Page 86 of Vendetta

Oh, right. I was naked.

Chapter 55

Nico

The hardest thing I’d ever had to do was leave Rosa there, on the side of the road, well-fucked and wearing my omega’s borrowed clothes.

The drive to my father’s was silent. The others were weighed down by her absence as much as I was.

I had no plan. No idea what we were walking into, and no idea how to handle it.

An hour into the drive, I felt a tug on the bond, but it was gone faster than I could blink and fell silent again. I rubbed my temple where the beginning of a headache was growing. It must have been my wishful thinking, hoping that she needed us, that she would call us back to her. But she didn’t. The bond lay quiet in my chest, stretched tight and unrelenting. It was uncomfortable being away from her with our connection half-forged and tattered, but it had to be done. There was nothing I wouldn’t endure to keep her safe.

My chest was tight with unease and the weight of missing her. I deserved it. I’d forced my decision on her, and now she was making me wait. She wanted proof that I was worthy of her, and I was happy to prove myself one-hundred times, one-thousand, as many times as she needed me to.

The first step to getting her back in my arms was dealing with my father. Marcel had been his right hand for years, but I’d been his left. What happened when your left hand cut off your right though? I was about to find out.

The tall, spear-tipped iron gates rose out of the rainforest, looking like the gates of hell themselves. Sharp, jagged, and imposing, they scared away any but the bravest solicitor, and the roaming guards did the rest. Unlike Rosa’s island, there was no guardhouse, only a high-tech security system that Oliver had installed a few years ago. The camera recognized his car, and our faces, and let us in. The guards were elsewhere, roaming the property. We were expected, so the lack of reception was no surprise.

Oliver pulled around the drive, parking his Audi nose out, probably preparing for the possibility that we might have to make a hasty exit. Unfortunately, I was of a mind to agree with his precaution. My father was unpredictable at the best of times, and today was not the best of times.

We piled out of the car into the oppressive heat that choked the front courtyard. Palm fronds hung limp in the still air, and nothing stirred. No one rushed out to stop us. That was a good start, at least.

“Are you ready?” I asked my pack, triple-checking each of the many weapons stashed on my person.

Oliver and Cruz were doing the same, and when they both silently nodded, we moved up the steps to the front door, heads on a swivel.

The quiet had me on edge.

I pushed through the door and stepped into the updated Italian-style villa. My father said it reminded him of home. It was over the top, but it served its purpose to represent the image he wanted to convey. Walking across the extravagant marble mosaic floors almost felt like a crime as we made our way deeper into the house. Colossal arches and columns framed the windows and doors, and decorative frescoes adorned every wall. Classical music drifted from the dining room, and I followed it through the house, double-checking my gun one more time.

Why did this feel like a trap?

I couldn’t afford to show any weakness in front of my father, so despite my paranoia I donned a cocky grin and made my way in.

“Ah, there you are, my son. Come in. Have a seat.” My father motioned us in with a smile that was a little too sharp around the edges. “I was just having a late lunch. Have you boys eaten? I can get Beatrice to whip you up something.” There was a glint in his eye that spoke of some sinister plot he was hatching, which set me on edge even more than I already was.

“No, we aren’t hungry,” I replied. There was too much anxiety churning in my gut to eat anything, and my head was starting to throb. My pack may not agree, but if we needed to move fast, food would only get in the way.

Francisco motioned with his fork. “Suit yourself. Have a seat. There are things we should discuss.”

He was right, there were. I pulled out the ornately carved chair to my father’s left, my usual seat. Cruz sat to my left, and Oliver took the last chair on this side of the table. The screech of my father’s utensils as he cut off another piece of bloody steak fractured the fragile silence.

“It’s good you came. Where’s Marcel? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him all day.” Francisco asked before dropping the piece of meat into his mouth and chewing.

“I think you probably already know that.” I shifted in my chair, ready for anything.

“I do, but I was curious what bullshit you’d try to feed me before I had to torture the truth out of you. No matter, I already have a solution for that. Let’s try another. Where’s the girl?” he asked with a smile, cutting off another piece of dripping meat.

“We didn’t bring her,” I replied.

He slammed his fist on the table. “I know you didn’t!” He took a moment to compose himself. “But why, is the better question? Why is Marcel’s omega on life support in the hospital and the Reyes girl not with you, when I explicitly told you to bring her to me?” he spat the last few words.

I shot a glance at my packmates. There were only so many ways this could go, and at least a few of them ended with all of us dead. I turned back to my father. “She’s our scent-match.” Francisco would have no pity regarding scent-matches, but there was no point in keeping the information from him.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he chewed. The gears in his head were nearly visible, turning that piece of information over. He swallowed down the food he was chewing and said, “That doesn’t answer my question. We both know scent-matches are nothing more than a liability. Omegas are for producing heirs, and that is all. Why is she not here?”

I’d heard that before. Hell, I’d repeated the bit about the scent-matches, but the anger filtering through the words about omegas was new. So much bitterness even when he’d just lost his wife.