Page 204 of Roulette Rodeo
"You did try though," I continue, watching his face carefully. "But there was nothing you could offer him that he wanted. Except..." I pause for effect, "you did have something to offer. You requested me specifically. That's why the offer was triple—three hundred million."
When he doesn't immediately deny it, I bob my head with satisfaction. "It's actually brilliant when you think about it. Marnay shows up wanting triple my cost, which only makes sense if someone else was bankrolling it. And you're not the type to just double the price—you're an overachiever. You'd triple it because you want the world to know who paid for an omega at three hundred million. The man who outbid the Lucky Ace pack."
"If that's all you wanted to know," he says, voice clipped with barely contained annoyance, "you got your answer. So I'm leaving."
He's halfway to the door when I ask, casual as discussing the weather, "How's Sophia doing?"
The transformation is instantaneous. He freezes completely, every muscle locked in place like I've just pulled a gun. When he turns back slowly, his face has gone pale under the hospital's fluorescent lights.
"What?" The word comes out strangled.
I sigh with theatrical weariness, reaching into the nightstand drawer where I'd carefully placed the book earlier. The one I'd grabbed from the shrine, the one that fell open to reveal not pages but hidden letters. Letters in handwriting I recognized from the library books—all those margin notes Rafe thought were from years ago.
I flip to a passage I'd marked earlier, one that had made everything click into place.
"Listen to this," I say, affecting the tone of someone at a book club. "'The omega fought against her nature, torn between two alphas who claimed to love her but only loved the idea of her. In the end, she realized the only escape was the ultimate one—to perish in their eyes, to become a ghost they could mourn instead of a woman they could cage.'"
I look up at him over the book. "Wow. How liberating. Tragic, really. The perfect way to set up one's death—suicide by nature, of course. No foul play involved, no body to examine, just a grieving pack and a best friend who happens to inherit enough to disappear."
His face is completely expressionless now, but I can see the pulse jumping in his throat.
"And then," I continue conversationally, "whisked away to another country. Maybe somewhere warm? Europe's nice thistime of year. Become a bestselling author under a pen name, making millions for her alpha savior to blow on the slots. Or, in this case, on other omegas he thinks are more valuable."
I set the book down carefully, meeting his gaze directly.
"It would be such a shame for her to find out you're practically cheating on her with her own money. The money you flaunt in this world, knowing she can't really watch your activities because she's hiding. Unable to reveal she's alive and well without facing consequences for fraud, emotional distress, probably a few other charges."
The silence stretches between us like a taut wire.
"So isolating when you think about it," I muse. "But that's the happily ever after she wanted, right? Freedom from the pack that supposedly didn't understand her, with the one alpha who did?"
He crosses the room in three quick strides, stopping just short of my bed. His eyes are blazing with a mixture of rage and something that might be fear.
"You really are a cunning bitch," he mutters. "Just like Marnay said."
I smirk, not backing down despite the way he looms over me. "Well, he did say I had loads of potential. Shame he never got to see it fully realized."
"What do you want?" The question comes out through gritted teeth.
"Simple," I say, examining my nails with affected casualness. "A single opportunity. That, and you never bother Rafe or the pack again. Leave Jackknife Ridge, go back to your sweet multimillionaire omega, and live the life you always wanted with her. Away from our peaceful oasis."
I can see him wanting to argue, to deny everything, but we both know I'm right. The photo from the shrine—those distinctive eyes I couldn't place. They were familiar becauseI'd seen them recently, just slightly different. Colored contacts maybe, or just the similarity that comes from family.
Because Sophia isn't dead. She's very much alive, probably living under a new name with Luca, who helped her fake her death in exchange for being her savior. The ultimate manipulation—traumatize a pack, inherit money, disappear into a new life.
"You can't prove anything," he says, but there's no conviction in it.
"I don't need to prove it to authorities," I point out. "I just need to prove it to Rafe. To the pack. Think about what they'd do if they knew she was alive. That all their grief, their guilt, their broken brotherhood—it was all based on a lie."
His jaw clenches. We both know what would happen. The Lucky Ace pack didn't become feared in Chicago by being forgiving.
"Fine," he whispers, the word dragged from him like pulling teeth. "What's this opportunity you want?"
I grin, and it's not a nice expression. "Oh, now we're talking business. Sit down, Luca. Get comfortable. But first—" I make a show of checking him for recording devices, patting his pockets with mock concern. "Can't have you recording me or anything. This conversation never happened, understand?"
He nods stiffly, pulling the visitor's chair closer but sitting like he might need to bolt at any moment.
"Here's what's going to happen," I begin, my voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "Marnay thinks he's untouchable because he has connections, money, and a complete lack of moral boundaries. But everyone has pressure points. Everyone has something they can't afford to lose."
