Page 2 of Married into the Mob
I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and held out a hand.
Even without a mirror, I pictured the smile I was sporting. That grin had gotten me out of sticky situations, and I turned on the charm.
“Hello. I’m Hunter Durand.”
“I know who you are.” He didn’t offer me a seat, but I plonked myself into the office chair that squeaked under my weight and rested my elbows on the armrests.
“Great!” Was he implying that I was mafia? I didn’t go around killing people on street corners if that was what he was insinuating.
I placed the stack of paperwork on the desk and flourished my favorite pen.
“I hope you’ve read the documents carefully.” Other than his lips, he hadn’t moved. I nodded and flipped over a page with a sticky tab.
He glanced at a spindly plant in a pot sitting atop a filing cabinet. I didn’t need shifter eyesight to detect a camera in the pot because I’d used similar devices when we were looking for the person selling details about our company. Was that usual? Or legal? Was that what city officials were subjected to in their probationary period?
“I understand you didn’t want to come here today, but it wasunavoidable.” I looked up as he emphasized the last word.
This was a power move, showing me that despite me being a member of the most well-known mafia pack in the city and surrounding counties, he wouldn’t tolerate cutting corners.
And I was fine with him prattling on because I’d gone ahead with the construction, using workers who were paid well and kept their mouths shut. It would be disastrous if I was forced to tear everything down or had to pay a heap of money to make the problem go away.
A squiggle of my signature and I’d be outta here and never see Stefan again. And then I could breathe and not have to fess up to Flint about what I’d done.
As I pressed the nib on the paper, Stefan barked, “I hope what you’re going to build is strong enough to withstand any catastrophes.”
Gods, I knew the type. Humans who watched too many mafia movies and thought mafia organizations were always pitted against one another. And while I couldn’t deny there were some mafia groups who fit that stereotype, it wasn’t La Luna Noir.
We ran mostly legit businesses, and we weren’t involved with drugs, vice, or racketeering. Where we skated the line between legal and not so legal was our retrieval business. But Stefan knew nothing about that.
“I think you’re confusing my family with another.” Plastering on a pleasant smile, I allowed my beast to the forefront of mygaze. I pressed the pen deep into the paper and signed, one page after another.
Stefan said nothing, no nod or bobbing of his head. He didn’t snatch the paperwork, but his nostrils flared. “You can expect a visit from me to make sure the renovations are up to code.”
“Great. I’ll look forward to it.” I wouldn’t, unless he appeared months from now and I could pretend the work had recently been completed.
His predecessor would have stamped the paperwork, slapped me on the back, and probably offered me a whiskey. I would have reciprocated by telling him to come by the club any time. Drinks were on the house.
“Nice meeting you.” I flung the words over my shoulder as I left, leaving the door open.
I’d met guys like Stefan before, and that short interaction wasn’t enough to ruin my day, but as I made my way back to the building entrance, couples in suits with flowers in their buttonholes strolled toward a door that said, “Registry Office.” A woman in a short dress and a pink veil held a bouquet in one hand and her partner’s hand in the other as they opened the doors.
Awww, human weddings. How sweet.
Shifters didn’t do ceremonies. We could, I suppose, and some might, but we mated by marking one another, but a wedding with flowers, decorations, a band, and a huge cake with layers of frosting intrigued me.
Maybe it was the perfume or cologne or just the general excitement but there was a trace of a scent in the air, more like a whisper of one. Captivated by the aroma, I strode behind the couples. Having no idea what I’d find, if there was a guest list, I’d fib and give whatever official wanted to kick me out a cash bonus to soothe any complaints.
I slipped into the back of the room, lined with dark wooden chairs. The scent wafted around, not as subtle as outside.
Couples, some accompanied by guests, sat in rows, while a pair stood in front of a celebrant.The alpha with his back toward me had grabbed his partner’s hand, but the omega was pulling away, hissing at the guy to stop touching him. His red eyes and tear-stained cheeks suggested he was not going into the marriage willingly.
“Do you wish to continue?” The celebrant’s eyes darted from the omega to the alpha and back to the omega.
“We do, he does,” the alpha snapped.
“I don’t, but I don’t have a choice. I’m being forced into this sham of a marriage.”
Hackles rose on the back of my neck. This omega was against this marriage. There could be any number of reasons, trafficking being one of them, and once married, he might never escape.
