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Vito tightens his arm around me. “She’s not the triplets.”
My stomach swoops.
The triplets, our Alpha sisters.
Enforcers, illegal fighting ring champions, and fucking psychopaths.
Dad’s eyes light in a way that doesn’t promise anything good.
He reaches to slap Vito’s bruised cheek; the gesture should be friendly but is calculatingly patronizing. “I’m glad that you’ve mentioned your sisters. They’re with me on this trip and have been asking after you. They did help raise you both, right? We have other business here, and I thought that it’d be nice to drop in. I didn’t think that I’d be faced with such disrespect. Perhaps, I should reward them and punish you at the same time. It’s Friday, I could give you to them for the evening. You know that they’ve always enjoyed playing with their precious baby brother.”
I freeze in horror.
The triplets have been kind to me in the past but have always been cruel to their Alpha younger brother.
Maybe out of a sense that he’s their competition? That he’s not a tough enough Alpha? Sibling rivalry?
“No,” I whisper.
Next to me, Vito’s breathing is shallow. I can feel him trembling.
I don’t blame him.
The triplets would take him apart. They’re more terrifying than Dad.
Unpredictable, volatile, and sadistic.
Dad holds them over our head as a threat.
Yet Vito’s voice is level. “Why did you decide to visit us today?”
In a sudden, vicious movement, Dad sweeps our carefully boxed up cupcakes and treats for the poor Omegas and Omega Society off the counter and scattering to the floor.
Vito takes a furious step forward, before stopping himself with difficulty. I drag him back into my hold by the back of his t-shirt.
My heart sinks, as I watch the iced Candy and Viper cupcakes tumbling out and being smashed into the floor’s tiles. The iced twin snakes are crushed and broken, smearing like blue blood in trails.
My eyes prick with tears.
When Dad leans over to smell the apple pie, I stiffen.
“Delicious,” he murmurs.
“Don’t,” I beg.
When Dad smiles, showing his canines, I know that it was a mistake to show my weakness.
With a flick of his wrist, he shoves the pie onto the floor. It lands on its top with a wet sound.
This time, I force myself not to flinch.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“It’s wasteful not selling this food.” Dad nudges the ruined pie that was meant for our dessert with his shiny black shoe. “You must be doing well, if you can give this away to trash, Rejects, and orphans. Did you think that I wouldn’t hear about this charity?”
“They’d only be thrown away if we didn’t,” Vito replies, stiffly. “And we were going to eat that pie ourselves.”
“Then get down on your knees and eat it.”
