Page 22 of Knot Like Other Girls

Always moving, always fighting, never stopping long enough to let the demons catch up.

I look around the room at my team. My pack. They're sprawled across the living room of our new temporary safehouse, a nondescript apartment in a quiet Sicilian neighborhood. We've only been here for a couple of days, but already it feels lived-in, marked by our presence. Liam's boots by the door, Troy's protein shake bottles littering the coffee table, the faint scent of Savva's expensive cologne lingering in the air.

Cole's presence is marked only by the chair in the corner, positioned for optimal view of both exits. He's here, but not here. Always on the periphery, always watching from the shadows.

I clear my throat, drawing their attention. "Alright, listen up. We've got a new client."

Troy groans dramatically, flopping back on the couch. "Already? Can't we take a vacation or something? I hear Ibiza is nice this time of year."

I fix him with a look that silences any further complaints. "This is our ticket out of Sicily. Unless you'd prefer to stick around and see if the Biondis decide to tie up loose ends?"

That sobers him up quickly. The others shift uncomfortably, the memory of Caruso's death still fresh in their minds. We may have been cleared of any wrongdoing, but that doesn't mean we're in the clear. Not by a long shot.

"Who's the client?" Liam asks, his voice gruff. He's been quieter than usual since the incident, more introspective. I've caught him staring off into space more than once, a faraway look in his eyes that worries me more than I care to admit.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for their reactions. "His name is Braxley Worthington III."

There's a moment of stunned silence, then Troy bursts out laughing. "You're shitting me, right? Braxley? What kind of name is that?"

"The kind that comes with more money than sense," Savva drawls from his perch on the windowsill. He's already scrolling through his phone, flicking through social media profiles. "Heir to the Worthington fortune. Social media influencer, wannabe entrepreneur, professional trust fund brat."

I nod, pulling up the file on my tablet. "That's him. Twenty-three years old, alpha designation. Recently survived an assassination attempt during his engagement party."

Cole speaks up for the first time, his voice low and gravelly. "Assassination attempt? By who?"

"Unknown," I admit. "That's part of why we've been hired. To protect him and investigate the threat."

Liam snorts. "Probably just some poor bastard who got sick of seeing his pouty face all over Insta."

I shoot him a warning look. "We don't make assumptions. We assess the threat objectively and act accordingly. Got it?"

He nods, properly chastised, but I can see the skepticism in his eyes. Hell, I share it. But a job's a job, and right now, we need this more than I care to admit.

"So what's the deal?" Troy asks, sitting up straighter. Despite his initial complaints, I can see the spark of interest in his eyes. He's always been the most adaptable of us, able to find the silver lining in any situation. It's one of the things that makes him invaluable to the team. "We babysitting this guy twenty-four-seven, or what?"

I nod. "Round-the-clock protection. We'll be moving into his penthouse suite in LA."

"What about his fiancée?" Liam asks. "We're protecting her, too, right?"

I nod, pulling up another file. "Isabella Emerson. Goes by Bella. Twenty-one, omega. Comes from a middle-class beta family. Apparently, it's a bit of a Cinderella story—small-town girl catches the eye of the wealthy playboy."

Troy snorts. "Bet that's going over well with the high society types."

"About as well as you'd expect," I confirm. "But that's not our concern. Our job is to keep them both safe and figure out who's behind the attack."

I pause, looking each of them in the eye. "This isn't going to be like our usual jobs. We're not dealing with hardened criminals or war zones. This is high society, social media, paparazzi. We'll need to blend in, play nice, keep a low profile."

Liam groans. "You're killing me here, Roman. You know I'm allergic to that shite."

"You thinkyouare?" Cole mutters.

"You'll manage," I say firmly. "We all will. Because the alternative is staying here and waiting for the Biondisorthe Carusos to decide we know too much. Clear?"

They nod, the gravity of the situation sinking in. We've been walking a tightrope since Caruso's death, and this job is our chance to get back on solid ground.

We can't afford to fuck this up.

"Now," I continue, "let's go over what we know about the assassination attempt."

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