Page 80 of Deadly Wolf Bite

Charlie doesn’t answer him.

The doors slide shut.

By the time they reopen in the lobby, I’m shivering. It’s not the temperature. Or if it is, I don’t feel the cold. I don’t feel much of anything, actually.

All this time, Grey knew how to trigger my wolf. Knew that I’m his mate.

I find the twist-tie beneath the diamond on my finger and rub it absently. I don’t know what to think anymore.

I try not to think at all.

Charlie leads me outside to a black SUV waiting at the curb.

He holds open the back passenger door, and I climb in. I half-expect him to get into the back with me, but he shuts my door and sits up front next to the driver.

Then we’re off, gliding through the city down empty streets filled with darkened businesses and silent homes.

It’s late.

I should be exhausted.

Instead, my heart races with the adrenaline of what I saw and heard tonight. And worse, what will happen next. And not just between Grey and me. He killed Franco’s general tonight. If Vincenzo doesn’t help hide what Grey did to Dom, Franco will have more than enough reason to destroy us all.

At least, in the end, I didn’t betray Grey. No matter what he thinks.

We finally arrive at the Diavolo estate. It’s tucked into a back corner of Pine Hill, which doesn’t surprise me. Unlike the other homes I’ve seen in this neighborhood, though, this one is locked down like a fortress. A six-foot wall surrounds the place, complete with a metal gate and an armed guard manning a small booth at the edge of the property.

Our driver speaks to the guard, waves a badge, and then the gate is easing open and we’re driving through the checkpoint. The grounds are mostly thick trees at first, but the woods finally give way to a large lawn before the enormous house rises before us.

The walls are a smooth gray stone lit by orange lights tucked beneath the roof’s edge. There are two small balconies with metal railings on the second floor. Maybe it’s the matching metal bars on some of the windows, but there’s a definite prison vibe about the place. Something tells me every window and door is locked tight and wired with alarms.

We pull to a stop, and the driver lets me out. I follow Charlie to the double front doors and look up at a security camera aimed right at my face.

Everything about this place feels defensive. Like Vincenzo knows his enemies are vast and his days are few.

“This way.” Charlie beckons me inside where another security guard has come to greet us.

The armed man barely looks at me as I pass. Is he a shifter like everyone else if he’s carrying such a big gun? I hurry to catch up with Charlie as he turns down a hall and exits out a back door.

I follow him into a breezeway that shows me a glimpse of a backyard that looks a lot like Dutch’s with a pool and manicured gardens. Then we walk through another door, and I find myself in a small apartment complete with a kitchen and sitting area. There’s a bedroom through another door that boasts a small window covered by iron bars. Even with a cursory glance, I can tell the only way in or out of this place is the door we just used.

Charlie leads me into the living room, his gaze sweeping the space as if taking stock.

“This will be your room until further notice,” he says. “The kitchen has basic cooking utensils and there’s a closet in the bedroom with extra linens. I’ll have some of your things sent over from Grey’s apartment, so you’ll have clothing and necessities. Meals will be delivered. You can put any other requests on the notepad on the fridge.” He pauses as if waiting for me to acknowledge his instructions. When I don’t, he walks back to where I stand. “Give me your phone.”

“I don’t have it.” It takes me a moment to remember. “Dom tossed it when…” I shake my head, not wanting to rehash those moments. “It’s at the office.”

“Just as well. Vincenzo would’ve confiscated it anyway.” He nods at the couch and screen. “The remote is there. You can stream pretty much anything, including music. Vincenzo will stop by when he can, along with a doctor to look at your arm.”

He starts for the door.

“Wait!”

He stops, frowning.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“Do you have a question?”

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