“Oh,” the full-human said. “Are you two sexually involved?”

“And we’re done,” Niles Van Holtz announced, catching the hand of his mate and pulling her to his side. “Ric, why don’t you show Dee-Ann your room . . . since I guess you two will be sharing. And meet me in my office after you get settled.”

“Okay.” Ric took Dee’s hand, openly claiming her in front of the Alpha of her Pack’s fiercest enemies, and pulled her toward a big set of marble stairs. They walked up the steps and met an older teenage female coming down. She was pretty, had her daddy’s face but her momma’s eyes. Cold like her momma’s eyes, too.

“Ulrich.”

“Ulva.” He kissed the girl’s cheek. “How are you doing?”

“Well. I head to Oxford in the fall.”

“Oxford? No restaurant time for you then, huh?”

“Not necessary. I received a full scholarship.” She glanced at Dee and Ric introduced them.

“Nice to meet’cha,” Dee said.

“Yes,” the girl replied.

“Uncle Ric!” Dee heard young boys scream down the second-floor hallway and Ric ran up the stairs to meet them, leaving Dee alone with Niles Van Holtz’s only daughter.

They stared at each other until Dee finally warned her, “You ain’t ready for me yet, little girl.”

“I believe you’re right,” she admitted. “But from what I’ve heard about you, I’m surmising I should endeavor to have you as an ally rather than an enemy.”

“Ain’t you a little young to be so . . . conniving?”

The girl gave a little half smile and continued on her way, but Dee heard her when she replied,

“Not in this family.”

Dee headed up the stairs and found Van Holtz rolling on the floor with three boys who were slightly younger than their sister.

They all stopped and gazed at her.

“That your girlfriend, Uncle Ric?” one of them asked.

“It is. Isn’t she pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” one of them sighed and all Dee could do was shake her head. Because something was just plain wrong with all the Van Holtz men.

Before involving Dee-Ann, Van wanted to speak with Ric alone.

“Your father,” he said by way of introduction to the subject.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dee-Ann said he didn’t want you dead.”

“No, he didn’t.” Although Ric wasn’t sure if Alder would have minded if it accidentally happened anyway.

“Does he really think that we don’t already know he’s been stealing from the Tri-State restaurants? That we don’t already know what he and Wendell have been doing?”

“I think my father hoped that the distraction of my injuries would have allowed him time to replace what he’d taken. Especially if beingincapacitated gave him direct access to all my money.

Because once the money was back, he could claim he’d only borrowed it due to an emergency of some kind and he could use any additional cash to help open his restaurant.”

“And Stein?”

“Convenient. Alder has no use for him anyway, so if something had happened to him, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“It would have mattered to me,” Van said. “The kid needed a wake-up call but he’s still a Van Holtz. He still has our protection.”

“I know.”

“Your father needs to go, Ric.”

“You can’t kill him, Uncle Van. I’m not sure my mother would ever recover from it, and that I can’t allow.”

“You’d fight me on this?”

“If I had to. This is her mate and her firstborn son we’re talking about.”

“I adore your mother, but—”

“Let her move back to Colorado. To be with her Pack. She’d love that and you can explain to Alder and Wendell that they have no choice but to go with her.”

“And what about you?”

Ric frowned. “You’re going to make me move to Colorado?”

“No.” Van chuckled. “I mean, who’s going to take over the Van Holtz Pack in New York once your father’s out?”

“Anyone but me?”

“You’re the most logical choice.”

Ric admitted the ugly truth. “I’d rather set myself on fire and let pit bulls tear my carcass to pieces than be an Alpha.”

“You know, Ulrich, most people just say no.”

Irene sat back and watched her sons watch Dee-Ann Smith make them something as foreign to them as Ancient Egypt—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Berg, her youngest, observed, “But you didn’t even cut off the crusts.”

“Why would I?”

“And that peanut butter,” Carl pointed out, “it’s the kind we use to get our pet dog to take his pills when he’s sick.”

“What was I supposed to use? That organic crap y’all got?”

“Yes,” all Irene’s sons answered. So much like their father, she already pitied the poor women who’d eventually fall in love with them.

“Shouldn’t you use the homemade jam we make each season?” her middle son Finn asked.

“Rather than that store-bought grape jelly?”

“P.B. and J. ain’t supposed to be fancy, boys. It’s supposed to be delicious.” The abnormally large female cut the sandwich into four pieces and gave one to each before taking one for herself. They all took a bite and she grinned at their appreciative groans. “See?” she said around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “Isn’t that good?”