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MATTEO

T he holographic city map glowed in the darkened conference room, sectors illuminated in colors that represented territories, alliances, and threats. In the silence of predawn, with Luca still sleeping in the aftermath of heat, I studied the shifting landscape of power with the focus of a general preparing for inevitable conflict.

Three days had passed since his heat had receded completely. Three days of recalibration—chemical, strategic, personal. The claiming bite at his neck had healed to a raised scar that pulsed with shared biology, our scents permanently altered in ways that announced our bond to anyone with the ability to detect it. No longer just paper claiming, but molecular truth.

The Souza territory glowed red on the eastern quadrant of the map, their reach extending like arterial bleeding into sectors that had once been neutral ground. My finger traced the boundary where their influence had begun encroaching on Corvino holdings—subtle intrusions that presaged more aggressive moves to come.

"They've doubled security at their downtown properties," Carlo reported, his voice carrying the fatigue of sleepless surveillance. " And Emilio has recalled his daughter from Milan . The entire family is consolidating."

"Preparing for war," I translated flatly, the metallic scent of gun oil rising from the weapons laid out on the table before me—a ritual of preparation that predated conscious memory. My hands moved through the familiar motions of cleaning, checking, loading. Violence readied with the same precision I applied to all aspects of my life.

"Should we evacuate to the estate?" Carlo asked, the question carrying more meaning than its surface suggested. The family compound would offer tactical advantages, resources, manpower. It would also place us directly under my father's influence—the very control I had rejected when claiming Luca publicly.

"No." The answer emerged with certainty born of instinct rather than calculation. " We maintain position. But it's time to move Luca closer."

Carlo's eyebrow lifted fractionally—the subtle tell of surprise he rarely allowed himself to display. " The panic room?"

"My office," I corrected, holstering the Beretta with mechanical efficiency. " He's safer within arm's reach than behind walls that can be breached."

The decision crystallized not from tactical analysis but from something more primal—a need to keep what was mine within the territory I could personally defend. The claiming had altered more than scent or legal status. It had rewired protective instincts in ways I was still discovering, still mapping like unknown terrain.

"Have the security footage from the infiltration been analyzed?" I asked, moving to the window where dawn had begun painting the eastern sky in watercolor strokes of crimson and gold. Blood sunrise, my father would have called it. Omen of conflict to come.

"Facial recognition identified the woman who delivered the tampered suppressants. Freelancer , not directly Souza ." Carlo placed a tablet before me, displaying the image of an unremarkable beta woman with practiced invisibility in her bearing. " Untraceable now. Likely eliminated once the job was complete."

My jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath controlled exterior. The Souzas operated with calculated brutality—using pawns easily sacrificed, keeping their own hands technically clean. Their manipulation of Luca's biology through sabotaged suppressants represented violation on a level that transcended mere business conflict. It had become personal in ways they couldn't have anticipated.

"When do we move against them?" Carlo's question held no judgment, only practical assessment.

"Not yet." I turned from the window, decision forming with cold clarity. " First , we find the money. Follow it to whoever orchestrated the theft. Build the complete picture before striking."

"And Luca's role?"

The question hung between us, weighted with implications about trust, about vulnerability, about the omega who now carried my claim and my scent. My consigliere, ever practical, was questioning not Luca's loyalty but his capacity to participate in what would inevitably become dangerous territory.

"He's the key to unraveling the financial trail," I replied, gathering the tablet and weapons with economical movements. " And he's mine to protect while he does it."

The possessive declaration emerged without conscious thought—alpha certainty coloring words that might once have been purely strategic. The claiming had altered more than biology; it had shifted perspective in ways I was still integrating, still reconciling with the underboss who had built reputation on calculated control rather than instinctive response.

"Ready the secure room in my office," I instructed, moving toward the door with purpose reignited. " We begin today."

* * *

Luca stood at the threshold of my private office, uncertainty evident in the slight tension of his shoulders despite the calm his expression projected. Three days of recovery had restored physical equilibrium after the intensity of heat, but something more profound had settled into his bearing—a quiet dignity that transcended omega stereotypes, a strength that existed in counterpoint to vulnerability rather than in denial of it.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, voice steady though his scent betrayed lingering anxiety—honey notes sharpened with alertness, with caution.

