Page 67 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

twenty-four

. . .

The command center beneath the Trinity Syndicate headquarters hummed with activity despite the late hour.

Screens lined the walls, displaying surveillance footage, data streams, and tracking information.

At the center of it all, Anders Knight stood with his hands clasped behind his back, ice-blue eyes fixed on a particular monitor showing a familiar figure washing dishes in a restaurant kitchen.

“Report,” he said, his voice deceptively calm despite the way his pulse quickened at the sight of Ty’s slender form.

Viktor, their head of security, stepped forward. “We’ve maintained surveillance as instructed, sir. Target maintains regular patterns—work, home, occasional grocery trips. No contact with De Luca’s organization or law enforcement.”

Anders studied the grainy footage, a muscle working in his jaw as he took in how much thinner Ty had become.

Even through the poor quality, he could see the sharp angles of Ty’s cheekbones, the delicate fragility of his wrists as he moved with that defiant grace that had first entranced Anders during their imprisonment.

The sight ignited a slow-burning rage in Anders’ chest, mingled with an ache of longing so intense it bordered on physical pain.

Their little mouse was suffering, and the alpha in him roared at the injustice of it.

“His living conditions?” Anders asked, though he already knew the answer from previous reports. His fingers twitched with the need to touch, to claim, to protect what was rightfully theirs.

“Substandard,” Viktor replied. “The apartment is secure but poorly maintained. Heat is inconsistent. He’s been rationing food to make rent.”

Behind Anders, Conall made a low sound of displeasure that rumbled from deep in his chest. “This isn’t what we discussed.”

“No,” Anders agreed, “it isn’t.”

The search for Ty had consumed them for nearly two months.

What should have been a simple tracking operation had proven surprisingly challenging.

Their little omega had covered his tracks well, avoiding digital footprints and staying away from areas with extensive surveillance coverage.

When they finally located him, Anders had felt a savage satisfaction that bordered on euphoria.

Their omega had been found. Now it was simply a matter of reclaiming him properly.

“Continue,” Anders instructed Viktor, unable to tear his gaze from Ty’s image on the screen. Even exhausted and stressed, their little mouse moved with a quiet determination that made Anders’ chest tighten with something dangerously close to admiration.

The security chief tapped a tablet, bringing up new footage. “There’s been a development. The restaurant manager has been encouraging harassment. Today he attempted to coerce Hart into attending a ‘private party’ with these men.”

The screen showed two alpha businessmen leering at Ty as he passed through the dining room, their intentions clear in their predatory postures.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Anders’ expression hardened into something lethal.

Beside him, Wyatt’s hand moved to his weapon, an unconscious gesture that spoke volumes.

The mere thought of other alphas touching what belonged to the Trinity sent a wave of possessive rage through Anders so intense he could taste it—metallic and sharp at the back of his throat.

“Names,” Anders said, the single word carrying the weight of a death sentence.

“Richard Richardson and James Keller,” Viktor supplied. “Richardson owns a development company that’s been trying to move into Corsini territory. Keller is his VP of operations.”

“And now they’re trying to move on what’s ours,” Conall said, his usual charm replaced by something darker, more primal. His green eyes glittered with a dangerous light that promised retribution.

Anders watched as the footage continued, showing Ty leaving work, the businessmen following with the restaurant’s line cook.

His jaw tightened to the point of pain as he saw them corner Ty in the alley.

Those men were touching what belonged to the Trinity.

What belonged to him. It was an offense that could only be answered with blood.

“Our men were instructed not to intervene,” Viktor explained quickly, sensing the alphas’ mounting rage. “Per your orders to maintain distance from Hart.”

“Where was this?” Anders demanded, every muscle in his body coiled with the need to hunt, to eliminate any threat to their omega.

“Three blocks from the restaurant.”

Anders checked his watch. “That’s less than ten minutes from Vitale territory.”

He pulled out his phone, dialing a number from memory. It was answered on the second ring.

“Marco,” Anders said without preamble. “I need a favor.”

The parking garage echoed with Richardson’s screams as Anders methodically dislocated his fingers one by one. The businessman’s expensive suit was now stained with blood and urine, his earlier bravado replaced by pathetic begging.

