Page 122 of Roulette Rodeo
~RED~
"Luca Ferrero," Corwin says, and the name carries weight like a loaded gun.
I study the three alphas surrounding me, taking in their defensive positioning, the way their hands hover near concealed weapons, the tension radiating off them in waves.
It's like watching a crime show, except I'm standing in the middle of it instead of safely on my couch.
"Is he some mobster or something?" I ask, trying to piece together the puzzle. "Because you're all looking at him like he personally murdered your puppies."
Corwin's lips twitch despite the situation, fighting back what might be a smile. Shiloh's doing the same, that muscle in his jaw working overtime to maintain his serious expression. But it's Talon who breaks first, letting out a short bark of laughter.
"Well," Talon mutters, eyes tracking the man's movement, "he noticed us."
The man in question turns our way, and I get my first real look at Luca Ferrero.
He's... pretty?
Not handsome in the rough way my pack is—and when did I start thinking of them as mine?—but pretty in that carefullycultivated way that speaks of money and vanity in equal measure. His black hair catches the light, revealing dark green highlights that probably cost more than most people's rent. The suit he's wearing is definitely designer, probably Italian, completely inappropriate for the warm afternoon in a town where everyone else is in jeans and flannels.
I've seen a thousand men like him in the casino.
The ones who wear their wealth like armor, thinking expensive clothes can hide the rot underneath. Men who believe a charming smile and a fat wallet make them untouchable.
Men who treat omegas like collectibles, status symbols to be displayed and discarded.
But there's something else there too.
Now that I know a bit about Jackknife Ridge—how it harbors those with dark pasts seeking peace—I can see he's carrying his own demons. Only he's still at that stage where he needs to flaunt, to prove something to everyone, including himself. The expensive suit isn't just about money; it's about still playing a game the others have already walked away from.
A charming grin spreads across his face as he says something to the woman he's been talking to—Mrs. Henderson, whom Corwin mentioned earlier. She practically scurries away, disappearing into what looks like a bakery. But I catch her hovering by the window, clearly hoping to witness whatever drama is about to unfold.
Small towns and their gossip.
Some things are universal.
Luca's walk is deliberately casual, but I can read the predator in it. The way his eyes catalog exits, threats, opportunities. He's dangerous, but it's a different kind of danger than my pack carries. Theirs is controlled, purposeful. His feels more like a lit fuse, waiting to explode.
When he reaches us, he raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, that grin never wavering.
"Wow, long time no see, my ex-pack."
I pout, looking between the guys as that particular bomb detonates.
Ex-pack?
Shiloh sighs, the sound carrying years of exhaustion.
"How long ago was that? Two, two and a half years?"
"Something like that," Luca agrees, his green-tinted eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Why are you even here?" Talon demands, crossing his arms. "Doing some sort of business deal? Trying to buy another plot of land to bid on in the stocks just to make yourself appear rich and powerful?"
Corwin grumbles under his breath, just loud enough for us to hear.
"We don't need our day ruined by your existence. So if you could leave, preferably before Rafe gets here?—"
Luca's laugh is bright and sharp as broken glass.