"Come in," I replied, setting aside financial reports to give him my full attention. " No need for formality between us now."

The reminder of our altered status—bonded, claimed, chemically linked—softened something in his posture. He entered, closing the door behind him with careful precision before approaching my desk.

"I've set up a secure workspace here," I explained, gesturing to the adjacent room visible through glass partitions—a space usually reserved for the most sensitive Corvino operations, now reconfigured with dual workstations and enhanced security protocols. " You'll be safer working near me than isolated in the penthouse."

His gaze moved to the reinforced room, assessment rather than acquiescence in his expression. " You're expecting trouble."

"I'm preparing for inevitabilities," I corrected, moving around the desk to stand closer to him—close enough that our scents mingled in the space between us, the chemical reminder of claiming triggering something possessive and protective simultaneously. " The Souzas have made their intentions clear through the suppressant sabotage. They'll make additional moves."

Luca nodded, absorbing the information with the analytical focus that had first drawn my attention when he'd brought evidence of missing millions. No hysterics, no denial—just practical assessment of the reality surrounding us.

"I've been reviewing the transactions again," he said, surprising me with the revelation that he'd continued working despite the physical demands of heat recovery. " There's something I missed before."

Interest sharpened my focus. " Show me."

He moved to my desk with newfound confidence, retrieving his tablet from his messenger bag to display complex financial diagrams I recognized from our earlier investigations. The familiarity of the action—of his methodical approach to problems that would have overwhelmed lesser minds—triggered unexpected warmth beneath my practiced neutrality.

"The money didn't just disappear into offshore accounts," he explained, fingers tracing patterns across the screen with precise movements. " It reappeared here—" A highlighted transaction pulsed red against the display. " And here." Another pulse, another seemingly unrelated business entity. " Sanitized , rerouted, but ultimately flowing back into holdings connected to Souza shell companies."

I studied the evidence with growing admiration for his tenacity, his attention to detail that surpassed even my own financial experts. " When did you discover this?"

"Last night," he admitted, a hint of color touching his cheeks. " I couldn't sleep. Working helps me... process."

The admission revealed more than financial findings—it showed how he coped with upheaval, with the profound changes of the past week. Not through emotional displays or retreat, but through the application of intelligence to problems he could solve when personal circumstances defied simple resolution.

"You're not just smart, Luca ," I said, the assessment emerging with uncharacteristic openness. " You're brilliant."

The praise caught him off guard, his scent brightening momentarily with surprise before he controlled the reaction. " It's just pattern recognition. Numbers don't lie, even when people try to make them."

"Don't diminish your abilities," I countered, moving closer to examine the financial pathways he'd uncovered. " What you've found connects the Souzas directly to the missing funds. This is the evidence we needed."

His proximity affected me more profoundly than I'd anticipated—his scent now carrying subtle notes of my own, the claiming bond amplifying awareness of his physical presence in ways that transcended conscious control. The omega accountant who had entered my life through missing millions now occupied territory beyond strategic alliance—territory I was increasingly unwilling to define in purely tactical terms.

"There's something else," he continued, unaware of the effect his nearness produced. " The transactions correlate with meetings between your father and Vincenzo . Every major fund movement occurred within twenty-four hours of their private consultations."

The implication hung between us, unspoken but unavoidable. My father—potential conspiracy with the Souzas against his own family. Against his heir. Against me.

"You've confirmed what I suspected," I acknowledged, a coldness settling beneath the warmth his proximity had generated. " My father is positioning for succession planning that doesn't include me."

Luca's gaze lifted to mine, understanding blooming in his expression. " The Souza alliance he wanted through marriage. When you refused Sofia ..."

"He found alternative strategies for merging interests," I finished, the pieces falling into place with devastating clarity. " Using family funds to establish joint ventures, creating financial entanglements that would bind our organizations regardless of my cooperation."

