Page 64 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

Brad’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. “Wasn’t a request, omega.”

I shrugged off his hand, biting back the retort that would definitely get me fired and possibly get my teeth rearranged. “Fine. Let me finish this rack.”

“Now,” he growled, letting a hint of alpha command slip into his voice.

My omega biology responded before my brain could intervene, my shoulders hunching slightly in submission.

I hated it, hated him, hated my own body for betraying me yet again.

I needed this job. Needed the money. Needed to stay invisible.

But something in me rebelled today, a tiny spark of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the nightmare or maybe my omega instincts were finally developing some self-respect.

“Whatever you say, alpha,” I said, my words dripping with sarcasm as I stripped off my gloves. “Lead the way to your precious delivery. I’m sure the fate of the free world depends on those boxes of frozen mozzarella sticks.”

Brad smirked, clearly enjoying the power trip, and led me toward the loading dock.

I followed, keeping a careful distance. As we passed the swinging doors to the dining room, I caught a glimpse of the lunch crowd—businesspeople in expensive suits, most of them alphas judging by their confident postures and the way the staff fawned over them.

“Keep moving, omega,” Brad snapped, noticing my distraction.

I tore my gaze away, heart hammering in my chest. It wasn’t that I was looking for anyone specific. Definitely not. Just a natural wariness of rooms full of alphas. That’s all.

For the rest of my shift, I jumped at shadows, flinching whenever someone passed by the kitchen doors. By closing time, my nerves were frayed completely, and an unexpected wave of nausea rolled through me as I was cleaning the final batch of pots.

“Great,” I said, swallowing hard against the sudden queasiness. “Just what I need. Food poisoning from the staff meal I barely touched. Or maybe it’s just my body’s natural reaction to Brad’s personality. Medical science should look into that—alpha-induced nausea. I could be a case study.”

“You okay, Ty?”

I looked up to see Megan, one of the few servers who actually acknowledged my existence as something more than a dish-cleaning automaton. She was a beta with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude that I appreciated, mainly because she treated me like a person instead of a walking secondary gender.

“Yeah, just tired,” I said, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Long day of living the dream, you know? Scraping other people’s half-eaten food into garbage cans. It’s what I went to school for.”

She studied me for a moment, then reached into her apron and pulled out a paper bag. “Here. Leftover tiramisu. Was gonna get thrown out anyway.”

It was an obvious lie, the restaurant never had leftover desserts, but I appreciated the gesture. “Thanks, Megan. My hero, saving innocent tiramisu from a cruel fate in the garbage.”

“Don’t mention it.” She glanced around, then lowered her voice. “Hey, just a heads-up. There were some alphas asking about you today.”

My blood turned to ice. “What?”

“Corporate types. Noticed you when you passed by the dining room. Asked if you were available for ‘private events.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, her disgust evident. “Manager told them to talk to him after hours.”

The implication was clear. My status as an omega made me a commodity to be bought and sold, even here in this greasy kitchen where I’d thought I was invisible.

“Great,” I said. “Just what I need. As if this job wasn’t soul-crushing enough, now I get to be auctioned off like a prize pig at the county fair.”

“Be careful leaving tonight,” Megan advised. “Maybe go out the back way.”

I nodded, grateful for the warning. “Thanks, Megan. I owe you one.”

“Just save me a seat when you open your own bakery someday,” she said with a wink, then headed back to the dining room.

Her casual confidence in my future, a future beyond dishwashing and hiding, caught me off guard. I’d almost forgotten that I used to have dreams. Used to be someone beyond “that male omega” or “De Luca’s breeder” or “the alphas’ plaything.”

I used to be Ty Hart, baker extraordinaire, future pastry chef with my own shop. The boy who could make sourdough rise perfectly and croissants so flaky they’d make a French chef weep with joy.

The memory of that former self was deeply painful. I finished my shift in silence, the weight of everything I’d lost pressing down on me heavily.

By closing time, the restaurant had emptied of customers, and most of the staff had gone home to lives that probably involved more than a lonely apartment and nightmares about alpha mafia bosses.

