Page 85 of Broken Wolf Heart
“Don’t you dare apologize. I’ve heard stories of what kind of monster he was. How he treated Gina. You saved her life doing what you did. Thank you.”
She looks at me like I’m a hero rather than the villain. It’s weird. No one’s ever looked at me like that before.
“Anyway, the dress is the least I can do,” she adds.
I blink, remembering the garment she’s offering. “Thanks.” I take it gratefully and then hesitate when she doesn’t move. “Is there somewhere I can change?”
“Oh, yes.” She jumps and then shuffles past me to a scuffed gray door along the wall. “Bathroom’s here. Take your time, and help yourself to anything else you need.”
“I will.”
“I’m Becky, by the way.”
“Thanks, Becky.”
She smiles and then leaves me alone.
In the bathroom, I pull the dress over my head. Becky was right. It’s close to my size. The fabric is thick and not very breathable. But it’s better than a towel. After rummaging through a few bins, I manage to snag a pair of worn sandals and a floppy hat that I shove onto my head. The last thing I need is someone reporting back to Vincenzo that I’ve been spotted alone.
When I’m done, I find a scrap of paper and a pen and scrawl a note to Becky, thanking her again. Then I slip out the back door into the sunshine and make my way downtown.
Through the mate bond, I feel Grey’s worry like a steadyheartbeat. It’s not urgent like I expected, which means he senses that I’m okay. Maybe even that I need this alone time. I send back what I hope is gratitude and reassurance that I’m safe.
As I walk, the city unfolds around me, bright and busy, oblivious to the war brewing in its veins. I slip through it like a ghost until I find what I’m looking for.
Polished glass. Gold lettering. A memory tucked into the edges.
The salon Mia brought me to that first time she tried to dress me up and teach me how to move in this glittering world.
Inside, I walk up to the receptionist at the desk. Her smile falters when she sees me—wrinkled clothes, fraying shoes, hair wild from the wind—but I don't care.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Is Alejandro here?” I ask, knowing it’s a long shot that the same stylist I met before is even here and has an opening.
Sure enough, there’s a beat of hesitation.
Then she nods. “Right this way, miss.”
Alejandro is excitedto the point of exuberance when he sees me. He hugs me and air kisses my cheeks and holds onto me long enough to whisper, “Long live the queen.”
When I pull away, there’s genuine affection in his brown eyes and a hint of connection that takes me a beat to realize comes from a pack bond. He’s Giovanni pack. And he’s clearly pledged his loyalty to me already.
I relax, realizing I can trust him.
“Thanks for fitting me in,” I tell him gratefully.
“Anytime. Darling, you look…” His expression contorts as he takes in my outfit.
“I know,” I say hastily. “I need a transformation. Can you help?”
“Hah! Can I help? It’s what I do.”
I’m pressed into a chair and covered in plastic, which I think relieves him since it hides my dress. Then, he starts picking at my hair and eyeing me in the mirror as he peppers me with questions.
When he manages to pry out of me what I intend to do after this, my outfit is deemed “absolutely disgraceful.” My shoes and hat are thrown in the trash.
Alejandro says something to the receptionist, who gets on the phone.
