Page 38 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

fourteen

. . .

De Luca’s bony fingers pressed into my shoulder as he showed me the tablet screen, his touch making my skin crawl with revulsion.

“See how well your father is doing? The private room, the specialists, all because you’re being so cooperative.”

My father looked better than he had in weeks. The bruising around his eyes had faded to a sickly yellow, and the breathing tube was gone. My chest tightened with conflicting emotions—relief that he was healing, disgust that my personal sexual nightmare tour was the admission price.

“The doctors say he’s responding well to treatment,” De Luca said, his voice dripping with implied threat. “Of course, his continued care depends on your continued… performance.”

I kept my expression neutral despite the urge to introduce his face to my fist. “I’ve given your alphas everything but a kidney donation. What more do you want?”

“Results,” he snapped, his facade of civility slipping. “Dr. Rossi says there’s still no conception. Perhaps you’re not being thorough enough.”

My stomach dropped instantly. What more could I possibly do? I’d spent days being thoroughly claimed by three alphas who’d gone from reluctant participants to enthusiastic partners.

“Maybe your prize alphas are shooting blanks,” I suggested, because apparently my self-preservation instinct had taken a vacation. “Have you considered that possibility?”

The slap came faster than I expected, his bony hand connecting with my cheek hard enough to make my eyes water. I’d forgotten how quick the old bastard could be when provoked.

“Watch your tongue,” he hissed, eyes narrowing to reptilian slits. “Those alphas are the finest specimens in the country. The problem lies with you.”

I bit back a retort that would probably earn me another slap. “Fine. What do you suggest?”

De Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with amber liquid. “Dr. Rossi says this will increase your fertility and receptivity.”

I took the vial, examining it skeptically. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with it? Drink it? Bathe in it? Use it as cologne?”

“Apply it as before,” he instructed, ignoring my sarcasm. “But be warned—the effects are significantly stronger. It may trigger responses in both you and the alphas that are… intense.”

Great. Just what I needed—more intensity with three alphas who already turned my brain to mush on a regular basis. “Anything else? Maybe a fertility dance I should perform? Sacrificial offering to the pregnancy gods?”

De Luca’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Your attempts at humor are as tiresome as they are ineffective. Just do as you’re told, and your father will continue receiving the best care money can buy.”

He tapped the tablet screen, where my father’s heart monitor beeped steadily. The message couldn’t have been clearer if he’d written it in neon: cooperate or daddy suffers.

“I’ll do what I need to do,” I said, my voice flat. “I always do.”

“Good boy,” De Luca replied, the patronizing tone making my skin crawl.

I waited until he’d left before examining the vial more closely. The liquid inside was thicker than the previous enhancer, with an iridescent quality that made it shift colors in the light. Whatever this stuff was, it definitely wasn’t the same formula I’d been using.

“Well, this looks totally safe and not at all third-eye inducing,” I said, uncapping it cautiously. The scent that wafted out was surprisingly subtle, sweet but not cloying, with undertones of warm honey and summer rain.

I headed to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and studying my reflection with a critical eye.

The marks from yesterday’s session had mostly faded, another quirk of omega biology, quick healing, but the memory of how I’d gotten them remained vivid.

How I’d surrendered to the alphas, not just physically but emotionally.

How I’d fallen asleep in their arms feeling safer than I had in years.

How I'd woken up terrified by the realization that I was developing feelings for the alphas I was trapped with.

“ Trauma Bonding: Omega Edition ,” I told my reflection, grimacing. “Coming soon to a psychological textbook near you.”

But it wasn't that simple, and I knew it.

What I was feeling went beyond shared captivity or survival bonding.

It was deeper, more primal, a connection that seemed woven into my very cells.

Every time they touched me, every time they looked at me with those hungry eyes, something inside me responded with a resounding yes that had nothing to do with fear or survival and everything to do with recognition.

My body knew something my brain was still catching up to.

“Focus, Ty,” I said, uncapping the vial. “Get in, get bred, get out. Don’t overthink it.”

