenge—a promise. “Whatever that requires. Whatever it costs. I’m not leaving her.”
The silence stretched. Four heartbeats. Five.
Beck nodded once, tension easing from his shoulders. The fight went out of him—not in defeat, but in acceptance.
“Okay.” His voice was rough. “Treat her right. She deserves better than she’s gotten.”
“I know she does.”
Theo cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Now that we’ve established the romance subplot, can we get back to the trap?”
The trap was elegant in its simplicity.
Victor’s pattern was clear: create instability, let panic build, present himself as the solution. He’d done it at least three times in Haven Shores already—targeting businesses, waiting for them to suffer, then making his move when owners were desperate enough to take any offer.
“We give him a target he can’t resist.” Leo pulled out one final document. “A business that’s already struggling, on a critical intersection, with an owner who seems ready to sell. We make it easy. Tempting. And when he makes his move, we’re waiting.”
“What’s the target?” Hux asked.
“Piprick’s Peculiar Provisions.” Leo tapped the deed. “Piprick Geare’s shop. He’s been struggling since the surge started affecting his inventions. His location is on a secondary intersection—not as powerful as Moonrise Mixology, but valuable enough to attract attention.”
“Piprick’s inventions have a tendency to explode.” Beck pointed out, some of his usual humor returning. “That’s not exactly a selling point.”
“It is for Victor. He doesn’t want functional businesses.
He wants the real estate. The ley line access.
” Leo shrugged. “I’ve already spoken with Piprick.
He’s willing to play along—let word spread that he’s considering selling, make himself look vulnerable.
When Victor’s people make contact, we’ll be ready. ”
“And if Victor doesn’t take the bait?” Wyatt asked.
“Plan B.” Leo’s smile had teeth. “I let it be known that Castellan Ventures is pulling out of Haven Shores. That I’ve given up, that the town’s too much trouble, that I’m retreating to San Francisco with my tail between my legs.
Victor’s ego won’t let him pass up the chance to watch me fail publicly. He’ll overreach.”
“You’d sacrifice your reputation to catch him?”
“My reputation is built on results, not rumors.” Leo met Wyatt’s skeptical gaze steadily. “A few weeks of false retreat is a small price for ending Victor permanently.”
The group exchanged glances. The final barrier between Leo and the local power structure crumbled. He wasn’t an outsider anymore. He was one of them.
“When do we start?” Theo asked.
“Tomorrow. I want Piprick spreading rumors by the weekend. If everything goes according to plan, Victor should make his move within ten days.”
“And if everything doesn’t go according to plan?”
Leo thought of Junie. Of her shop on its critical intersection. Of the grandmother’s recipe book that was still missing, the encoded entries that Victor might be trying to decipher even now.
“Then we improvise,” he said. “But we don’t let him win. Whatever it takes.”
The meeting broke up slowly.
Hux left first, citing obligations. Beck lingered at the bar, nursing a beer and very deliberately not looking at Leo.
Wyatt caught him before he reached the door.
No words—just a single page slid across the table.
A name Leo didn’t recognize. Payment records from a Sable Acquisitions shell company.
And a notation in Wyatt’s precise hand at the bottom: “Already gone. Left town three weeks ago. Doesn’t appear to have known what the information was worth.
” Leo stared at it for a moment. Not a spy.
Not a traitor—just a struggling shopkeeper who had sold gossip without understanding who was buying it, or why.
He set the page down and nodded his thanks.
Theo caught Leo’s eye and jerked his head toward the back exit. “Walk with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
They stepped into the cool night air, the harbor spread out before them—dark water, distant lights, the constant rhythm of waves against wood. The moon was nearly full, casting silver paths across the bay.
“You smell like her.” Theo’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Like you’ve been swimming in her scent for days.”
Leo didn’t bother denying it. “Yes.”
“You haven’t claimed her.”
“No.”
Theo’s stride didn’t falter as they walked along the dock. “Why not?”
“Because she hasn’t chosen yet.” Leo kept his voice even, though the question scraped against an exposed nerve. “Not fully. The claiming is permanent. It’s not a decision I’m willing to make without her complete, informed consent.”
“And if she never chooses?”
“Then I stay anyway.” Leo met Theo’s sideways glance. “I’m not with her because my lion recognizes her as a mate. I’m with her because I want to be. The claiming would formalize what already exists, but its absence doesn’t change my commitment.”
They walked in silence for several more paces. Leo could feel Theo’s assessment—the older Alpha weighing his words, measuring his sincerity against some internal standard.
“Avine needed time too.” Theo’s voice was quiet. “The waiting nearly drove me mad. But it wasn’t my choice.” He stopped, turning to face Leo directly. “The fact that you understand that—that you’re giving Junie the same respect—it matters. To me, to Avine, to everyone who cares about that woman.”
“She’s worth waiting for.”
“She is.” Theo extended his hand. “Welcome to Haven Shores, Castellan. Officially.”
Leo shook it. The grip was firm—the acceptance of equals. “Thank you.”
“Now go back to her.” Theo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “She’s probably already planning how to interrogate you about every word spoken tonight.”