Page 19 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

Even the son, Icarus, who I realized was this “Secret” baby and probably the reason why all those years ago Velvet was hustling for the extra cash, had shown more balls than them, trying to forge documents with the clumsy desperation of someone who'd never committed proper fraud.

Amateurs. All of them.

I could make due with the son still being in Velvet’s life. He tried, I’d give him that, but the other three.

Hard pass…

My phone rang, Alexia's name flashing on screen.

"How is she?" No preamble, just straight to business. That was Alexia—Alex in public, but always direct.

"Stable. Sleeping off the anesthesia. Should wake within the hour."

"And the cowards?"

"Haven't shown their faces since surgery started." I kept my voice low, though Velvet was too deeply under to hear. "Probably huddled somewhere deciding if they should be offended or relieved that I did what they couldn't."

"Fuck them." Her voice carried that particular edge that meant she was already planning something. "Dante and Damon are handling the media situation. We've bought silence from everyone who matters, and the bombing is being attributed to infrastructure failure rather than targeted attack."

"It wasn't infrastructure failure."

"I know. We're looking into it. But right now, the priority is her recovery without the vultures descending."

I traced Velvet's knuckles, noting the scars from old fights. This woman had been battling her whole life, and she'd been doing it alone despite being surrounded by men who claimed to love her.

Not anymore.

"Alessandro." Alexia's voice softened slightly. "You sure about this? Once the claiming process is finalized, there's no walking away. She becomes pack. Our Omega."

"You've all already agreed."

"We agreed to support you. But you're the one who signed the papers, who'll have to deal with her when she wakes up angry about autonomy and choice. You're the one those three Alphas will come for when they finally grow spines."

"And I’m okay with that."

The words came out harder than intended, carrying seventeen years of want and three days of fury at watching them fail her.

"Besides," I continued, gentling my tone, "she won't be angry. Relieved, maybe. Surprised, definitely. But not angry."

"How do you know?"

I thought about that text exchange, the one that had started everything. Her admission that her biggest regret was assuming those men would commit. That she would have given her younger self permission to pursue something with the student she'd tutored.

She'd been thinking of me, even then. Even drowning, even dying, some part of her had remembered the boy who'd looked at her without conditions.

"Because she's tired of cowards," I said simply. "And whatever else I am, I'm not that."

Alexia hummed in agreement.

"No, you're definitely not. Insane, possibly. Obsessive, definitely. But not a coward."

"I learned from the best."

She laughed, that rich sound that she only let out around pack.

In public, Alex's laugh was controlled, masculine, carefully modulated.

But Alexia laughed with her whole body, unashamed of her female Alpha status even if the world wasn't ready to accept it.

"Speaking of which," she continued, "I've had the lawyers draw up secondary documentation. If those three grow balls and try to contest the claiming, we need to be ready."

"They won't."

"You seem very sure."

I looked at Velvet's face, peaceful in unconscious rest but with a tension in her jaw that suggested even sleep wasn't true respite.

"They've had twenty years to claim her properly. If they challenge now, after letting her nearly die rather than sign papers, they'll look like exactly what they are…men who only want her when someone else has her."

"The media would crucify them."

"If the media found out." I smiled, though she couldn't see it. "Which they would, through carefully placed leaks from concerned sources."

"You've thought this through."

"I've had seventeen years to think it through."

Silence stretched between us, comfortable in the way of pack who understood each other.

Finally, Alexia sighed.

"The cottage in Regensburg is ready if you need it. Full medical suite, private staff, completely off the grid. Dante and Damon have their men running security."

"Men?"

"You know what I mean. Their... associates."

Their soldiers. Their family's army.

The Corleone twins had inherited more than their father's legitimate businesses.

They'd also inherited an organization that predated Mussolini, with fingers in everything from construction to Congress.

They played at being art dealers the way I played at being just a venture capitalist—it was true as far as it went, but it didn't go nearly far enough.

"We might need it," I admitted, watching Velvet's eyes move under closed lids. REM sleep, probably. Dreaming of something. "Once she's stable enough to travel."

"I'll have the jet ready. And Alessandro?"

"Hmm?"

