Page 14 of Mated to the Kingpin

“I—I didn’t know it was him!” he whimpers. “We—we were just told it was a high-value mark. Some kinda rich business asshole, but no name. Just a picture and a place to be. We were paid to block the exit and shoot. I swear!”

By now, Connor’s beside me. Still calm, but his body is alert.

“Who paid you?” I demand.

“A courier. We got the drop from a woman, dark hair, looked Eastern European, maybe Russian. She didn’t say anything. She just handed the info and cash. No tracebacks.”

Connor frowns. “Russian, maybe the Chernikov bear shifters?”

“Maybe,” I grit. “Or a false lead.”

Declan growls again, low and impatient.

“Anything else,” I bark. “Give me more, or I throw you back to my friend.”

“I swear, she said it was a favor owed. That the target had enemies. We—we got double payout from a third party too, two days after the job went bad. No name, cash only, foreign bank.”

Damn it.

I pull back, stepping out of the rank cloud of blood, bile, and waste clinging to him. My jaw is tight. There’s too much plausible deniability here. And still, the timing, the outsourcing, the layers protecting the original order? This approach reeks of Ronan. He’d make sure nothing ties back to him.

But it’s still not enough.

Connor mutters, “It’s too clean. No digital trail, no names, no prints. Everything disappears behind cash and corpses.”

I exhale sharply. No hard proof, no smoking gun. Just rot dressed in wolves’ clothes.

And Ronan is still the closest scent connected to it.

“Clean this shit up. Then make sure you’re at the ceremony on time.”

I turn without another word and head for the exit. Connor follows, the faint jingle of his keys the only sound for a few steps. Behind us, Declan snarls, and then it’s drowned out by screams.

Outside, the afternoon light should be blinding after the dim warehouse, but instead it just makes everything feel too sharp. There’s no satisfaction in this. Only confirmation of what we already knew: Ronan’s involved. We just can’t catch the son of a bitch pinning the knife.

Not yet.

But soon.

If I have to burn every inch of this city down to discover where he slipped, I will.

And when I do?

I’ll sit back and listen to him beg while Declan butchers him alive.

Chapter 9

Liam

The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I guide the BMW through the old gates and up the paved curve leading to the estate. Warm flood lights cast a golden glow across the front of the manor house, throwing exaggerated shadows up onto the broad upper windows and the ornate archway above the main entrance. Twilight is beginning to drape its navy curtain over Savannah. To the east, round and arrogant, the full moon is beginning its climb into the sky. That familiar pull tugs at the base of my spine, a subtle tightening beneath my skin that reminds me tonight isn’t just symbolic. It’s primal. Sacred. And raw.

And still, I hesitate at the edge of the drive. For one stupid second, I just sit there, engine idling and hands curled too hard around the wheel, watching the diffused glow of candles and low lights in the manor windows like someone standing in front of their own damn house, unsure if they belong. She’s in there. In a dress I chose. With wildflowers stitched across fabric that will cling to her hip the way my hands long to. She’s angry. Hurt. Possibly plotting to stab me with a corkscrew at the reception. But she’s here. In less than ninety minutes, Claire Douglass willbear my name, stand beside me as my mate and wife under the moon that braided our fates before either of us were even born.

My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless, eager, satisfied.

Finally, she’ll be mine,the beast inside murmurs.

The words stretch like a promise, sharpening into hunger. I force my grip to loosen and throw the car into park. Pack wolves greet me with a few nods near the lantern-lit entrance, their expressions schooled into reverence, flavored with curiosity. They know what tonight means. Not just for me, but for the entire pack. Tradition, security, legacy. None of those things come lightly.

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