Page 69 of Deadly Wolf Bite

They’re the only ones not joining in the celebration, and I make a mental note to remember they’ll be watching me tonight.

Beyond them, the large room is crowded. Vincenzo and his three remaining generals are already here. Rocco and Alvaro are seated on a long, low sectional in the center of the room, hunched over a tray on the coffee table that’s covered in white powder. By the window, Vincenzo and Charlie are speaking in low voices. There are at least a dozen other men I don’t know, though some I recognize from the pack meeting. Along with half a dozen women in tiny dresses and sequined bralettes.

Mia insisted on picking out the entertainment herself. She swore every one of these girls is trained in self-defense and loyal to her and Grey. If anything goes wrong, they’ll be able to handle themselves, so at least we’re not putting innocent people at risk.

At the sight of us, Vincenzo pauses his conversation, but his stark expression never changes. There’s a storm brewing behind his eyes, and for a moment, nerves grip me, making me wonder if he’s onto us. But then he turns away again, resuming his conversation, and I remind myself he always looks like that.

It’s his resting asshole face.

From his seat on the couch, Rocco twists around and offers a loose grin. “There’s my boy,” he calls, waving at Dutch to join him in front of the lines he’s cutting. “Get over here and get this party started with me, son.”

“That’s not my kind of party, old man,” Dutch calls out. “How about a drink?”

Rocco groans in disappointment, but the mood is light. Aside from Vincenzo, everyone seems relaxed.

Grey brushes his hand over the small of my back. “I won’t be far,” he whispers.

I nod as he follows Dutch over to the bar across the room. Razor and Mia drift off as well, joining conversations with various guests, and within seconds, they’ve integrated themselves into the party.

My turn.

I make my way slowly across the room, stopping to smile and say hello to anyone who speaks to me. They don’t say much or linger in conversation—probably wise considering I’m here with the alpha’s son.

By the time I reach the window where Vincenzo and Charlie are still locked in conversation, I’ve managed to snag a club soda. Feigning clumsiness, I start to trip, and the soda spills down Charlie Reyes’s shirt.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I say, wincing. “I am so clumsy. Here, I can get you some napkins…” I pause, looking around helplessly as if napkins might just appear in front of me.

Charlie waves me off. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be right back.” He strides off, peeling his wet shirt off his abdomen as he hurries toward the doors.

When he’s gone, I turn to Vincenzo, infusing my voice with what I hope sounds like innocence. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“You are pathetically human,” he says, but the irritation is mild compared to what I know he’s capable of.

“I guess I am.” I laugh and toss my hair.

His disdain is obvious, but I shove that thought aside and touch him lightly on the arm. “Mr. Diavolo, I know we don’t really see eye to eye, but you’re going to be my father-in-law and…well, I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“I doubt it,” he says.

I bat my lashes. “Please? It probably isn’t something he wants me to share but…I’d love to ask your advice about Grey. Can we talk privately? Just for a minute.”

His interest sharpens at the mention of his son, just like I’d hoped it would. “Five minutes,” he says grudgingly. “Come on.” He pushes through the door and onto the balcony.

I glance behind me to see Dutch passing shots to the generals. Grey catches my eye, frowning deeply. I turn away, slipping outside with Vincenzo and hoping like hell it’ll buy them enough time for what they’re about to do.

“Well?” Vincenzo prompts impatiently. “What is it?”

I twist my fingers together with a nervousness I don’t have to fake. “The truth is, I want to be a wolf, and I think your son knows how to make that happen. But he’s keeping it from me.”

He cocks his head. “I see. And why would Jericho know how to make that happen?”

I keep my expression carefully blank, like the clueless girl he thinks I am. “I don’t know for sure, but…I think he could bite me… Right?”

His attention is suddenly focused solely on me. There’s no question I’ve hit on something important. “What did my son say to you about this bite—exactly?”

“He didn’t tell me any of this himself, and I don’t really know who to trust, so I’m not sure what to think.” I look up at him through my lashes. “Do you know what I should do?”

His demeanour changes, his eyes flashing with anger and suspicion. “Did Franco tell you this?”

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