“No, you decided that. Don’t be ungrateful. After what I did to cover up for what you did? Our friends aren’t as forgiving as you think. They haven’t forgotten us. And if they find out the truth, you know what could happen.”
Fuck. He assumed their friends had forgotten about that little incident in the Hudson. Apparently not, and it was time to pay the price. “Why won’t you tell me who they are? I can take care of them—”
A laugh cut him off. “Stop acting like an overconfident pup. You don’t know what they’re capable of. And it’s better you don’t know.” There was a pause. “Now, are you going to do as I say or not?”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“This is your chance. Our chance. Build their trust. Let them think you’re allies. Do what it takes. I’ll take care of the rest. And then, when there’s an opening, we’ll destroy Grant Anderson.”
The pit in his stomach grew. But what choice did he have? Those men … their “friends” … they could do so much more harm. “All right. I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do.” The line went dead.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. After surviving the incident in the Hudson and the aftermath, he thought that was the end of the plan. It seemed all his life had been devoted to destroying Grant Anderson, that he thought he would miss having the idea of revenge from fueling his reason for existing.
But he should have known. The plan hadn’t been tossed away; it had only been delayed.
What to do now? He wasn’t sure. This was his chance to redeem himself, to realize the plan that had been set into motion long ago. But truthfully, he wasn’t sure anymore if he could pull the trigger.
With a last huff, he strode back into the recovery ward where Cross and Sabrina were standing beside Julianna’s bed. All conversation stopped, and four pairs of eyes looked at him.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve changed my mind.” The words were difficult to get out. “When does your Alpha want to talk?”
Chapter Five
“Watch what you’re doing, pendejo!”
“That motherfucker’s hot!”
“Hay tomates?”
“Get it yourself!”
Isabelle grinned to herself as she entered the kitchen of Muccino’s. It was chaotic, loud, hot—and she loved every minute of it.
The restaurant was the Manhattan branch of her mother’s family’s business back in New Jersey and currently run by her cousin, Gio Muccino, who had taken over from his father. Uncle Dante had retired fully a few months ago. A couple of months ago, the manager and the hostess had quit at the same time, so her mother, Frankie, had to take over. Finding herself with nothing to do except stay at home with Evan, Isabelle volunteered to help, and so she took over the hostess duties. Frankie wanted to go back into retirement, so eventually Isabelle had slid into the role of hostess and manager, much like her mother had when she was younger.
“Hey, watch your mouths, cabrons!” Alejandro Garcia, the sous-chef, called out when he spotted Isabelle. “There’s a lady present!”
“Lady?” Gio asked, winking at Isabelle. “What lady? I don’t see a lady around here.”
Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. “The only ladies I’m seeing are the grandmas in here,” she shot back. “Madre de dio! Is this a fucking quilting bee at the senior’s home? I thought you were all supposed to be the best damned cooks in New York? You’re all gonna wind up in the weeds tonight if you keep this up.”
Everyone in the kitchen laughed and hooted, then headed back to their stations. A few months ago, when she started, everyone in the restaurant hazed her, being the newbie. Of course, she knew that a lot of them, especially the waitstaff, were probably getting back at her because of the shabby way she had treated them when she dined here. She had cried almost every day during the first week, but one day, Gio had taken her aside and explained what restaurant culture is like. “It’s high pressure in there,” he had said, “and sometimes the staff just needs to blow off steam. Unfortunately, you’re the newest one around here so that makes you a target. Don’t let them get to you and push back when you need to, okay? You’re a Muccino, for God’s sake. The kitchen is in your blood.”
Honestly, she had wanted to quit, but Gio was right. And so, she developed a thick skin, a spine, and a mouth as foul as any of the line cooks and they had begun to back off. Then one day, a particularly nasty Wall Street big shot type had been harassing one of the servers and started making a scene in the dining room. Isabelle had backed the poor girl, threw the asshole out, and banned him. That had solidified all the staff’s respect for her, and she learned that day that above all else, employees needed to know they had a manager who had their back.
“Looking good tonight, Bella.” Alejandro smiled at her, his handsome face beaming. “But then again, you always do.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Garcia. Get back to work,” Isabelle retorted with a roll of her eyes, but she couldn’t help the giddy fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Alejandro had been one of the few people who had been kind to her when she first arrived. Lately, though, things had gotten, well, cozy between them to say the least. They had been spending their breaks together, drinking coffee in the back room, chatting mostly about his childhood in Puerto Rico or about Evan.
She’d seen the gleam of interest in his eyes, and knew that she only had to say the word, and he would ask her out. Frankly, she would be a fool not to
