Page 33 of Broken Wolf Heart (Mafia Pack #3)

LEXI

T he first thing I notice upon waking is the quiet.

No reporters. No staff or pack members in and out. No one banging on the door to tell me that I’m late to something or alerting us to some new threat. Just silence, thick and soft like a blanket over my ears.

Then warmth. The feel of Grey behind me, one arm heavy across my waist, his body curled around mine like I’m something precious. Protected.

His breathing is deep, steady. I can tell from the way his chest moves against my back that he’s still asleep. I wonder if he’s getting the same restful sleep I did. There’s something about this house. About the way we are with each other here. It’s like magic. The good kind.

Last night, after I’d had about three hundred orgasms, we shifted and ran together. It was what my first shift should have been. No blood or gore coating my fur. No violence in my wake. Just me and Grey, mated and running side by side.

It grounded my wolf in a way nothing else has. By the time we returned and fell into bed, I started feeling like she and I might finally be on the same page .

Comforted by that thought, I keep my eyes closed a few more seconds, savoring the stillness. The illusion of safety. Because I know, the second I open them, it’ll all come rushing back.

And it does.

Vincenzo’s press conference. The video footage of me at the lab. The claims he made about me being something worse than Franco.

Then me, walking into that reporter’s office with my chin up and my past on my sleeve.

Telling the truth.

About the foster homes. About Franco. About being alone.

About Indigo Hills.

About me and Grey.

I squeeze my eyes shut again, this time against the flood of memories. And the way my voice almost cracked when I said the city had become my home. When I looked into that camera and told them I wasn’t just a science project. That I was a wolf like them.

That I would use the strength those experiments gave me to protect the people they tried to turn me against.

I hope I can keep that promise.

I hope I get to keep this life.

Grey stirs behind me, his fingers twitching against my stomach before settling again. I tilt my head back just enough to feel the weight of his breath in my hair.

The air in the room smells like us. Like sex and salt and sweat and something sweeter I can’t name.

Whatever it is, it’s real.

Just like him.

Just like this.

I roll onto my back carefully, trying not to fully wake him, but his arm tightens instinctively, his eyes cracking open as I settle again .

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy with sleep and something deeper. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, though the word feels too small.

His hand lifts to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You were amazing yesterday.”

“Do you mean the live interview or the sex?”

He grins. “Both.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, sobering as emotions hit me with a force that feels unfair for so early in the morning.

“For which part?” he shoots back.

I swallow hard. “You were there. When I needed you. At the end.”

He smiles faintly. “I always will be.”

That breaks me a little. Because I believe him. And I’ve never believed that kind of promise before. Then again, no one’s ever made a promise to me like that before.

I snuggle closer, pressing my forehead to his. “Thank you. For the house. For being there. For... not trying to fix me.”

“I don’t want to fix you, Lex. I just want to stand beside you while you fix the world.”

I laugh softly, even as my eyes sting. “No pressure.”

He kisses my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth. Then he’s planting kisses so fast and sloppy, I can’t help but laugh and wiggle away.

“Come on,” he says, like he’s satisfied with my happiness—like that was his goal all along, “Let’s get coffee and breakfast, and then I’ll have you for dessert.” His wink has my body tingling in anticipation.

The kitchen in the new house smells like cinnamon and dark roast. Grey stands at the counter in nothing but his boxers, hair a mess, tattoos on full display. He’s flipping pancakes like some kind of domestic sex god while I sit on the stool by the island, watching him with my chin in my hand.

“You know,” I murmur, “this whole hot alpha wolf thing really works when paired with maple syrup.”

He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Noted. Should I add bacon to the rotation?”

“Bacon’s a sex toy now. Officially.”

Grey barks a laugh, and something warm and fizzy bubbles in my chest. I can’t get enough of this. The normalcy between us. The teasing and laughter. It’s stupid to think we could have a life like this, but I can’t help wishing…

There’s a knock at the door.

My smile fades.

Grey puts the spatula down, instantly alert. “Stay here.”

He walks to the front of the house, his stance shifting into predator mode so fast it makes my head spin. But the tension drains the second he looks through the peephole.

Relaxed, he opens the door.

“Morning,” Dutch says casually, stepping inside with his hands raised. “No need to shift and maul, big guy. Just bringing news.”

Grey grunts. “Next time, text.”

“I did. Three times. You were too busy playing house to check it.”

Dutch winks at me as he steps into the kitchen, dropping a folded newspaper on the counter beside me. “You made the front page.”

I unfold it slowly, heart thudding. The headline reads: SHE- WOLF TELLS ALL: LEXI GIOVANNI IS ONE OF US.

Below it, a still from the interview. Me in that green dress, eyes steady, mouth mid-sentence. I stare at the picture, trying to recognize the version of me I see there. She looks… brave. Bold. I’m awed by it. By her.

I exhale shakily. “They didn’t twist it. ”

“Nope,” Dutch says. “Savannah’s a real one. And public opinion’s starting to tilt. Slow, but steady. You convinced people they can trust you.”