"And I discovered it," Luca concluded, comprehension hardening his voice. " That's why he was so quick to accuse me of theft. Why he wanted me eliminated. I wasn't just a convenient omega scapegoat— I was a genuine threat to his plans."

The realization transformed our understanding of events—from isolated theft to coordinated strategy, from random targeting to deliberate elimination attempt. My father had been playing a longer game than even I had anticipated, using family resources to secure his vision of the future regardless of my resistance.

"Your discovery threatened everything," I confirmed, something fierce and protective igniting at the recognition of how close they had come to eliminating what was now mine. " But claiming you publicly disrupted their timeline. Now they're adjusting tactics—forcing heat through suppressant sabotage, attempting to compromise you biologically when they couldn't remove you physically."

Luca absorbed this with remarkable composure, his analytical mind processing implications with the same precision he applied to financial anomalies. " Then what they did wasn't just about forcing your hand through my biology. It was about creating vulnerability they could exploit to access the evidence I've gathered."

"Yes," I acknowledged, admiration deepening for the intelligence that saw beyond the obvious to underlying strategy. " But they miscalculated."

"The claiming strengthened rather than compromised us," he observed, fingers unconsciously rising to touch the mark at his neck—the claiming bite that had altered our biochemistry, our legal status, our position within competing power structures.

"More than they can possibly understand," I agreed, allowing myself to brush his hand where it touched the claiming mark—the first deliberate contact since heat had receded and rational choice had replaced biological imperative. The touch sent awareness cascading through my system, the bond between us pulsing with chemical recognition of what we had become to each other.

Luca didn't pull away, his eyes meeting mine with something that transcended omega submission or calculated alliance. Partnership , perhaps. Or something more complex still—something neither of us had names for yet.

"We should decrypt the rest of the financial data," he said, voice steadier than his scent, which had sweetened with awareness of our proximity. " If we can establish the complete trail, trace every dollar to its final destination..."

"We expose their entire operation," I finished, reluctantly breaking contact to move toward the secured room where our joint investigation would continue. " Come with me."

The workspace I'd prepared reflected lessons learned through claiming and consequence—two stations positioned to allow collaboration without isolation, security protocols that protected without imprisoning, resources that empowered rather than controlled. Not the gilded cage of my penthouse, but a fortress designed for partnership rather than possession.

Luca's expression registered surprise as he took in the careful preparation, the consideration evident in every detail. " You've thought this through."

"You're safer near me," I repeated, the simple truth beneath complex security measures. " And we work better together than apart."

The admission surprised me as it emerged—not calculated to gain cooperation but honest recognition of how our separate strengths had begun complementing rather than competing. His financial acumen paired with my strategic thinking. His attention to detail balanced against my broader vision. Omega and alpha, accountant and underboss, creating something more effective than either could achieve alone.

* * *

LUCA

Eight hours into our investigation, fatigue had settled across my shoulders like a physical weight. The secure room felt smaller with each passing hour, the walls of data closing in as we chased financial ghosts through digital labyrinths. My eyes burned from staring at screens, numbers and transactions blurring into meaningless sequences as midnight approached.

Across from me, Matteo maintained his focus with the preternatural stamina that defined him—alpha resilience that seemed impervious to ordinary human limitations. His dark eyes moved methodically between screens, cataloging connections my analysis revealed with the precision of a predator tracking prey through familiar territory.

But something wasn't right.

I sat back, removing my glasses to press fingers against tired eyes. The pattern remained elusive—a whisper just beyond conscious recognition, a shadow glimpsed in peripheral vision that vanished when directly observed. We'd traced the missing funds through seven different shell companies, followed their reemergence in Souza -adjacent holdings, established timeline correlations with Don Corvino's private meetings.

Yet something fundamental remained hidden.

"There's another layer," I murmured, mostly to myself.

Matteo's attention shifted instantly, his focus narrowing with that disconcerting intensity that made it impossible to forget what he was—alpha, predator, underboss capable of ordered violence with the same precision he applied to strategic planning.

"Show me," he said, the simple command carrying no dominance, only respect for what I might have discovered.

