Page 70 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings (Alpha Mafia Kings #1)

I made no move to take the papers. “And if I say no? If I’m perfectly happy washing dishes for minimum wage and no benefits?”

“Then you continue as you are,” he said, though his tone suggested this wasn’t really an option. “But I strongly advise accepting. It’s a… generous opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

The morning passed in a blur of dishes and mops and the constant battle against nausea. By lunch break, I was exhausted, the smell of food making my stomach roll. I escaped to the alley behind the restaurant, sinking onto my usual milk crate and letting the cool air soothe my clammy skin.

“You look like death warmed over,” Megan said, appearing in the doorway with two bottles of water. She handed me one and sat on the crate beside mine. “Still sick?”

I nodded, taking a small sip. “Just a bug. Probably caught something from scraping people’s half-eaten food into garbage cans. The glamorous perks of dishwashing they don’t tell you about in career counseling.”

“Mm-hmm.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “A bug that’s lasted two weeks and only hits in the morning? Very specific bug. Does it also make you sensitive to smells and tired all the time?”

“What are you implying?” I asked, though I knew exactly where she was going. “Just spit it out, Megan. Your subtlety is about as delicate as a sledgehammer to the face.”

“I’m not implying anything.” She shrugged. “Just saying, if I were an omega with your symptoms, I’d be peeing on a stick right about now.”

I choked on my water, nearly spitting it across the alley. “I’m not pregnant.”

“If you say so.” She didn’t sound convinced. “But male omegas can get pregnant, right? I mean, that’s kind of your whole biological thing.”

“Yes, Megan, I’m aware of my ‘biological thing,’” I snapped. “But pregnancy requires sex, which requires a partner, which I definitely don’t have. Unless you count my right hand, and last I checked, that’s not capable of knocking me up, thank God.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I hadn’t had a partner, true, but I’d certainly had sex. Repeatedly. With three devastatingly powerful alphas who’d made my omega instincts sing, whose touch had left me begging for more.

But that was months ago. And I’d been on suppressants. And I’d have noticed by now if I was…

Wouldn’t I?

“Just saying,” Megan continued, oblivious to my internal panic, “you might want to check. Better to know than wonder, right?”

“I’m not wondering because I’m not pregnant,” I insisted, standing up too quickly. The world tilted alarmingly, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. “Whoa. Head rush. Stood up too fast. Happens to everyone.”

“Sure.” Megan was at my side instantly, steadying me with a hand on my arm. “Happens to everyone who’s dehydrated, malnourished, and possibly growing a tiny human. When’s the last time you ate something substantial?”

I tried to remember. Yesterday? The day before? The nausea made it hard to keep track. “I had toast this morning. Very fancy toast. Artisanal. Practically a full meal.”

“Toast isn’t a meal, Ty. It’s what you eat when you’re sick or five years old.” She pressed something into my palm, a small box that I recognized with horror as a pregnancy test. “Just to rule it out, okay? For my peace of mind.”

“Why do you even have this?” I asked, trying to hand it back. “Planning on starting a family with the meat delivery guy you’ve been flirting with?”

“My roommate thought she had a scare last month.” Megan refused to take the box. “Just take it, Ty. What’s the harm in checking? If it’s negative, I’ll buy you lunch for a week and never mention it again.”

The harm was that checking made it real. Made it a possibility I’d have to face. Made it something I couldn’t ignore or deny.

But she was right. Better to know than wonder.

“Fine,” I conceded, shoving the box into my pocket. “If it’ll get you off my back. But when it’s negative, I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu every day for a week.”

“That’s the spirit.” She grinned. “Now, did you hear the latest gossip? Apparently, there’s some big power play happening between the Trinity Syndicate and the De Luca Cartel.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Yeah, Diego’s cousin works at that fancy hotel on the north side, the one near De Luca’s compound?

Says there’s been all kinds of unusual activity.

Security’s been doubled, people coming and going at all hours.

” She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“Word is, the Trinity’s planning to take De Luca out.

Revenge for that bombing a few months back and for kidnapping them. ”

My blood ran cold. “Kidnapping who?”

“The Trinity leaders,” Megan said, eyes wide with the drama of it all. “Apparently De Luca captured them. Used them in some twisted breeding experiment with an omega.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? Kidnapping Anders Knight, Conall O’Reilly, and Wyatt Slater? De Luca must have a death wish.”

