While in Russia, Mila’s cat had been calmer. More relaxed. Probably because there was nothing there that reminded her of Joel. So when Mila’s uncle had suggested that she pack up her shit and move to Russia, it hadn’t sounded like a bad idea. The more she’d thought about it, the more attractive it had become, despite her uncle hoping she’d agree to an arranged mating with the wolverine he’d introduced her to—something Mila hadn’t yet shared with anyone but Alex.

Maksim was actually a nice guy, and she was open to getting to know him better and seeing what came of it. In Russia, she’d be far away from Joel and Adele, which could help Mila’s cat find the peace that had so far eluded her.

“I still think you should tell him truth,” stated Valentina. “It is not fair that you carry this secret. It weighs heavily on you.”

Mila hadn’t told anyone except Alex and her parents about Joel being her true mate. It was times like this that she wished she’d kept it to herself. “Mom, please let it go.”

“I just don’t want you to hurt and—” Valentina broke off at the sound of a loud bang followed by a riotous laugh. “James, quiet. I am on the phone!” she yelled at her mate, imperious.

“Is that Skeletor?” he asked, and Mila could hear the smile in his voice.

Valentina gasped in outrage. “I have told you a thousand times, James Devereaux, you cannot call my mother ‘Skeletor’!”

“She looks like a starved rat,” he said. “And I’ve heard her called worse. That man-slave she calls a mate actually refers to her as ‘that bloodsucking Rasputinette.’”

Valentina spat a stream of Russian curses at her mate, who just laughed.

Mila’s lips twitched. Considering both sides of Mila’s family “dabbled” in organized crime, you’d think that her extended maternal and paternal relatives would get along pretty well. Not at all. Oh, they did business with each other. But her mother’s family had never quite forgiven Valentina’s mate for having the gall to be American. The situation was made worse when James refused to move to Russia. And when the Ivanov wolverines had visited his home for the very first time only to find he didn’t stock vodka in his cupboards, they’d declared him a psychopath.

There was a light knock on the door of the greenroom. “Mom,” said Mila. “I have to go.”

“But we must talk—”

“Not now, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise. Tell Dad I said hi.” Mila hung up the phone and then called out, “Come in!”

Harley, the club’s manager, breezed inside the room. “Hey, I came to see if you were ready.”

Looking at Mila closely, Harley tilted her head. “You okay? You look . . . off balance.”

“It’s just nerves. I love performing, but I’m always nervous until the moment I walk onstage.”

“Hmm. Well, get your ass in gear, because you’re up next.”

For the first time that day, Mila’s smile was genuine. “I’m ready.”

Reading the sheet of paper, Madisyn chuckled. “Well, Dominic, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.” Placing it on the bar, she slid it toward him. “Did it work?”

“The fuckers are gone now, so, yeah,” Dominic replied.

A group of overzealous religious wackos had gathered near the club, preaching the evils of shifters, calling them demons, and damning them all to hell. Dominic had gone to Harley’s office, printed off a bunch of “Make a Deal with the Devil” contracts, and stood outside the club offering a dollar to anyone who’d sign one. The religious group had eventually stomped away, utterly furious.

Dante, his Beta, crumpled up the contract as he spoke to Madisyn. “You should have seen how many women joined the line to sign this shit.” He threw an amused glance at Dominic. “You didn’t have to kiss all of them.”

Taking a swig from his beer bottle, Dominic shrugged. “It would have been rude not to.” He took a moment to glance around. He liked the Velvet Lounge. Unlike most clubs, it was classy and had a bluesy feel. Even when the place was packed, it wasn’t too hectic, and the air didn’t feel too hot and stuffy—

“Okay, what did you do this time?”

Dominic turned . . . only to find his Alpha standing there with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth set in a white slash. Not fond of clubbing, Trey didn’t go to the Velvet Lounge often. But his mate, Taryn, had accompanied some of their female pack mates to the club, so Trey had insisted on coming along to “keep an eye on things.” He hadn’t exactly looked happy before he headed to the restroom. Now he looked even more vexed.

“Emmet Pierson,” Trey tossed out.

Dominic pursed his lips. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” Because it didn’t. He shot a questioning look at Dante, who shook his head to indicate that he didn’t recognize the name either.

“I checked my cell phone when I was in the restroom,” said Trey. “Pierson called me and left a message, requesting a meeting with me. He asked for you to be there. Said the matter was important, and that it concerned you. So who is he, and what did you do?”

“I haven’t got a clue who he is, and I don’t know why he’d want to speak to me.” Leaning against the bar, Dominic took another swig of his beer. “As for the ‘What did you do this time?’ question, you’ll need to be more specific.”

Wiping down the bar with a cloth, Madisyn snickered. “It can’t be something bad. Dominic always manages to charm his way out of trouble. It’s a twisted sort of charm, but it works for him.”

Dominic flashed the barmaid a smile. “Aw, thanks, Mads. You know, that dress is very becoming on you. If I were on you, I’d be coming too.”

She rolled her eyes. “See? Twisted.”

Dante shook his head. “Dom, you can’t keep using cheesy lines on people’s mates and expect not to get shot one day. Seriously, you flirt with death far too often.”

Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Is it my fault that none of you have a sense of humor?”

The Beta exhaled in exasperation and then turned to Trey. “Back to Pierson—can’t you ask Rhett to do a background search on him?”

“I called him after I heard the message. Rhett didn’t have enough time to give me anything other than the basics.” Trey’s gaze sliced back to Dominic. “Emmet Pierson is a fifty-nine-year-old human attorney. He’s married to a human woman, Corrinne Pierson, and they have one child. Their daughter, Rosemary, is a twenty-eight-year-old shop assistant who’s recently divorced.”

The latter details tickled Dominic’s memory. “Oh.”

Trey’s eyes sharpened. “So you know the daughter?”

“Vaguely,” said Dominic.

“Meaning you slept with her?”

“Only once. I met her at a bar, went home with her, but I didn’t spend the night.” Dominic never spent the night at a woman’s house.

“When was this?”

Dominic blew out a breath. “About two weeks ago.”

“Any idea what he could want?”

“Not a clue.”