Page 64 of Deadly Wolf Bite

She doesn’t seem to mind filling the silence.

“Now, I won’t lie and say I was thrilled to hear of your choice of fiancé,” she says, not bothering to hide the distaste in her expression. “But you do make a beautiful couple. And what a power duo, eh?”

“Um…” I have no idea what to say to that. “Thank you.”

“Grandma, there you are.” A beautiful blonde appears, threading her arm through Joan’s. “Sorry,” she says to me, smiling apologetically. “She got away from me.”

“No problem. You’re Andy, right?” I remember her from the meeting the other day. Toros’s wife.

“Yeah. You’re Lexi. It’s nice to meet you. Well, nice is probably the wrong word considering the circumstances.” She winces at that but there’s no trace of animosity, which surprises me considering she’s married to Franco’s general. In fact, her friendliness seems genuine and more welcoming than most of the others I’ve met in this city.

“Your dress is beautiful,” I tell her, gesturing to what must be a designer piece the way it fits her.

“Thanks,” she says. “I have a thing for clothes. Yours is great too, by the way, and your hair—you have to tell me who you use.”

“Oh, you two should have lunch,” Joan puts in, her eyes lighting up.

Andy and I share a quick look.

“Maybe another time,” Andy says, her smile slipping a little. “Come on, Grandma. We’ve kept Lexi long enough.”

“Of course, darling,” Joan tells Andy, patting her arm. And then to me, “Wonderful to meet you.”

“You too.”

Andy flashes me another smile before tugging the older woman back toward Franco and his men. Joan’s fur bounces along in her wake. I’m left with the distinct impression that, despite the older woman’s general judginess, I’ve somehow won her approval, such as it is.

I push through the crowd again, making slow progress.

A couple more people smile and say hello. They look friendly if curious. Some of them offer their congratulations, which is so out of place at a funeral, it takes me a minute to realize they’re talking about my engagement. One woman asks if I’ll take a picture with her. She gushes about how she can’t believe she met me—the mafia princess—before her friends pull her away.

Just before I reach the spot where I last saw Mia, another figure steps in front of me and blocks my path. A dark suit, broad shoulders and torso—not another Joan, at least. Still, I’ll need to make pleasantries before I can excuse myself. I start to extend my hand and prepare for more small talk when I finally look up and see who’s standing before me.

When I do, I freeze, my insides rippling with dread.

“Dom,” I manage after peeling my lips apart.

“Hello, beautiful.” His smile is cold.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer a pet name? I’m partial to princess. Or do you have a stage name you’d like me to use?”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, sweetheart.” He clicks his tongue, gesturing to the crowded space. “We’re in a church, after all.”

I glance around, hoping for another interruption. There are people surrounding us on all sides, but somehow, they seem to know not to bother us. Their conversations swirl, their laughter echoing off the church walls.

Where’s Mia? Or Razor? Or Grey? Surely, at any moment, one of them will come along and end this.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“An update,” he answers, and my dread turns to ice-cold fear.

“This is not the place,” I hiss, darting glances around us.

“This is the perfect place,” Dom says. “A public event that makes sense for a quick conversation between polite acquaintances.” He flashes his teeth in what he probably thinks is a smile. “No one will even question it. Unless you’d rather reconvene in a more intimate setting?”

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