Page 169 of Candy & Her Saints

Gia glances at Thomas and then me. “We’re both eldest kids who’ve worked for years to become the heirs to our brutal empires. We’ve both worn cruel masks. And we may both run enemy packs, but since you two are bonded, we’re family. So, we can help each other out in this. We’ll call it a temporary truce.”

“And Vito?” I demand. “Are you going to stop bullying him?”

“It doesn’t matter, Dy,” Vito mutters.

“It does,” I snarl. “It fucking matters. Look at his wrist. You could have broken his fucking arm.”

Bianca doesn’t look apologetic. “Are we letting Omegas talk to us like that now?”

“This Omega, yes,” Gia says, sharply. “And Vito is off-limits. No one from the Snakes approaches him on pain of ending their life on my blade. That includes you two. He’s under my protection.”

“Spoilsport,” Ludovica grumbles.

Gia wrenches on a rope to tie Dad’s hands together. “Concentrate on the here and now. We’ve taken out the Snake Head Alpha in the dark, but this is just the bloody first half of the plot. You’ve got the Saint Head Alpha and half of Haven celebrating out there in the light. Now, comes the truly risky part.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Saint Hall Estate, Haven

Iignore the shocked, horrified gasps.

Sunlight streams across my face. The Saint Estate’s garden is still bright with stalls and tents of delicious smelling cheeses, sweet strawberries, and succulent roasted chicken.

The violet wisteria and clematis still clings prettily around the manor’s entrance doors, under the banner:

THE SAINT PACK HOSTS HAVEN’S FIRST ANNUAL FOOD FESTIVAL!

Raylan is still standing on the steps, where he’s holding court to a ring of press and cameramen. The sunlight gleams off his neat copper moustach and sideburns. He’s dressed in an elegant, designer black suit.

Raylan’s arm is slung around Richard, who’s dressed in his usual preppy outfit and sneakers. Richard looks more like he’s being held hostage than in a loving embrace.

Yet nobody in the crowd is merrily chatting or browsing the festival any longer.

The air is soured by the scent of scared Omegas and their horrified Alphas, who are hurriedly pulling them out of Thomas’ path.

Of course, that’s because Thomas looks like a beaten angel.

Thomas’ cheekbone has swollen up, and his eye is purple. Crimson mats his temple, staining one side of his face. His shirt hangs raggedly torn, revealing his chest.

Vito squeezes my hand, giving me courage.

Vito and I walk beside Thomas. I know that we must look just as pale and shaken as he does.

Of course, most of the shocked gasps come from the fact that Thomas is hauling behind him, by ropes that are slung over his shoulders, an unconscious Alpha.

My dad.

Cesare.

Head Alpha of the Snakes.

The most feared mafia boss in Virginia.

Thomas drags him like caught prey.

It makes my lips quirk that trussed up like this and slithering over the grass, Dad looks more like a worm than a snake.

Thomas is thrumming with an intense dominance. It’s coming off him in waves.

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