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That’s not why I’m here.
“My family figured out that I gave you the information about their plans. They’re questioning my loyalty.”
He steps forward and takes my jaw in his hand, tilting my chin up. His thumb drags across my lower lip. “And who are you loyal to, trouble?”
Not Lee. Never Lee, though that’s how I introduced myself to him. As with my refusal to meet him on Thursdays, he refused to call me by a name he recognized as a lie.
But he doesn’t use my real name, either, as if he somehow understands that name has also become a lie.
His pheromones coil in my gut, demanding a response. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is.” His grip tightens. “Strip everything else away. Who do you belong to?”
The word leaves me as a confession. “You.”
A guttural sound rises in his throat as he pulls me flush to him, his mouth finding the curve of my neck. “Took you long enough.”
I surge into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, and his arm locks around my back, warmth and solid muscle surrounding me.
The first night I walked into the Blue Note and recognized Orien as my Alpha, I should have run. But even then, it was already too late.
This patient, dangerous man was always going to be my downfall.
It had just taken giving everything else up to accept it.
22
“I’m scared,” I murmur into Orien’s chest.
His fingers tighten in my hair, tilting my head back until I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “You came here. There’s no walking that back.”
For one more breath, I allow myself the comfort of my Alpha’s embrace before I force myself to pull away.
If I’m going to confess everything, I can’t do it while leaning on his strength.
I put distance between us under the excuse of reaching for the whiskey, fingers tightening around the glass he had poured for me earlier. Melting ice rattles in the glass as I take a swallow that burns all the way down.
Orien regards me over the rim of his own glass, silent and patient, which is far more dangerous than aggression.
The apartment is too warm. Too quiet. The silence closes in around me, a stark contrast to the club’s loud anonymity. Here, every word will be out in the open, with no screen to hide behind. I plant my palms on the kitchen counter and stare down at the amber liquid in my glass.
How much has Orien already figured out? Where do I start? From the beginning?
My throat clicks when I swallow, but I force the words out. “My name is Levon Vartanian. I’m the younger brother of Alexei Vartanian, the head of the Vartanian family.”
Orien nods. He already knows this, but doesn’t interrupt, letting me go at my own pace.
“After the data breach and your crew’s subsequent involvement, the family sent me to verify that none of our information was retained.” My fingers press harder against the counter. “I constructed the Lee Esposito persona for this assignment.”
The words come out in the same measured cadence I use for debriefs, emotions masked and body language controlled, my training takes over, a familiar shield, no matter the cost.
“I spent the first week establishing a pattern at the Blue Note. I watched the staff, the patrons, the way the room was organized, and how people moved within it. I identified security systems, posted schedules, and shift rotations.”
My shirt sticks to my skin, though the apartment isn’t warm. “The second week, I began befriending the regulars to pump them for information.”
Orien hasn’t moved since I started speaking, not shifting his weight or checking the clock. His stillness reminds me of the time I followed him on the job, and that rattles me more than an outburst would.
“But my primary target was to get close to you.”