I shook my head, frustration bleeding through professional detachment. " I can't... not yet. It's like seeing a face in fog— I know it's there, but I can't make out the features."

He studied me with that unnerving stillness that seemed to strip away pretenses, to see beyond constructed facades to something essential beneath. Not alpha assessing omega, but strategist recognizing fellow tactician.

"Then we approach differently," he decided, rising from his chair with fluid grace that belied hours of immobility. " Step away. Reset your perspective."

The suggestion—so contrary to my natural inclination to pursue problems until solved—caught me off guard. " We don't have time for?—"

"We make time," he interrupted, the authority in his tone softened by something almost like gentleness. " Your mind is your greatest weapon, Luca . Weapons require maintenance."

The assessment—my mind as weapon, as asset, as something valuable beyond my secondary gender—registered with unexpected impact. Matteo moved to the small kitchenette integrated into the secure room, returning moments later with two cups of something that smelled like the expensive tea he preferred over coffee.

"Drink," he said, placing one before me. " Then tell me what you're seeing that eludes direct observation."

I accepted the cup, allowing its warmth to seep into hands I hadn't realized had grown cold. The liquid tasted of bergamot and something subtler, a blend probably worth more than I'd once earned in a day. The normality of it—of sharing tea while discussing financial crimes and family betrayal—struck me as absurdly incongruous with our situation.

"It's the timing," I said finally, giving voice to the shadow-pattern forming in my consciousness. " The transactions follow a specific sequence, but not the one we'd expect if this were purely about moving funds from Corvino to Souza interests."

Matteo's expression remained neutral, but something in his scent shifted—interest sharpening the sandalwood and cedar notes that now carried subtle undertones of my own honey-citrus. The bond between us translating chemical awareness where words might prove insufficient.

"Elaborate," he encouraged, nothing in his tone suggesting impatience or doubt—only genuine interest in what I'd begun uncovering.

I set the cup aside, reaching instead for blank paper—sometimes physical representation helped clarify digital complexity. My hand moved across the page, sketching timelines, transaction patterns, correlations between fund movements and known events.

"If this were simple embezzlement, or even strategic alliance-building as we've assumed, the pattern would show gradual accumulation," I explained, pen creating visual representation of the concept. " But what we're seeing is cyclical—funds move out, return, move again in rhythmic sequence that suggests..." I paused, the final piece clicking into place with sudden clarity.

"Testing," Matteo supplied, his intelligence keeping pace with my analysis even without omega attention to micro-patterns. " Trial runs."

"Exactly." My pen circled a particular sequence of transactions. " Not building alliance, but preparing infrastructure. Creating financial pipelines that could move much larger sums when needed. The ten million wasn't the goal—it was the proof of concept."

The implication hung between us—not embezzlement but preparation for something far more significant. Not alliance but groundwork for potential takeover.

"My father isn't just considering alternatives to my succession," Matteo concluded, cold certainty hardening his voice. " He's preparing to eliminate me entirely."

The brutality of the assessment should have shocked me. Instead , it aligned perfectly with the numerical evidence—the dispassionate truth of data that couldn't lie when properly decoded. My fingers traced the pattern I'd sketched, the physical representation confirming what digital analysis had suggested.

"These transaction dates," I said, circling specific points on the timeline. " They correlate with assassination attempts attributed to rival families. Attempts against you, specifically."

Matteo's expression revealed nothing, but his scent shifted subtly—anger controlled so precisely it barely registered through our bond. " My father financing attempts on my life through Souza proxies. Creating plausible deniability while testing financial infrastructure that could later transfer my inheritance after my convenient elimination."

The clinical assessment of his own father's betrayal—delivered without emotion despite the bond that now connected us on molecular levels—showcased the compartmentalization that had allowed Matteo Corvino to survive in a world where family loyalty meant something very different than in ordinary contexts.

"There's more," I continued, turning back to the computer with renewed focus, fingers flying across the keyboard as I accessed deeper levels of encrypted data. " If we apply this pattern recognition to other Corvino holdings—specifically the legitimate business interests under your direct control rather than your father's?—"

My voice faltered as confirmation appeared on screen—digital evidence more damning than even I had anticipated. " Your father has been systematically transferring controlling interests in your companies to shell corporations that trace back to this entity." I highlighted a corporate name I'd originally dismissed as irrelevant background. " Mezzanotte Holdings ."

