Page 22 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

"You're right," he said, shoulders slumping as he heaved a dramatic sigh. "Mon dieu! But Victor just gets testy about these things, even when it’s just casual?—"

“Penny’s not some casual fling,” I said, letting a hint of steel enter my voice. “He’s a romantic. He goes into things with his whole heart, expecting the best from people.”

Sebastian’s expression tightened with what looked like genuine contrition. "That's what made him so...”

He sighed, voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "Sa joie de vivre est comme un rayon de soleil dans un monde trop sérieux."

He gazed at me, understanding dawning that my blank expression betrayed my inability to comprehend what he’d just said.

"Penny's bright and warm, and sweet,” he explained, “but you already know that."

The admission hung between us, and I realized Sebastian was probably more invested than I’d initially understood. But that almost made it worse. Two married alphas with their open marriage arrangements and history of affairs—they had no business dragging someone like Penny into their complicated dynamic.

“He deserves better than being caught in the middle of whatever issues you and Victor are working through,” I said firmly. “Penny might seem worldly, but he’s not built for games.”

“You’re right,” Sebastian said quietly. “Please tell him I said hello. And that I’m truly sorry about how everything went. He didn’t deserve any of that.”

I studied his face, seeing genuine remorse there. But remorse didn’t undo the damage, and it didn’t change the fact that Penny had been hurt by getting involved with people whose relationship dynamics were far more complex and volatile than my innocent friend had realized.

“I’ll tell him,” I said finally, meaning it but not softening my protective stance.

We said our goodbyes, and Jake and I began walking back toward the pickup point where Blake’s driver would collect us.

Confronting Sebastian about Penny aside, the afternoon had gone better than I’d expected—Victor and Sebastian’s passion for their work was surprisingly infectious, and the commission promised to be both challenging and rewarding.

“They seem like good people,” Jake said as we strolled down the tree-lined street. “I was expecting more…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Pretentious?” I suggested.

“Yeah, maybe. But they actually know their stuff. And they clearly respect what you do.”

We walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Jake pointing out restaurants and chattering about their fare—particularly pastry offerings—he’d heard about. It was the most animated I’d ever seen him. The afternoon felt peaceful, normal even—exactly the kind of routine interaction that made me appreciate how well Jake was settling into things at Blake’s.

“I’m actually looking forward to seeing your sketches for this project,” Jake said. “The silver work sounds incredible.”

“It’ll be challenging, but that’s what makes it interesting,” I replied. “My grandfather’s techniques were?—”

I stopped mid-sentence as Jake suddenly went rigid beside me, his entire body freezing in place. The color drained from his already pale face so quickly I thought he might faint.

“Jake?” I moved closer, my instincts immediately on high alert. His scent had shifted to something sharp and terrified that made my own distress response spike. “What’s wrong?”

Jake didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on something across the street, tracking a figure in a dark coat who was walking into what looked like a family-owned Italian restaurant—“Bella Vista” according to the modest sign above the door. From this distance, I could only make out general details—rather tall height, dark curly hair, confident alpha stride—but whatever Jake was seeing had triggered a fear response so intense I could practically taste it in the air.

“Jake,” I said more urgently, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re scaring me. What is it?”

He blinked hard, as if trying to clear his vision, then shook his head slightly. I turned back to look at the front of the restaurant. The man had vanished, probably went inside to eat.

“S—Sorry,” Jake stammered. “I just… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

His voice was hollow, and his hands were trembling slightly where they emerged from his jacket pockets.

“Someone you knew?” I pressed gently. “From before?”

Jake’s jaw worked silently for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the restaurant entrance even though the figure had disappearedinside. “Someone I thought was dead,” he said finally, so quietly I almost missed it.

My stomach dropped. Jake’s “before” life had involved witnessing things that no one should have to see, specifically people who solved problems with violence. If he thought he’d seen someone from that world—someone who should be dead?—

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, from this distance?—”