Page 26 of The Piece You Stole

I walk in on my mate fucking my father mere days after I find her doing the same with my brother, a woman who is supposed to complete not just my wolf, but the man, and she calls it an overreaction.

Awrinkle.

She closes her small hand around the front of my shirt and pulls me down to her five-foot-five height before kissing me lightly on the cheek. “You haven’t shaved.”

Because that’s how you greet a son you haven’t seen in twelve years.

I smile and turn to lead the way into the dining room. “Shall we sit?”

The walnut and cherry dining room is at least five times bigger than it needs to be. Three ornate, French-style burnished gold chandeliers hang over the dining table, illuminating the room with a rosy, warm glow. It looks inviting, cozy even. But a twelve-seater table where we sit on opposing sides of it does not and has never made for a cozy dinner.

We each have our places.

Father would always claim the seat at the head of the table with his back to the imposing fireplace. Mother has always sat directly opposite him. Leandro would wait to see which one of the five empty seats on the longest side of the table I’d claim and then sit in the chair directly opposite.

We move to them without a word.

I drop into my seat at a table set for five, draped with a thick, white tablecloth that a servant must have spent the morning ironing, heavy gold cutlery, and red wine already filling our glasses.

I’m reaching for the thin stem when someone pushes the front door open and steps into the marble foyer. I inhale. Raw leather and rich maple. Looks like Father is home.

After a bare pause, I lift my glass to my lips.

“I take it your wolf killed someone?” Mateo Desidario makes no sound as he enters the dining room. But I feel the roving energy of an alpha wolf prowling behind me.

“No, Father.” I drain my glass a little faster than I’d intended. It’s either drink or kill someone, so I drink. “That’s not why I’m back.”

“Then it’s only a matter of time before he does. But since we had this discussion once before, I can only concur you’ve seen fit to listen to me this time.”

Nice to see some things never change. Sanctimonious prick.

“I see, so Claudine’s wolf is as out of control as mine?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

He makes no comment as he strides toward his chair at the head of the table. I frown as I study him. He was so insistent my wolf would turn feral without my mate, but what if he flung out whatever thing would get me to stay and be the alpha heir he needed me to be?

Claudine is on her way. Truth or lie, you’ll know soon enough.

Mother suddenly remembers her responsibilities, calling for the servants in a shrill voice to bring the meal out.

I sit back in my seat, ignoring Leandro’s continued fascinated stare boring a hole right into my head. This must be the most entertaining thing to have happened at a family dinner in years.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observe Mateo Desidario, the man I so closely resemble. Not a strand of the thick, dark hair he’s swept back from his face, is out of place. His frown is as severe and back as straight as ever.

A sports car with a powerful engine roars toward the house.

I feel Leandro’s delight as he straightens in his chair, lips twitching with hungry anticipation. “Claudine.”

I take another sip of the red wine. It’s not the same dry the servants served at the dinner last night when it was just me and Leandro sitting across from each other. With my wolf closer to the surface then, Leandro clearly had enough self-survival to keep his questions about my return behind his teeth. If he’d mentioned Claudine then, I’m almost certain I’d have lunged across the table and torn his throat out.

This wine is fruity, a little sweet, and likely one of Mother’s favorites.

My gaze slides to the ever-beautiful, always-smiling Lila Desidario. She’s chatting away to anyone who will listen about a midnight run she’s organizing for all the shifter ladies in the pack, but there’s a tightness around her mouth that makes it clear she hasn’t missed the tension filling the room.

Leandro sits back in his chair, a glass of wine in hand, and a half-smile curving his lips, ready for the entertainment to begin.

Everyone in this room is shifter born. Even the servants who move silently around the table as they top up wine as we ignore the meal they set in front of us are shifters—packmates—who have served our family for generations.

Claudine wafts in, a conversation-stopping beauty in her late twenties, her black silk sheath revealing soft olive skin and high perky breasts. Her beauty is so brilliant I once believed I could never love a woman more. Thick, glossy waves of raven-black hair that nearly reaches her ass, perfectly made-up elfin features that are delicate and sweet, the Tiffany bracelet and solid gold Cartier on her slim wrists ringing lightly with each step.

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