Chapter 141

Grayson’s POV

“What the hell is going on?” Rickon blurted out. Ricardo’s grin instantly vanished, replaced by a frown.

“You found another best friend and replaced me so soon? I’m hurt.”

What?

The surprise—though not shock, this was Ricardo, after all—broke through my haze. Faking his own death wasn't beyond him. The question was why.

Before I could demand an explanation, Jerome appeared behind me, his voice low and anxious. “I did what you asked,” he said to Ricardo. “Can I have Anastasia now?”

Ricardo’s grin returned, sharp and unsettling. “Of course, brother. You’ve done marvelously. I’ll handle it from here.”

Jerome nodded in my direction, looking pleased, and left.

Finally, I found my voice. “Are you going to explain what the hell is going on?”

Ricardo clapped his hands, his tone infuriatingly cheerful. “Yes, yes, of course! Anything for you, Gray Gray.” He chuckled, gestured to the table, and said, “The chef is preparing dinner. Join me?”

His gaze shifted to Rickon, his nose wrinkling. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring company, but I suppose the more the merrier.”

I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted answers. Answers about his faked death, the lack of war from his people, and this entire twisted situation. Ricardo might have predicted my arrival in Italy after hearing the rumors, but I knew him well enough to see through his games.

“Why did you make me come here, Ricardo?” My voice was low, edged with warning. “And I’m not in the mood.”

Rickon laughed. “Wow. So there’s someone who gets on your nerves even more than I do.” He smirked and moved toward the table. “I’m definitely sitting down. Plus, I’m hungry.”

As if summoned, the doors opened. A chef and staff entered, carrying trays of food. The table was soon laden with a feast. The rich aroma filled the room, but I kept my eyes on Ricardo.

He met my glare with his damn grin, unfazed. Once the staff left, Ricardo gestured to the overflowing table.

With an exasperated sigh, I sat down, ignoring the food. “Get to it,” I demanded.

Rickon, ignoring the tension, piled food onto his plate. Ricardo did the same, as if this were a normal day.

“Ah, where do I start?” he mused, light and amused.

I glared at him, my patience wearing thin. “I said I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get to it.” He paused dramatically, smiled, and then said, “Have you ever wanted something so badly that when you finally got it, you just…” He trailed off, laughing. “Oh, never mind. That’s unrelated. I just thought it would be funny.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I thought it was,” Rickon said, stuffing a bread roll in his mouth.

I stared at him, wondering how I’d gotten here.

Ricardo snapped me back to reality. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Gray Gray. I heard Alphas were being killed, leaving a signature. So I thought, ‘Oh, that sounds like fun.’ ” He shrugged. “So, I pretended to be dead and let the news spread. I wanted to see what people would say about me.”

His expression darkened. “But do you know what they said? That I was insane. Can you believe the insult?”

“No, I can’t,” I said dryly.

Ricardo missed the sarcasm. “I knew you’d understand. You see me for me. Aren’t you going to eat?”

I grabbed a plate, loading it with food to keep him talking. Satisfied, he continued.

“Anyway, the ‘death’ thing was great. It let me weed out people who didn’t like me—naturally, I killed them all. That’s been fun. But pretending to be dead left my pack without an Alpha, and now it’s in trouble.”

Things clicked. “So you spread the word that your pack was coming after me for supposedly killing you, knowing Carter would tell me. That way, I’d come here.”

His grin widened. “And that is why you and I are best friends.”

Anger surged. I stood. “You and I are not friends. You’ve wasted my time. Rickon, we’re leaving.”

Rickon, chewing, looked up as if I’d canceled all holidays. He swallowed. “But I’m enjoying it here.”

“Fine. Then stay,” I snapped. “You two are perfectly suited for each other.”

“Gray Gray, don’t be like that,” Ricardo said mockingly.

I glared at him. “And stop calling me that.”

“I’ll be serious if you sit back down,” he offered with a grin.

I didn’t move.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try to be serious,” he amended, his grin mischievous.

With an irritated sigh, I sat down, wondering for the hundredth time how I’d gotten into this.

“Thank you, Grayson,” Ricardo smiled, emphasizing my name. “Now, as I was saying. Someone’s coming after my pack, and unlike the others, this one isn’t easy to take down. Which is why I need your help—or an alliance.”

Rickon burst out laughing. “Grayson align with you? Our families have been allies for centuries, and even then, he made it difficult for me when I became Alpha.”

I said nothing.

Ricardo turned to Rickon. “He is really picky, isn’t he?”

Rickon nodded. “And he’s always angry about something.”

“The two of you, stop that,” I snapped, glaring at them. Then I turned to Ricardo. “I’m not interested in forming an alliance with you. You faked your own death for fun. You can deal with the consequences of your actions.”

I stood again, but Ricardo’s voice turned serious.

“Everyone knows about the attacks, the threats to your throne. This alliance could be good for both of us. We band together and take down our enemies—me with my twisted mind, you with your…well, Grayson Blackwood-ness, and him…” He gestured to Rickon. “Well, I’ll figure out his skills later.”

“Oh, I’m in on it now?” Rickon grinned.

“I’ve officially decided that I like you. Welcome to the brotherhood.”

“There is no brotherhood,” I snapped. “And the two of you should stop talking to each other.”

Ricardo dropped his fork, and his Alpha aura filled the room. His playful grin vanished, replaced by deadly seriousness. His piercing eyes locked onto mine.

“I have a whole lot of resources, and you know it,” Ricardo said, his voice low and measured. “Even a dumb person can feel it—a war is coming. Not one of my making, but a real one. And you, Grayson, are at the center of it. The attacks will come for you first. They already are. You need people by your side to win this war, but you won’t admit it to yourself.”

“He’s not wrong,” Rickon interjected.

I turned sharply to Rickon. “I told you not to talk to him.”

Rickon’s expression mirrored Ricardo’s calm resolve. The levity had drained from him.

“I wasn’t speaking to him, I am talking to you, and you don’t have to like what he’s saying,” Rickon said, meeting my glare. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

A low growl rumbled in my chest—my wolf, restless and insistent. My instincts agreed with them: the threat was real, and bigger than I’d thought.

Ricardo leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. “So what’s it going to be, Grayson? A yes or a no?”