Page 60 of Deadly Wolf Bite

“What—”

He stares down at his phone, mouth set in a hard line. “He’s pissed you came to the meeting today. Said we need to be at the funeral but no more public appearances until then.”

“What do you mean? I thought he texted you?—”

He holds his phone up, showing me the text thread. “The punctuation is missing. I should’ve fucking known it was a hack. Dammit.” He stalks past me toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I need to put Dutch on this,” he says. “To trace this text and see if I’m right about who really sent it.”

“Who do you think it was?” I ask.

“Dom.”

The moment he says it, I realize he’s probably right. “Do you think Franco told him to?”

“No. I think he’s playing a fucking game all his own.” He shakes his head. “Probably getting back at me for that package.”

My fear becomes wariness. “What package?”

He sighs. “When I heard he put his hands on you the other night…” Fury twists his features. “I should’ve done much worse.”

“Grey. What package?”

“I sent him a picture of Tio with a pig’s heart on top.”

I stare at him, stunned. “You killed a pig?”

“No. I had Dutch go to the slaughterhouse and buy one.”

I don’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed. “Grey.”

“Let me talk to Dutch. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait. Just hear me out. Your dad’s pissed you brought me to the meeting because he doesn’t want to jeopardize what he sees as his golden ticket, right?” He doesn’t answer, but I can see I’m right. “Throw the party,” I say. “Invite a bunch of dancers. Booze, drugs, whatever. While they’re all distracted, you can slip the generals something. They’ll never see it coming. Then, when they’re out, you can use the blade and become a pack. By the time you challenge your father, there’ll be nothing he can do to get out of it.” I take a breath, steadying myself until the words feel true. “This will work. And then it’ll all be over.”

“Lexi.” He exhales, his shoulders sagging. But he doesn’t back off. He holds my gaze, pleading with his eyes, and his hand comes up to cup my cheek. It’s warm and gentle against my skin. The contact strengthens the buzz of connection I’ve felt since the other night out on the highway.

I lean into it—into him—and melt when his mouth brushes mine.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

And even though a shudder of unease tells me it’s a lie, I say, “You won’t.”

18

GREY

Anthony Greco’s funeral is a huge affair despite only two days’ notice. The church, a non-denominational cathedral smack in the middle of downtown, feels more like a palace paid for with blood than a holy place. Its stained-glass windows and high, painted ceilings remind me that what matters most in this city are appearances. Fitting considering the crowd in attendance is only here to gawk and gossip anyway.

It grates on me, the mourners dressed in black filing past Ramsey and his aunt Sylvia, offering their empty condolences. Half of them never met the man lying lifeless in the casket up front. And even if they did, Anthony wasn’t exactly a loved member of the community. They’re here for politics. Anthony was a city official, a business owner, and most importantly, a general for the Diavolo family.

If he’s gone, there’s a power vacuum—or at least that’s what the media’s calling it.

Like sharks to blood, they smell the opportunity this presents.

Maybe that’s why my father didn’t bat an eye when I suggested we hold a party in Anthony’s honor at the tower tonight. He needs to show strength right now. Business as usual. Nothing says “I’m not shaken” like getting wasted at your corporate headquarters on a Wednesday night. He hasn’t even brought up the text he claims he didn’t send or Lexi’s attendance at that meeting. It’s like our phone call never happened.

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