I poured a small amount of the oil into my palm, surprised by its warmth against my skin.

Following De Luca’s instructions, I applied it to my pulse points, then hesitated before adding a light layer across my chest and stomach.

The oil absorbed quickly, leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation that intensified with each passing second.

The effect was almost immediate. Heat bloomed under my skin, not the desperate burning of my heat cycle but something more controlled, more focused.

My scent intensified dramatically, filling the bathroom with notes of jasmine and lilies that seemed somehow richer, more complex than before.

Most alarming was the way my body responded—cock hardening, my omega entrance preparing itself, all without a single touch or thought to prompt it.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, gripping the edge of the sink as a tsunami of heat crashed through me. “What the hell is in this stuff?”

Whatever it was, it worked faster than a virgin at his first strip club.

By the time I’d composed myself enough to leave the bathroom, my entire body hummed with a need that felt both familiar and foreign, like my heat cycle but without the desperate edge, the biological imperative replaced by something more deliberate, more controlled.

I didn’t bother with clothes. What was the point? They’d just end up on the floor anyway, probably ripped to shreds by impatient alpha hands. Besides, after days of intimate encounters with the alphas, modesty seemed like a quaint concept from another lifetime.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the connecting door and stepped into the alphas’ domain, my heart hammering against my ribs with anticipation.

The scene that greeted me was not what I expected.

Instead of lounging in their separate beds as usual, all three alphas were gathered on Mr. Iceflare’s bed, heads bent close in what appeared to be an intense discussion.

They looked up simultaneously as I entered, their conversation cutting off abruptly—caught in the act.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. Then Mr. Enigma’s nostrils flared, his green eyes darkening as he caught my enhanced scent.

“What have you done?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual. “Your scent, it’s different.”

“De Luca’s latest attempt to turn me into a walking fertility clinic,” I replied, trying for casual despite the way my body responded to their collective attention with magnetic pull. “Apparently, I’m not getting knocked up fast enough for his timeline.”

Mr. Iceflare’s eyes narrowed, his gaze tracking over my naked form with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness. “That’s not just a pheromone enhancer. It’s something else.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when it made me go from zero to horny in about five seconds flat,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in a pathetic attempt at modesty. “De Luca called it a fertility booster. Said it would make me more ‘receptive.’ Whatever that means.”

“It means he’s getting desperate,” Mr. Storm said. “Dangerous.”

“For who?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. When alphas got desperate, omegas suffered. Tale as old as secondary genders.

“For all of us,” Mr. Iceflare replied, his gaze holding mine with unsettling intensity. “Come here, little mouse.”

The nickname, which had once irritated me beyond reason, now sent a flutter through my stomach that had nothing to do with the oil’s effects. I moved toward the bed, hyperaware of three pairs of eyes tracking my every movement with predatory focus.

As I approached the bed, their scents overwhelmed me completely—stronger, richer, more complex.

Mr. Iceflare’s crisp winter pine with notes of bergamot made my skin tingle with heightened awareness.

Mr. Enigma’s rich cinnamon and warm vanilla enveloped me in seductive warmth.

Mr. Storm’s fresh rain and cedar grounded me even as it accelerated my pulse to dangerous speeds.

Together, they created a symphony of alpha pheromones that made my head spin with dizzying intensity.

“That oil is affecting you more than you realize,” Mr. Iceflare said, reaching out to catch my wrist as I swayed slightly.

His touch sent electric currents racing up my arm, both painful and pleasurable.

“Your pupils are dilated, your skin is flushed, and your scent…” He inhaled deeply, his eyes darkening further.

“It’s triggering rut responses in all of us. ”

That explained the intensity of their gazes, the tension in their powerful bodies.

Rut was the alpha equivalent of heat, a biological imperative to claim, to breed, to possess.

Unlike omega heat, which left us vulnerable and desperate, alpha rut channeled that desperation into aggression and dominance.

Just my luck to be trapped in a room with three rutting alphas while my body betrayed me by finding the whole situation arousing rather than terrifying.