Page 138 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
"Way."
"Does she have a pack? Who are the alphas?"
"She won't talk about it. Every time I bring it up, she changes the subject or hangs up."
Presley let out a dry laugh. "Like her sister. In denial."
"I wasn't in denial. I was running for my life."
"And Mary's not?" She raised an eyebrow. "She's been hiding in Boston for nearly three years. Who knows what she's tangled up in."
Ivan dropped into the chair beside me. "I spoke to her a few weeks ago. She has a boyfriend. A beta. British student at the university."
“She told me they split up.”
"And betas can't get omegas pregnant," Presley said.
We all looked at each other.
The silence that followed was the uncomfortable kind.
Mac shrieked near the fountain. Mila threw some of her croissant to some birds waiting at the edge of the garden. Presley’s alphas, Fritz and Etienne, were sitting on the edge of the water fountain with Presley's twins, all of them soaking wet.
"Did she tell you anything about her heats?" Presley asked. "How she managed them?"
"Nothing. She never mentioned them. I assumed she was on suppressants—" I stopped. "I assumed she'd tell me if something was wrong."
"Would she? You spent three years hiding from everyone who loved you. Mary spent her childhood learning the same lessons from the same father."
I set my glass down.
Mary was across an ocean, pregnant and silent. My little sister, who'd put glitter nail polish on my toes and told me she was going to leave Ireland for good. The same sister who'd taped motivational quotes to Petrov portraits and announced she was going to legally dismantle organized crime when I knew she’d prefer to paint.
Quiet didn't mean safe. I knew that better than anyone.
I stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace, where Artem was talking quietly with Presley’s other alpha, Hastings. Hastings was saying something about the vineyard and Artem was nodding, but his attention moved to me the moment I got close. It always did.
"Everything alright?"
"We need to go to Boston." I slipped my hand into his. "We need to bring Mary home."
"Now?"
"Now."
He didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't point out that we'd just arrived or that the children were finally settled or that the jet needed refueling. He looked at my face for approximately one second and then nodded.
"I'll call the pilot."
Ivan appeared with Mila eating another pastry. Gregor materialized with Mac on his shoulders and Fergus trotting at his heels. Mila reached for me, and I took her, settling her weight against my hip.
My pack formed around me on the sun-drenched terrace. “We’re going to Boston to bring Mary home.”
"Fergus needs his travel harness," Gregor said. "I'll retrieve it."
Artem was already on the phone with the pilot, his voice low and efficient.
"Mila needs a nappy change before we board," Ivan added. "I'll handle it. You talk to Presley."
