Page 57 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings

“Well,” Ty murmured, voice hoarse from crying out, “I think we’ve conclusively proven that it wasn’t just heat biology making me responsive. My body apparently has terrible taste in men.”

Conall laughed, the sound warm with genuine amusement. “Your body has excellent taste,” he corrected, fingers tracing idle patterns on Ty’s hip. “Your mouth, however, still needs discipline.”

“Many have tried,” Ty replied with a yawn that failed to hide his smile. “None have succeeded.”

Anders watched the exchange with unexpected warmth in his chest. Their little mouse wasn’t fleeing this time, wasn’t rebuilding his walls or retreating behind sarcasm. He remained between them, accepting their touch without flinching away.

“You’re different,” Wyatt said quietly, his stormy eyes studying Ty with that penetrating gaze that seemed to see through all pretense.

“Different how?” Ty asked, tensing slightly under the scrutiny.

“Not running,” Wyatt replied simply.

A complicated expression crossed Ty’s face, vulnerability quickly masked by his usual defenses. “Maybe I’m just too sore to move,” he deflected, though the excuse rang hollow to all of them.

As Ty’s breathing evened out into sleep, the three remained awake, their chains a constant reminder of their captivity. But something fundamental had shifted between them—this was no longer just about survival or escape. This was about protection, about possession, about a future none of them had anticipated.

“De Luca doesn’t know what he’s created,” Conall murmured, his fingers still stroking Ty’s hair.

“No,” Anders agreed, ice-blue eyes hardening with cold purpose. “But he’ll find out.”

Wyatt’s expression remained impassive, but his hand tightened slightly where it rested on Ty’s ankle. “Soon,” he added, the single word heavy with promise.

The Trinity brothers had built their empire through strategic patience and calculated strikes. They would apply the same principles here, wait for the perfect moment, then move with devastating precision. De Luca believed he held all the power, believed his chains and guards and walls would keep them contained.

He was wrong.

And when they broke free, taking what was now irrevocably theirs with them, the old man would learn exactly how wrong he had been.

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?”