Chapter 9 – Hawk
Chapter Nine
Hawk
The mafia princess’s shoulders slump as we stand in the entryway to the primary bedroom. Her lips turn downward, and it seems like she’s displeased about something.
Yeah, me too, sweetheart.
Me fucking too.
Being demoted to her security team is a slap in the face. Or it would be if I didn’t understand Moretti’s reasoning.
I worked my ass off to earn my position as his number two, and I don’t want to risk losing it. If he drags his feet about finding her a permanent team, I’ll take over and do the interviews myself.
“Do I get a tour?” Vanessa asks, looking up at me from under her dark brown lashes.
She returned Moretti’s overcoat before we came upstairs, and there’s a lot more pale skin on display.
If I didn’t know my best friend, I’d be concerned that he’s testing me, but I know Emory Moretti. He hyperfocuses to the point he can’t concentrate on anything else. Right now, his only goal in life is proving Grigoryan’s guilt.
Vanessa should be grateful that his obsession with getting under Grigoryan’s skin extended to saving her. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had no interest in marriage, pack life, or finding an omega of his own. It still blows me away that he went to such lengths to make her his.
Vanessa’s head swivels as she glances around the sitting area just outside the primary bedroom. It’s where we stand now and where Moretti wants me to sleep until we get someone in to do full-time security for her.
Stomping over to the door that leads into the bedroom, I toss it open and head inside.
Vanessa doesn’t hesitate to join me, and she peeks up at me like she’s waiting for something.
“The bed is there.” I point, as if she can’t see the massive thing that takes up most of the far wall. “That hallway leads to the walk-in closet, the bathroom, and the nest. It was all professionally cleaned over the last few days.”
“Great,” Vanessa says, smiling tightly. “What am I supposed to do about clothing?”
I step over to the dresser, pulling open one of the drawers.
“Moretti sent Francesca pictures of you. She did all the shopping for your basics. It should be enough for you to be comfortable until we can get your things from your father’s house or you order what you’d like.
” My voice comes out low and scratchy, but I don’t talk much unless I have to.
Vanessa quirks an eyebrow. “I should probably ask who Francesca is, but I’m too tired to care. Do you think clothing constitutes as necessity items?”
“You should ask Em that,” I tell her, backing toward the door.
She makes me nervous with the smile that tips at her lips.
“Em?” She flutters her long lashes. “Is that another of my husband’s mistresses? Or…” She laughs. “Wow, I forgot his first name for a second. This seriously can’t be my life.”
Francesca isn’t Moretti’s mistress, although she probably does wish she was.
As far as I know, the two have never fucked.
The boss has a strict policy against romantic relationships with anyone who works for him, and that includes any of the women who work at his clubs.
However, I don’t get paid enough to hash that out for him.
Vanessa smells way too fucking good, and she’s beautiful. It’s time for me to take my ass to bed and pray I wake up tomorrow magically not attracted to my best friend’s wife.
I back toward the door, grabbing the handle on my way by. “I’ll find you in the morning, and we can make a plan for the day.”
She turns toward me, and her face falls, but she quickly pastes on a mask of indifference. “Thanks. Any idea whether my husband plans to join me in our bedroom tonight?”
I grimace.
Fucking Moretti.
I can’t believe I fucked up and called him by his nickname.
I occasionally call him by his first name when it’s just the two of us, but I try not to give away our friendship in front of anyone else.
I’m not sure if that facade will extend to Vanessa.
I suppose it’ll come down to how their relationship develops.
Even if I consider him a friend, he must not feel the same about me. No way a friend sticks another friend in this position. He should be the one to break this news to her.
It’s not my goddamn place.
“Moretti has his own room here on the third floor,” I tell her, keeping my tone matter-of-fact. “I think this room is just for you.”
“Okay, great. Thanks, Hawk.”
I grunt, feeling like a total dick as I pull the door closed.
Running away from the misery I can see written all over her face is the only option.
There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s better off here than she would be with that sick fuck Grigoryan or even being trapped at her family’s mansion, but it’s also obvious that she just traded one prison for another.
I’m half-tempted to drag my mattress in to toss on the ground in the sitting room. The couch is a foot or more too short, and it’s uncomfortable as fuck. No matter how hard I toss and turn, I can’t make a decent groove for my big ass.
The door to the bedroom portion of the suite flies open, and I roll over, sitting up to see what’s going on.
Vanessa leaves the door open, allowing light to spill out behind her as she stomps across the floor with purpose. She spots me and squeaks, planting her hands on her hips. “You can tell my husband that I don’t play games, and he shouldn’t either.”
“What’s wrong?” I toss back the blanket and climb off the uncomfortable sofa.
“Do you know what psychological warfare is?” she asks, her tone shrill. “Because I do. I lived with it every day, thanks to my father, and to some degree, my brothers. This is not okay.”
“What’s not?” I take a few steps toward her, and she doesn’t back away.
It’s hard to make out her face. The light from behind her does offer some illumination, but my eyes are still adjusting from the time I spent in the dark.
Most of her hair seems dry, but little pieces frame her face in curly ringlets.
My nostrils flare, picking up her tart apple and cinnamon scent. It’s slightly muted, but that makes sense if she took a shower in the time I was getting changed before trying to call it a night on the sofa.
“Every single piece of clothing that woman bought for me is at least a size too small, if not two sizes.” Vanessa turns to the side, and the light shines over her front.
“And look, I get it. I’m not a size two or even a size four, but I’m an omega, goddammit.
Everyone knows we’re curvy, and I’m happy with my body. ”
“Whoa,” I say, raising my hands like there’s a wild dog about to pounce. “I’m sure something got lost in translation with the pictures.”