“Please,” Richardson sobbed, “I didn’t know he belonged to you. I swear I didn’t know!”

Anders paused, studying the broken man with clinical detachment that masked the savage satisfaction coursing through his veins. Every scream was a balm to the primal part of him that had been roaring for retribution since seeing those hands on their little mouse.

“That’s the problem with men like you, Richardson. You think omegas are public property unless explicitly claimed.” He grabbed the man’s hand again, twisting the thumb until a sickening pop silenced the garage. “This one has always been ours. From the moment he was born.”

Nearby, Keller whimpered through a mouthful of broken teeth, watching his boss’ torture with wide, terrified eyes.

Wyatt stood over him, expression impassive as he documented the proceedings with his phone.

The Vitale contingent had departed after the initial introductions, Marco recognizing that what followed wasn’t meant for allied eyes.

“Business is business,” Anders continued conversationally, wiping blood from his knuckles with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“Territories can be negotiated. Profits can be shared. But some things are absolute.” He crouched to meet Richardson’s pain-glazed eyes.

“The omega is ours. Not to look at. Not to speak to. Not even to think about.”

With surgical precision, Anders drove his fist into Richardson’s knee, shattering the patella.

The businessman’s scream echoed through the concrete structure, bouncing off walls and returning like a grotesque chorus.

The sound satisfied something primal in Anders’ chest, justice for the fear these men had caused their little mouse.

“Consider this a professional courtesy,” Anders said, standing and straightening his cuffs. “A lesson in the natural order of things. Had you succeeded in touching him…” He let the sentence hang unfinished, the implication clear.

Conall approached, having finished his call. “The restaurant has been addressed. The owner now understands his responsibilities.”

Anders nodded, satisfaction curling through him. “And our omega’s position?”

“Secured, with improvements. Morning shifts only, away from customer areas.” Conall’s smile was cold. “The owner was quite receptive once I explained the alternatives.”

Anders cast a final look at the broken men on the concrete floor. “Have them delivered to the hospital. Anonymous drop-off. Make sure they understand that speaking about tonight would be… unhealthy.”

As they walked toward their waiting car, Conall fell into step beside Anders. “The restaurant is technically in our territory. The owner has been skimming from protection payments for years.”

“Has he now?” Anders raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps a change in management is due.”

“Already arranged,” Conall confirmed. “He’ll sign over controlling interest by the end of the week.”

Anders smiled slightly. “Efficient as always.”

The car pulled away from the garage, leaving behind the bloodstained concrete and broken men.

Anders gazed out the window at the passing city lights, his thoughts already turning to their next destination.

The violence had sated his immediate rage, but the deeper hunger, the need to reclaim what was theirs, remained undiminished.

“The Vitale meeting is tomorrow,” Conall reminded him. “De Luca will be the primary topic. The Corsinis will be there as well.”

Anders nodded absently, his mind elsewhere.

The Trinity alphas made their usual visit to Ty’s apartment in the early morning. The sun had barely risen, ensuring their little mouse would be at work during their intrusion.

The apartment building was unremarkable—a five-story walk-up in a forgotten neighborhood, its brick facade weathered by decades of neglect. Despite the improvements, the building still showed signs of disrepair that made Conall’s lip curl in distaste.

“Mrs. Patel said the new security door will be installed next week,” he said as they entered the familiar hallway. “The woman drives a hard bargain for building improvements.”

Anders nodded, his mind already focused on their omega.

These daily visits had become a ritual for all three of them—a way to maintain connection with their little mouse even as they kept their distance.

Each alpha experienced the separation differently: Anders with cold, calculated planning; Conall with restless energy; Wyatt with silent, intense longing.

They paused outside apartment 3C, listening for movement, though they knew Ty would be at work. Mrs. Patel had texted their usual confirmation that he’d left for his morning shift.

Wyatt unlocked the door, his stormy eyes immediately scanning the space for any changes since yesterday. He moved silently to the windows, checking the security sensors they’d installed during their first week of surveillance.

“Secure,” he said simply, the single word conveying his complete assessment.