Page 2 of Claimed By the Werewolf Boss

This is yet another shining example of why Junelle is perfect for Andrea.

My nephew, second in line for head of the Benetti family, is a soft guy.

He likes things to be neat, solved with a bit of conversation and maybe a contract being signed.

His parents wanted him raised book smart, God rest their souls, but he’s not a killer.

Junelle will slit a man’s throat over the brunch table if he gets in her way .

How did Cheyenne and Junelle ever become friends? College roommates doesn’t automatically mean friends for life. My new niece doesn’t trust easily, but that could just be my assumption based on the circumstances of our introduction.

It’s not something I enjoy doing, but I force the change. Ugo throws the bag at me, and I put on my black suit. It’s a bit warm for it, but appearance matters in cases like this. I slap Ugo on the shoulder and head inside.

The air is stale with hydrogen peroxide.

Humans can’t smell it, but it lingers after a clean-up.

Andrea and Marcello, our capo based here in Italy who is also my second cousin on my father’s side, play cards at a small garden table.

The shit stain hangs from a chain in the ceiling.

His sandals scrape against the tiled floor as he swings slowly, whimpering and muttering a prayer through his split lip.

“You get lost, Tino?” Andrea smirks as reveals his hand, a full house.

Marcello falls back into his chair with a groan, before tossing his watch at my nephew. Okay, maybe he’s soft, but he’s a bit of a card shark. Not like any of us have played fair before in our life, why start with a game of cards?

“Just some business at the villa,” I explain, giving him a look. He rolls his eyes. We both know I won’t say anything in front of the rat until his still-beating heart is stomped flat under my boot.

“Junelle won’t like that,” he hums. “I’ve already had to give her bad news tonight.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The florist isn’t trying hard enough, so I need to have a little chat with them,” he says quickly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

A smirk forms on my lips. Yeah, I’ve seen how a chat from Andrea can change a man’s mind. Whatever they’re fucking up, the florist will soon have a different tune to sing.

“Giuseppe here would like to explain himself, boss.” Marcello brings us back to business. “He is very, very sorry.”

The rat nods. I get a closer look at him under the light, see the tear tracks lining his cheeks, the swelling around his jaw. The boys have roughed him up a bit, but it’s nothing serious yet, nothing permanent.

“How long have you worked for us?”

“Ten years, Mr Benetti,” he whispers, struggling to form the words in English.

“Were we not treating you well?” I switch to Italian.

“Yes, I mean no, no, you treat me very well, sir.” He flinches when I take off my jacket.

I’d rather not ruin my suit tonight. The family is used to blood, to seeing us covered in it for whatever reason, but I can’t risk running into Cheyenne covered in blood.

“Then what changed, friend? Who sunk their claws into you and offered something better?”

The chains overhead rattle as he begins to shake. Like prey caught in a trap, the danger he’s in really starts to sink in. This isn’t a beating and you go home, this isn’t even spilling his guts for talking to the pigs. This is going to send a violent and painful message to everyone in our village.

Nobody fucks with the Benettis.

“He-he said he could get me moved up the family,” he explains. “More than a made man.”

My eyes flick to the others. It’s not usually a risk we face.

The pack is bound to secrecy, bound to each other.

Our continued existence as wolves relies on keeping our fucking yaps shut.

There’s always someone who thinks they can double-cross us, another family who thinks they can drop one of their sons or daughters into our ranks to spy on us.

But one of our own breaking rank and pack like this? It’s so fucking unfathomable, I can barely keep myself from changing. The rage, the fear for my loved ones, surges through my veins faster than my heart can beat.

“Who told you?” I demand.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

I grab hold of his throat before he takes his next breath. His dark eyes widen, his lips tremble as he tries to draw in air. My hand shifts, claws extending into his soft jugular. That little pinprick of awareness flashes across his face. Like he sees the wolf I truly am.

“Who told you?” My canines extend again and my mouth widens.

“The alpha,” he gasps.

Andrea chokes while Marcello snorts with laughter. That is a debunked load of crap from a quack scientist studying wolves in captivity. Not how wolf packs work in the wild, and it certainly isn’t how werewolves work.

We are a fucking family. I may sit at the head of the table, but we are a unit that thrives on supporting each other.

“Who is that?” I taunt our rat, pushing him so he swings while I circle him. He drags ragged breath after ragged breath as I remove more of my clothes. He watches, piss dripping down his legs. Jesus, he needs to drink more water.

The leather of my belt slaps together hard. “Who’s the alpha?”

“I only ever saw the monster,” he sobs, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Did he look like this?”

I transform, muscles stretching, bones breaking and mending, and hair bursting through my skin. My stupid tail even pops out like a jack-in-the-box, wagging and ready for blood.

Giuseppe screams and cries when he looks at me under the light. I snarl at him. His heart beats too hard, like it’s about to give out. Maybe he’s having a panic attack.

“Who is the alpha?” I ask one last time, fist wrapping around the chain and pulling him up to my eye level. I place my other hand over his heart.

“I can’t—”

My claws break through his chest cavity before he can finish that same pathetic line.

The rat chokes as blood dribbles out of his mouth and around my fist. The colour drains from him and coats my grey fur.

Sick and hungry satisfaction hums in my veins as I push a little harder into his body, reaching for his heart.

How long will he survive this? Can I make him see his still-beating heart?

I’m not a surgeon on a good day. My claws sink into the organ, and I yank.

Blood vessels and arteries stretch like elastic until they snap, spraying blood across me and the room.

He probably died the moment I touched his heart, but I don’t care.

He wasn’t planning to tell me who this alpha fucker is.

His blood is hot on my tongue when I devour his heart, chewing and crushing the muscle between my sharp fangs. He doesn’t quell the fury I feel. It sinks in my gut while his useless corpse hangs there.

“Shit, Tino,” Andrea chuckles. “Turning more animal than man these days.”

I resist the urge to shake the blood off my fur, licking my snout.

Marcello calls Ugo in, and they work to unchain the rat and drag him outside.

They’ll dump him somewhere for people to see, to send a message to our other associates that this is what happens to those who think they can back out of our agreement, who think they can be better than a Benetti.

I’ll call our friends down at the morgue tomorrow morning.

The wild boars in the area have gone a bit wild, what can I say?

“What was the hold-up earlier?” Andrea asks once the room is clear.

“The last guest arrived while I was doing a walk-around, Cheyenne Walker?”

I try to hold in my emotions when I say her name. The desire and hunger I have for her has already sunk its claws deeper into me than I just had in Giuseppe. After the wedding, I tell myself over and over again.

“Oh, nice.” My nephew smiles. “Haven’t seen her in a while, explains why Junelle has gone so quiet.”

He shows me his phone screen, not a single message about table arrangements or drivers. Andrea has been so involved with planning both weddings, I’m surprised he’s even still standing here talking to me and not sending strongly worded emails to the caterers or some shit.

It’s not missed on me that he says he hasn’t seen her in a while. Why’s that? Is she a homebody? Introverted? Maybe she doesn’t like Andrea, which honestly is a big fucking red flag if you ask me.

Not that I don’t have my fair share of them, but any mate of mine will love my family. Our pack, our enterprise, doesn’t work if we aren’t all on good terms.

“I’m gonna run back to the villa. Driving or joining?” I ask, hoping I know his answer already.

“Driving. I’ll help the boys get shit sorted and let Junelle have Cheyenne all to herself for a bit longer.”

I nod, worried I might say something truly revealing about wanting to meet Cheyenne sooner. The night air hits my fur and I drop to all fours again, running. I have no intention of returning to the villa until everyone is safely locked in their rooms.