The names hit me with shocking force. Anders Knight. Conall O’Reilly. Wyatt Slater. Not the Vitale brothers. The Trinity Syndicate. The alphas who’d been captive with me, who’d been used as I had been used, had names now. Real names. And reputations, apparently.

“Who are they?” I managed, trying to keep my voice steady. “The Trinity?”

Megan looked at me with disbelief. “Seriously? Everyone knows the Trinity. They’re like, the most dangerous mafia clan in the city.

Built their organization from nothing—no family connections, no inherited territory.

Just pure ruthlessness and ambition.” She leaned closer, dropping her voice.

“They say Anders Knight once killed a man for looking at his coffee wrong. And Conall O’Reilly?

He can charm you into giving him your life savings and you’ll thank him for the privilege.

Wyatt Slater’s the quiet one, but that just makes him scarier.

Rumor is he can hit a target at a thousand yards without breaking a sweat. ”

My mouth had gone dry. These were the men who’d been with me in that dungeon? The men who might be the father of the child I wasn’t pregnant with?

“When?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “When is this happening?”

“The raid on De Luca? Soon, from what Diego says. His cousin overheard something about a two- to three-week timeline.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters to us little people. One mafia boss or another, what’s the difference, right?”

The difference was that my father was still being held in De Luca’s compound.

The difference was that if the Trinity—if Anders, Conall, and Wyatt—were planning an assault, there would be chaos.

The perfect cover for a rescue attempt. The perfect chance to save my father before De Luca killed him out of spite or he got caught in the crossfire.

“Right,” I agreed absently, my mind already racing with possibilities. “No difference at all.”

By the time my shift ended, my head was a war zone of conflicting thoughts. The pregnancy test in my pocket felt like a live grenade; Megan’s words about the Trinity kept replaying on loop, and the revelation about De Luca’s impending downfall sent my strategic planning into overdrive.

I needed to think clearly. To plan carefully. To figure out what the hell I was going to do if?—

No. Not if. There was no if. I wasn’t pregnant. Couldn’t be. The universe might hate me, but it couldn’t possibly hate me that much.

The bus ride home was a special kind of torture. Every pothole felt like a personal attack, each sharp turn threatening to reintroduce me to my lunch. By the time I reached my stop, I was clammy and dizzy, clinging to the handrail as I dragged myself up the stairs to my apartment.

Mrs. Patel’s door opened as I passed, her face appearing with that uncanny sixth sense she had for distress. “Tyberius? You look dreadful, my dear.”

“Just tired,” I lied, forcing my face into what probably resembled a grimace more than a smile. “Long day of professional dish sanitization.”

“You look feverish.” She stepped into the hallway, pressing a cool hand to my forehead with the authority only grandmothers possess. “Come in. I’ll make you some tea.”

I wanted to refuse, to retreat to my apartment and face my potential crisis alone, but her kindness was so genuine I followed her inside like a stray puppy. Her apartment smelled of cardamom and ginger—scents that miraculously didn’t trigger my nausea.

“Sit, sit,” she insisted, guiding me to her worn armchair. “You’re working too hard, dear. Not eating properly. A young omega needs proper nutrition.”

I didn’t bother pretending with Mrs. Patel. She’d known what I was from the moment I showed up at her door, though she was kind enough to never mention it directly. One of the few people who saw me as a person first, omega second.

She bustled about her kitchen, preparing tea and arranging cookies on a plate. I watched her with a tightness in my throat, remembering my mother doing the same when I was a child. Before she got sick. Before cancer took her, leaving my father and me to navigate the world alone.

“Drink,” Mrs. Patel said, pressing a steaming cup into my hands. “Ginger tea. Good for upset stomach.”

I took a cautious sip. “Thank you.”

She beamed, settling into the chair opposite mine. “So thin,” she clucked, eyeing me critically. “But glowing, despite it all. Your mother had the same glow when she was carrying you.”

I nearly dropped the cup. “What?”

“Such a beautiful pregnant woman, your mother. Radiant.” Mrs. Patel smiled at the memory. “You have the same look now. The same glow.”

“I’m not— I can’t—” I stammered, setting the cup down with unsteady hands. “Mrs. Patel, I’m not pregnant.”

She looked surprised, then embarrassed. “Oh! Of course not. My mistake. Old eyes playing tricks.” She laughed nervously, waving a dismissive hand. “Forgive an old woman’s foolishness.”