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"Okay," I said, holding his tear-filled gaze. "Now I'm listening."

"What... what do you want to know?" he whimpered.

I shrugged. "Tell me everything."

And he did. The dam broke. The words spilled out of him in a frantic torrent. He bared his soul. The problem was, none of it made a damn bit of sense.

I sat in stone-faced silence as I processed the intel, my mind trying to connect the dots and coming up blank. Petrakis swore the Ironwoods launched their attack because they’d been tipped off that the Blackwoods were secretly acquiring dockland properties to choke out Ironwood shipping—a land acquisition Dad had never even entertained. He claimed Elias Vane had received an anonymous drop of Blackwood supply routes that prompted him to five finger six million dollars from us, but that the same source had fed intel to the Lupettos that pushed Dante Lupetto into making a move on Addie Vane after Vidar had taken her hand.

It was a tangled, chaotic clusterfuck of conflicting motives. Maybe I hit him too hard and his brain was scrambled. "You're wasting my time."

"That's what Milo thought whenever one of us old guards tried to tell him something he didn't want to hear. His father dies, he gets the Ironwood Alpha seat, and suddenly wolves who'd been keeping that pack alive since before he grew hair on his balls don't know shit."

I'd heard the story. Dad had respected the old Ironwood Alpha. When the man died, he'd offered Milo help to stabilize the pack and their transit lines. Milo Ironwood had decided the offer was a threat.

"Should've been Nikos."

The name tugged at something in my memory but didn't catch. "Nikos who?"

"Your wife's father. He wasn't the strongest, but he wasn't the oldest. Wasn't what the young wolves wanted, standing at the head of the pack."

"Why?"

"He was impaired, partially blind. But he was smart enough to know being Alpha wasn't about being the strongest fucker in the room. Nikos had all the shipping ledgers memorized. He could tell you where we'd be bleeding money six months from now. He remembered every agreement his father had ever made. Knew which wolves could be trusted and which ones needed watching. If the old man had put brains ahead of muscle, Nikos would've inherited Ironwood."

"He died more than two decades ago."

"Before his daughter was born."

Something about the way Petrakis said that last statement made me lean forward. "You don't think his death was natural."

"I think Nikos was useful until he wasn't. A wounded wolf gets eaten."

I thought of Rosalind, insisting she wasn't weak or defective. "And all of it — all of this information — came from the Lobos."

"All the information I've been getting came from a Lobo Enforcer, mostly over burner phones and emails. But two nights ago, the night of your wedding, he sought me out in person to tell me…"

"To tell you what."

Petrakis pursed his lips.

I reached for my bag; the mallet handle was still sticking out.

"Okay, fuck, okay. Rosalind."

I came from a possessive line of Alpha wolves. I had never felt the emotion myself. I was always happy to share with my siblings and friends. Never wanted anything for myself, as I knew I could always get more. But hearing Rosalind's name on another man's tongue. Yeah…

"What about my wife?"

Petrakis pursed his lips again. It was as if man and wolf, self-preservation and honor, were at war inside his chest.

"You've got about three seconds to tell me why a Lobo Enforcer contacted you about Rosalind before I start breaking things you actually need."

"They said she was in danger."

"From whom?" I stepped closer. "Who the fuck is threatening my wife?"

Petrakis' gaze dropped. Not away from me. Down. To my hands. Where his blood had dried across my knuckles and into the creases around my nails.