"Read the rest of those books. Especially chapter twelve of the third one. Very educational about what Omegas actually want versus what Alphas think they want."

She hung up before I could respond, leaving me staring at the paperback I'd abandoned.

Chapter twelve, she'd said. I flipped through, finding the page.

"It wasn't the knot she craved, though her body sang for it. It wasn't even the claiming bite, though her neck ached for his teeth. What she needed, what her soul cried out for in the darkness, was simpler and infinitely more complex.

She needed to matter.

To be the sun that someone orbited around, not a planet forever circling someone else's light. To be the first thought at dawn and the last at dusk. To be worth the fight, worth the fall, worth the complete destruction of everything that came before.

'Choose me,' she whispered against his throat. 'Not eventually. Not maybe. Now. Choose me now, when it's hard, when it costs everything, when the whole world says you shouldn't.

'I choose you,' he replied, and meant it with every cell of his being. 'I chose you before I knew your name. I choose you now when everything burns. I'll choose you tomorrow when the ashes settle. Forever, little Omega. In every life, in every reality, I choose you.'"

I closed the book, something tight in my chest.

Maybe Alexia had a point about these novels.

Strip away the purple prose and impossible sex scenes, and there was truth underneath. The need to matter. To be chosen. To be worth someone's complete devotion, not their careful consideration.

That's what Velvet had been missing. Not the sex— though I was sure that was lacking too —but the choice.

The declaration.

The willingness to burn everything down just to keep her warm.

Movement on the bed drew my attention.

Velvet's fingers twitched, her breathing pattern changing. Coming up from the anesthesia, probably. The doctors had said an hour, and like everything else about her, she was ahead of schedule.

I leaned forward, watching her surface from unconsciousness like a swimmer rising from deep water. Her eyelids fluttered, opened slightly, then closed again. Testing. Checking if waking was worth it.

"Take your time," I murmured, not sure if she could hear me. "I've waited seventeen years. I can wait a few more minutes."

Her eyes opened properly this time, unfocused and confused. The drugs would make everything hazy, disconnected. But I saw the moment awareness crept in—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled into the sheets.

She tried to speak, but her throat was raw from the breathing tube.

I reached for the water cup, pressing the straw to her lips.

"Small sips. Your throat will be sore for a few days."

She drank carefully, those dark eyes tracking my movements with growing clarity.

When she'd had enough, she pulled back, licking her lips in a gesture that definitely wasn't meant to be seductive but absolutely was.

"You."

The word came out hoarse, barely voiced, but the weight of it filled the room.

"Me," I confirmed, setting the water aside.

"Real?"

"Real as the surgery that just saved you from paralysis.”

She blinked slowly, processing.

I could see the questions forming, the protests building, the fury at choices made without her consent.

But what came out was:

"The others?"

"Are cowards who couldn't sign their names when you were dying." I didn't soften it. There was no point in prettying it up. She deserved the truth. "They spent six hours debating while you needed surgery. So I did what they wouldn't."

Something flickered in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or resignation.

"Known for... six hours... they couldn't..."

"No. They couldn't. Or wouldn't. Reputation and all that. The Public eye. The distinction doesn't matter."

She turned her head away, and I saw the tear slip down her cheek before she could hide it.

Twenty years of hope, shattered by six hours of cowardice.

"Hey." I reached out, gently turning her face back to me. "You're alive. You'll walk. You'll recover completely. That's what matters now."

"You...officially claimed me."

"Yes."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her.

Even drugged, even devastated, she was trying to fight.

To establish boundaries and control. It was admirable and pointless in equal measure.

"Would you rather I'd let you potentially die paralyzed?"

She opened her mouth, closed it.

The answer was obvious, but admitting it meant accepting what I'd done.

"We'll have time to fight about autonomy and consent when you're recovered," I said, letting her off the hook temporarily. "Right now, you need to rest so we can decide what’s next."

"Next?"

"Whether you stay in Germany for recovery or come to the cottage. Or if you want to confront those cowards when they come waltzing in here knowing you’re alive and well, or whether you accept the claiming we’ve set in stone or want to fight it, though legally that's complicated now that you’ve obtained the surgery. More difficult to rectify it legally."

"Legally?"