“I tried on multiple sets. This is the closest I got to finding one that fits.” Vanessa gestures to the front of the button-up pajama top.
“I got one button done. The one under my tits!” Her words come out an impressive growl that would intimidate even the most hardened alpha.
“Who buys shorts and T-shirt sets when it’s winter in Boston?
” She raises her arms, gesturing to the empty room, and the single button gives up on holding the two sides together.
It flings across the room, and Vanessa’s bare tits pop into view as the shirt hangs open.
“Oh, you know what?” She rips herself out of the shirt, balls it up, and chucks it at my head.
“I’m sucking in right now! I had to just to force myself into these awful pajama shorts.
” She peels herself out of those too, tossing them at me.
“I like things loose and comfy when I sleep!”
I drop them in a pile and tug myself out of my T-shirt with a hand at the back of my neck.
“We’ll go shopping first thing tomorrow morning.
Clothing definitely counts as a necessity under these circumstances.
Arms up. You can sleep in my shirt.” She brings her arms up, and I pull the material down over her curvy form.
“Thank you,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I took a shower, and all I wanted to do was get dressed so I could climb into bed. I don’t have any of my things, and I’m just…”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve had a hell of a night.”
Her head tilts. “Did Moretti force you to sleep in here to watch me?”
Damn.
There goes my hope that she’d be too distracted to ask why I’m here.
“The third floor is secure, but Moretti’s personal security team lives here in the house, along with other staff.” I cross my arms over my chest, wondering if I’m even supposed to be telling her this. “You’re an omega. Even if I trust them, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Yeah, I guess so, especially since my husband won’t be sleeping with me to offer his protection.
” She glances between me and the open door to the primary bedroom.
“Thanks again, Hawk. I promise not to screech at you tomorrow.” She twirls around, flashing me a sexy little peek of her ass as my shirt flies up.
“At least, not first thing in the morning.”
I’m in hell.
I have to be.
I text Moretti a warning about what happened and stretch out on the uncomfortable couch. When I take Vanessa shopping tomorrow, I’m buying a sectional large enough to fit my big ass.
There’s no way to tell how much time has passed when I roll over, waking from a light sleep, but based on the lack of light filtering in the windows, it’s still dark outside.
I need to take a piss. Going to one of the bathrooms off the hallway is an option. Nah, I might as well use the one in her room. It’ll allow me to knock out two birds with one stone, ensuring she stayed put.
She’s feisty, I’ve seen that much over the years.
Her breakdown earlier—if I can call it that, she was reasonably upset under the circumstances—seems like something someone should keep an eye on.
That someone should be Moretti, but who knows if she’ll even want to be close to him after the shock of tonight wears off.
She’s had a lot thrown at her in a short period of time where she, once again, had her free will taken away and plans made for her.
I wouldn’t be shocked if she put her dress on from the party and tried to escape via the balcony. Hell, if she managed to make it down three stories in that tiny dress and heels, I’d be impressed.
The door handle isn’t locked when I try it, and I make my way into the room, stopping dead in my tracks. My nostrils flare, and I’m smacked with the scent of her perfume.
Omegas perfume in the days or weeks leading up to a heat, and the smell is so potent it can knock rational sense out of unbonded alphas. It’s like pheromones on steroids, and the scent of Vanessa’s perfume permeating the air makes my knot throb.
That’s a fucking problem.
I take my ass to the attached bathroom, use it, and wash my hands.
This is just another thing that I’ll have to warn Moretti about. She can’t ride out a heat without alphas, and he seems convinced that he wants to keep their relationship in stasis until he’s ready for a real marriage.
I’m sure she’s going to love that.
I’m also positive Vanessa is capable of showing Moretti the error of his ways.
I exit the bathroom into the bedroom, and again stop in my tracks.
Moretti stands at the edge of the bed in sweats and a T-shirt. He must hear me because he spins around. The low lighting makes it difficult to make out his face, but he doesn’t look pleased about something.
He strides over to where I stand and whispers. “What’s wrong with her?”
I shrug and keep my voice low as I speak. “Outside of the fact you forced her into marrying you and none of the thousands of dollars of clothes that Francesca bought fit? I’d say she’s exhausted.”
“She’s perfuming and warm to the touch,” he says softly, glancing back over his shoulder.
“I’m sure she takes suppressants. You didn’t give her any warning before bringing her here. What did you think was going to happen?”
He’s really starting to get on my damn nerves.
The mafia families with omega daughters either ply them full of suppressants or force them to ride out heats without alphas.
It’s fucked up and barbaric, to say the least, but in his haste, he must have forgotten about that fact.
I don’t have the first clue how, considering he ranted and raved about being disgusted over the conversation where Grigoryan implied that she’d better still be a virgin.
Whether she is or isn’t is none of my goddamn business.
What is?
Taking care of her until Moretti gets his head out of his ass and realizes he legitimately forced the woman to marry him and then kidnapped her.
He wouldn’t have done that if he couldn’t see a future with her.
He’s just going to take his sweet time about coming to that realization.
If he’s not careful, he’s going to fuck things up to the point it’ll be hard to come back from.
“I should have considered that,” Moretti says, shaking his head. “I’ll set her up with my private physician as soon as he’s available.” His head tilts. “Where is your shirt?”
A lazy smirk crosses my face as I nod to the bed. “On your wife. I wasn’t fucking around when I said none of the clothes came close to fitting her.”
Moretti spins back toward the bed, and I take that as my opportunity to get the fuck out of here. Not that I can go far, but I have a feeling I’m going to need a good night of sleep to deal with Vanessa at full capacity.