I changed out of my work clothes in the cramped employee bathroom, pulling my hood up despite the warm evening.

Megan’s warning about the alphas lingered in my mind as I prepared to leave.

“Hey, Hart.”

I turned to see Reynolds standing in the hallway. His usual scowl was replaced by something more calculating, as though assessing my value.

“Got a proposition for you,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Some businessmen were impressed with your… presentation. Willing to pay good money for some private time.”

My stomach churned, another wave of nausea threatening to bring up the meager lunch I’d choked down hours ago. “I’m a dishwasher, not a prostitute. Though I appreciate the career advice. Really broadens my horizons.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Just a private party. All you gotta do is serve drinks, look pretty.” His gaze finally met mine, cold and assessing. “Pay’s five times what you make here in a week.”

The offer was tempting—God knows I needed the money—but I wasn’t naive enough to believe it was just about serving drinks. I hadn’t fallen that far yet, no matter how desperate my situation.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I said, edging toward the door. “I’m allergic to ‘private parties’ where omegas mysteriously disappear. Gives me hives. Very unattractive.”

Reynolds stepped closer, blocking my path. “Wasn’t really asking, Hart. These are important clients. You don’t want to lose your job here, do you?”

The threat was clear. Sleep with the alphas or get fired. My options were narrowing rapidly.

“Actually,” I said, straightening my spine and channeling every ounce of dignity I had left, “I quit. Keep your job and your ‘proposition.’ I hear the sex trafficking industry is always looking for new recruiters if the restaurant business doesn’t work out for you.”

I pushed past him before he could respond, heart pounding as I headed for the back exit. I’d worry about finding another job tomorrow. Right now, I just needed to get home safely, preferably without being sold to the highest bidder.

The alley behind the restaurant was dark, lit only by a single flickering security light that seemed to be having an existential crisis.

I pulled my hood lower and started walking, trying to look confident despite the fear churning in my gut.

The main street was just fifty yards away.

If I could reach it, I’d be relatively safe in the crowd.

I was halfway there when I heard footsteps behind me. Multiple sets, moving quickly.

“Hey, omega! Hold up!”

I didn’t need to turn to recognize Brad’s voice, now accompanied by what sounded like at least two others. I walked faster, praying I could reach the street before they caught up.

No such luck. A hand grabbed my arm, spinning me around to face three men—Brad and two alphas in expensive suits that I recognized from the dining room earlier. They had that polished, predatory look of men who were used to taking what they wanted without consequences.

“There he is,” Brad said, grinning at the businessmen. “Told you he was pretty.”

“Let go of me,” I growled, trying to pull away. “I have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it.” I didn’t, but they didn’t need to know that.

The taller alpha—salt-and-pepper hair, designer watch, predatory smile—stepped closer, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, delicious. Male omega is such a rare treat.”

“I’m not on the menu,” I snapped, fighting the instinctive urge to submit to the alpha pheromones now flooding the alley. “Back off before I scream loud enough to shatter your overpriced veneers.”

“Feisty,” the second alpha chuckled, younger but equally well dressed. “I like that. Makes it more fun when they finally submit.”

Brad’s grip on my arm tightened. “Reynolds said you’d be cooperative. Don’t make this difficult.”

I looked around desperately for a weapon, an escape route, anything. The street seemed impossibly distant now, the security light casting grotesque shadows that made the alley feel like a trap.

“I’ll scream,” I warned, though we both knew it was an empty threat. No one would come running to help an omega in this part of town.

“Go ahead,” the older alpha said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I jerked away from his touch. “No one will hear you over the traffic.”

I was about to knee him in the groin, consequences be damned, when headlights suddenly illuminated the alley, a car turning in from the street. All four of us froze as the vehicle approached, its high beams blinding in the darkness.

The car stopped, engine still running, and for a moment nothing happened. Then the driver’s door opened, and a figure stepped out—tall, imposing, face hidden in shadow.

“Problem here, gentlemen?” The voice was deep, commanding.

Brad released my arm immediately, his alpha bravado crumbling in the face of this new arrival. “No problem. Just talking to my friend here.”