Page 23 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

Tommy peered over from my other side, his breath warm against my ear. “Look up kitchen renovations first.”

I typed in the search terms, and soon we were scrolling through images of sleek, modern kitchens. Giddy, I lost myself to the inspiration, creating a folder on my phone and saving everything I loved. Giovanni’s fingers played with my hair while Tommy pointed at different features on the screen. Marco was already on the phone with his cousin, and Dimitri was watching all three of us, a contented smile lightly curling the edges of his lips. The simple intimacy of it—all of us huddled together, discussing something as mundane as cabinet styles—felt like healing in its purest form.

Dimitri and Marco exchanged a glance. I caught it from the corner of my eye—the deepening curve of Dimitri’s lips, the approving nod from Marco. They were pleased to see me engaged, focused on something positive rather than drowning in the trauma.

“What do you think about this style?” I tilted the phone so they could see too.

“I like it.” Marco grinned.

I bit my lip. “It’s a little expensive…”

“Money’s not an issue,” Dimitri replied, his tone making it clear this wasn’t up for debate.

I started to protest, to tell them that while I wanted to renovate, it didn’t need to be extravagant, but Giovanni’s finger pressed gently against my lips.

“Let us do this for you,” he said softly. “For all of us.”

The tenderness in his eyes silenced my objections. He was right. This renovation was for all of us. This would be the kitchenwhere we gathered for meals, where I created new confections, where, someday, I’d warm bottles and feed our children.

“So,” Tommy’s voice broke through my thoughts, his finger swiping to bring up a new image on my phone. “Open concept or defined spaces?”

And just like that, we were planning our future—one room at a time. The past fell away, yielding to the promise of everything to come. My mind filled with visions of what could be—laughter around a new dining table, baking my Alphas’ favorite treats in a remodeled kitchen, movie nights in a revamped living room, shared showers full of steam—ineveryway.

The vision was beautiful. Something I’d rarely let myself dream of, and yet now that I had, I wanted it with such fierce desperation, it scared me—because for the first time, I wasn’t dreaming of escape. I was dreaming of life…

I was dreaming ofhome.

I could already see us wrapped around each other in every room, our scents filling every corner, their bite marks on my neck. Every change would reflect us as a pack, from the color on the walls to the hardwood floors to the decorations that would make the space distinctly ours.

My mates chatted happily around me while I smiled down at my phone. My fingers hovered over an image of a particularly beautiful kitchen design when my cell suddenly vibrated with an incoming text.

And just when I’d found a sliver of happiness, the words on the screen made my blood run cold, stealing it away again.

Think you’re safe up there in your ivory tower? Remember, I know all the ways in. Sleep tight, micia.

ten

DIMITRI

There was a storm coming.I could feel it—the tightness in my chest, the sharpness in the air, the energy of it like a live wire under my skin. Not the kind that shook windows or flooded streets. The kind that cracked foundations. The kind that blew holes in families.

Trust was like currency among the Cristenellos. And now someone was bleeding us dry from the inside out.

“You ready for this, D?” Gio asked me as we moved through the halls of our fathers’ estate to the room they always used for meetings like this.

“I’ve got a list in my head and a bullet for every name on it. So yeah… I’m ready.”

I hadn’t slept in two days while I prepared for this, but I didn’t need rest. I needed answers. And tonight, I’d set a plan in motion that would drag them into the light, one lie at a time—the slow, surgical unmaking of a traitor.

I didn’t have the name of the asshole who’d made the unwise decision to flip on us—to betray the family—but by the end of the week, I planned to be standing over a grave with the answer.

The room was already thick with tension when we walked in, all four of our fathers sitting around the circular table, stone-faced and serious. This wasn’t the time for pleasantries. This was purely business.

The scent of aged whiskey and cedar hung in the air as Gio and I took our usual seats.

Emilio sat at the head of the table like the king he was, surveying all of us with an expression carved from granite. He gave me a nod as I took my place across from him, facing him directly.

“Gentlemen,” I began, letting my voice cut through the silence, “we’ve got a problem.”

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