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“I worry,” he admitted, handing me the mug.
“That’s because you’re a good alpha,” I told him, taking a careful sip. The brew was steaming, but not scalding—hitting my tastebuds with the sweet, sweet promise of caffeine.
“Not, as it turns out,thatgood,” he said ruefully.
I wasn’t sure if he was thinking of Julie, or the fact that he hadn’t been the one to comfort Luca. Either way, I wanted to protest... but I didn’t think it would really help him to hear it right now.
“It’s hard facing difficult things head-on,” I replied instead. “At least, it always has been for me. And that’s what they’re both doing right now.”
He sighed. “Too true. What about you, Mia? Are you doing okay?”
Warmth flowed up the length of my spine, spreading through my chest in a comforting wave.
“I am,” I assured him. “All things considered.”
After downing a quick breakfast, I drove over to Soulard for another frustrating day of trying to figure out how to tackle the restaurant reopening. Nat and Shani had beaten me there, and I was a bit surprised to see Shani’s niece, Maleeka Jones, already there, as well.
“Morning,” I greeted. “It’s good to see you, Maleeka. Here to get a little bit of early training in? I’m afraid we’re not stocked in the kitchen yet.”
“Good morning, chef,” the young alpha replied. “I’m happy to train or help out however I can today, but that’s not why I came in this morning.”
“Oh?” I asked, darting a gaze between Nat and Shani in hopes of an explanation.
Nat looked pale. Shani looked, if I was any judge, more than a little smug.
Nat cleared his throat. “The restaurant appears to have gained two hundred fifty thousand new social media followers in the last twenty-four hours.” His voice was hoarse. “And counting.”
I blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
Maleeka smiled a predator’s smile. “Yeah, about that. I might’ve had a post go a bit viral yesterday. Turns out, people love a little drama with their high-end cuisine.”
I stared at her, uncomprehending, and then turned to stare at Shani.
Shani’s smile was just as sharp-edged as her niece’s. “Told you she was good. And now, I think it’s time we started planning a grand reopening date, chef. Don’t you?”
TWENTY-FIVE
Zalen
THE LAST THING I’Dneeded today was the sight of Melina Scalise and her pathetic excuse of a husband standing outside my office when I returned from lunch. Melina’s teenage son Tony was never far from my thoughts, even weeks after the police had stopped investigating his disappearance as a suspected runaway.
“Mrs. Scalise,” I said flatly, not willing to even pretend politeness with the predator standing next to her. “I didn’t expect to find you here today. Has there been news about your son?”
I tried to brace myself, aware that even if therewasnews, that didn’t mean it would be the good kind. The courts had failed to take action to protect Tony from his stepfather when the fifteen-year-old leveled allegations of long-term, ongoing sexual abuse. He’d disappeared without a trace soon after his request for emancipated minor status had been denied.