“How does it change the numbers?” Grey asks.

“Defections are on the rise. Andy says a non-stop stream of people have been showing up at the gate since the interview aired.” He doesn’t look nearly as happy as his words make it sound.

“So what’s the problem?” I ask.

“It’s not enough. Not yet,” Grey says knowingly. He hands me a mug of coffee before taking the stool beside mine. “What’s my asshole father doing about it?”

Dutch grimaces. “We don’t know yet. Rumor is he’ll try to hijack Franco’s funeral tonight.”

The funeral I asked Andy to expedite, mostly so we could concentrate on the memorial services for our fallen security guards. They’re the ones who deserve to be honored, but this city is steeped in sick traditions, and honoring a dead alpha is one that might as well be written into law.

I stop with the coffee halfway to my mouth. “Hijack how?”

Dutch shrugs. “Photos. A speech. Maybe even a call to arms. Paint himself as the true heir to Franco’s legacy. Undermine you with nostalgia and fear.”

I grit my teeth. “And everyone will be there.”

Grey’s hand settles over mine. “Which means we need to be too.”

“I’m not letting him use Franco’s death to rally support.”

Dutch leans forward. “That’s why we need to hit him back. Not with violence. Not yet,” he adds when my expression tenses.

“Then how?”

“The interview you did was a hit, so Mia and I agree we stick with optics.”

Grey nods at the newspaper. “We build on this. ”

Dutch flips open the folder he’s still holding. “Andy sent over the guest list for the funeral, and it’s a fucking goldmine. Half these people are connected to Vincenzo’s various criminal schemes, including the money laundering.”

“Wait, I thought that was Franco,” I say. “It’s why he framed Ramsey’s dad. Shot him.”

Dutch and Grey share a look.

“What?” I demand.

“Franco siphoned money from the city’s coffers,” Grey explains. “Taxes that should have gone to schools and child development programs. My father…”

He hesitates, and my entire body tightens. Whatever it is must be worse than Franco.

“Grey, just tell me.”

“He makes his money from his own dealings,” he says at last.

“What does that mean?”

“He sells magic-based weapons and enhancement serums.”

“What? To who?”

“Mostly foreign shifter militias or black-market buyers. Really, anyone with enough money to fund a supernatural war.”

My jaw drops. “How did he manage that without Franco knowing?”

“Franco knew,” Dutch says grimly.

I look from him to Grey, trying to understand how this has been going on all along, and no one told me. “And the people of Indigo Hills—do they know?” I ask.

“Some do,” Dutch says.

“And they don’t care?”

“He pretends the funds go to security or infrastructure, but really, it’s an arms trade,” Grey says.

“And you forgot to mention it until now?” I can’t help but feel like this is something they purposely left out .

Grey refuses to meet my eyes.

I look at Dutch, who looks guilty enough for both of them.

“Talk,” I snap, not caring which one does it first.

“I was going to,” Grey says. “But then he threatened to trigger your wolf, and you were so determined to let him. I thought if you knew he really did have access to shit like that, you’d go behind my back.”

I blink, struck by that. And now I’m the one feeling guilty. Shit. That’s exactly what I did.

“The point is, we didn’t tell you because we were trying to protect you,” Dutch says, trying to smooth it over.

I sigh, putting aside my initial anger. Not like I can blame them for keeping it from me now, when I did far worse by taking that serum. Speaking of which…

“Not to sound completely reckless here,” I begin carefully, “but if Vincenzo has access to hex magic, maybe he has something to counteract whatever’s going on with us?—”

“No,” Grey snarls at the same time Dutch practically yells the word in my face.

“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands in surrender.

“Anything my father touches is only meant to do us harm,” Grey says in a voice packed with enough conviction that I nod in agreement, shoving aside any possible ideas I might have had.

“You’re right,” I say. “Forget it.”

“So, about the plan,” Dutch says pointedly.

“You want to expose his true business dealings at the funeral,” I say, refocusing on the whole reason they brought this up.

“If we’re smart about it, we can turn the whole night around on him. Expose him for what he truly is. After that, his whole pack will defect to us. To you,” he amends, flicking a glance at his own alpha.

“To Lexi,” Grey confirms. “No one knows yet what we are. And I want to keep it that way for a while longer. ”

“Agreed,” Dutch says.

I look at Grey, hope rising. “Do you think this could work?”

“I do.” He meets my gaze, calm and lethal. “We let the asshole have his moment onstage. He’ll think he’s won. Then we expose his true business. The money. The corruption. We can use that reporter who interviewed you.”

“Savannah,” I say, already thinking ahead to how we’ll orchestrate it.

Dutch grins. “Franco will be rolling over in his grave.”

“Bonus,” I snort.

Grey lifts his glass. “To turning grief into justice.”

I lift mine too, and Dutch follows. We toast in silence, the air heavy with purpose.

Today, the city mourns Franco Giovanni. Tomorrow, it will pledge loyalty to the one who took his place.