Page 99 of Broken Wolf Heart
“Talk,” I snap, not caring which one does it first.
“I was going to,” Grey says. “But then he threatened to trigger your wolf, and you were so determined to let him. I thought if you knew he really did have access to shit like that, you’d go behind my back.”
I blink, struck by that. And now I’m the one feeling guilty. Shit. That’s exactly what I did.
“The point is, we didn’t tell you because we were trying to protect you,” Dutch says, trying to smooth it over.
I sigh, putting aside my initial anger. Not like I can blame them for keeping it from me now, when I did far worse by taking that serum. Speaking of which…
“Not to sound completely reckless here,” I begin carefully, “but if Vincenzo has access to hex magic, maybe he has something to counteract whatever’s going on with us?—”
“No,” Grey snarls at the same time Dutch practically yells the word in my face.
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands in surrender.
“Anything my father touches is only meant to do us harm,” Grey says in a voice packed with enough conviction that I nod in agreement, shoving aside any possible ideas I might have had.
“You’re right,” I say. “Forget it.”
“So, about the plan,” Dutch says pointedly.
“You want to expose his true business dealings at the funeral,” I say, refocusing on the whole reason they brought this up.
“If we’re smart about it, we can turn the whole night around on him. Expose him for what he truly is. After that, his whole pack will defect to us. To you,” he amends, flicking a glance at his own alpha.
“To Lexi,” Grey confirms. “No one knows yet what we are. And I want to keep it that way for a while longer.”
“Agreed,” Dutch says.
I look at Grey, hope rising. “Do you think this could work?”
“I do.” He meets my gaze, calm and lethal. “We let the asshole have his moment onstage. He’ll think he’s won. Then we expose his true business. The money. The corruption. We can use that reporter who interviewed you.”
“Savannah,” I say, already thinking ahead to how we’ll orchestrate it.
Dutch grins. “Franco will be rolling over in his grave.”
“Bonus,” I snort.
Grey lifts his glass. “To turning grief into justice.”
I lift mine too, and Dutch follows. We toast in silence, the air heavy with purpose.
Today, the city mourns Franco Giovanni. Tomorrow, it will pledge loyalty to the one who took his place.
21
GREY
St. Andrews smells like fresh flowers and expensive cologne. A cloying mixture that fills my head with memories. A lifetime of weddings and funerals and baptisms; of gatherings filled with fake smiles and self-righteous pride. All of it wrapped up in a pack where corruption is the uninvited guest filling every empty pew.
Franco’s funeral flowers aren’t the usual muted, tasteful arrangements. They’re bright to the point of being overstated. Blood red roses so steeped in color and scent, clearly on the verge of rotting.
Fitting, really. Franco Giovanni deserves nothing less. Lexi says Andy planned the details, but I have to wonder who decided on the macabre color scheme that is crimson bouquets set among dark gray balloons.
It sends a message. Not just to the guests crowding the pews as we gather one last time for the monster who ran this city. But to the corpse of that man now lying inside the open casket at the front of the room.
Even so, it’s not him I’m looking at.