Matteo moved to stand behind me, his proximity sending awareness cascading through my system despite the gravity of our discovery. His hand settled on the back of my chair—not touching me directly, but close enough that his scent enveloped me, protective alpha pheromones responding to what he recognized as genuine threat to what was his.

"Mezzanotte," he repeated, the word emerging as recognition rather than question. " My mother's maiden name."

Understanding crystallized between us—not random corporate entity but deliberate choice, symbolic declaration hidden in plain sight for those who knew where to look. Don Corvino hadn't just been planning alternative succession; he'd been creating shadow empire built from pieces stolen from his own son, named for the wife whose death had fractured whatever bond might once have existed between father and heir.

"He's been planning this for years," Matteo observed, voice dropping to register that vibrated with controlled fury. " Since before he began pushing the Sofia marriage arrangement. A contingency plan if I proved... uncooperative."

"A plan I disrupted when I found the missing millions," I added, pieces connecting with devastating clarity. " When I brought the evidence to you instead of him. When we formed alliance he hadn't anticipated."

"When I claimed you publicly," Matteo finished, his hand moving from the chair to my shoulder, the contact sending awareness cascading through our bond despite the gravity of our discovery. " When I chose partnership over political expediency."

The touch—warm and solid through the fabric of my shirt—anchored me as implications expanded outward from our discovery. Not just financial crimes but orchestrated betrayal at levels that transcended ordinary family politics. Not just succession planning but calculated elimination of heir who had proven resistant to manipulation.

"No one else could have found this," Matteo said quietly, the assessment emerging with certainty that registered through our bond as genuine rather than mere flattery. " Not my financial team. Not Carlo . Not even me."

I looked up at him, surprised by the open admiration in his expression—alpha acknowledging omega capability without qualification or reservation. " I just followed the numbers," I offered, uncomfortable with praise that felt foreign after years of calculated invisibility.

"No," Matteo countered, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder. " You saw patterns no one else recognized. Connections no one else made. You unwound financial labyrinths designed by people who've spent decades hiding their activities from international authorities." His gaze held mine with intensity that transmitted through our bond with unmistakable sincerity. " You're not just smart, Luca . You're brilliant. The most formidable mind I've encountered in any secondary gender."

The assessment—delivered without qualification or patronization—settled something restless within me, some need for recognition that transcended omega biology or human vanity. Not praise sought, but capability acknowledged. Not weakness accommodated, but strength respected.

"So now we have proof," I said, redirecting focus to the practical implications of our discovery. " What do we do with it?"

Matteo's expression shifted to something colder, more calculated—the underboss reasserting himself beneath the mate who had momentarily shown genuine admiration. " We prepare counteroffensive. Secure what remains under my direct control. Build evidence package too comprehensive for even my father to dismiss or manipulate."

The shift from appreciation to strategy might once have disappointed me—evidence that even this alpha, who had shown capacity for connection beyond secondary gender, prioritized tactical advantage over emotional acknowledgment. But something in his scent told a different story—the protection, the pride, the genuine respect persisting beneath strategic focus rather than replacing it.

"And us?" I asked, the question emerging before I could filter it through professional detachment. " Where do we fit in this counteroffensive?"

Matteo's hand moved from my shoulder to brush the claiming mark at my neck—the touch sending awareness cascading through our bond with intensity that belied its brevity. " We remain what we've become," he said simply. " Partners in ways my father never anticipated when he set these plans in motion."

The declaration—of partnership rather than possession, of connection that transcended strategic alliance or biological claiming—registered through our bond with certainty that translated where words alone might have proven insufficient.

"Partners," I agreed, accepting the definition that had begun evolving between us since paper claiming had progressed to physical bonding.

The evidence glowed on screens surrounding us—digital proof of betrayal that would have destroyed me as convenient scapegoat if Matteo hadn't intervened, if claiming hadn't transformed strategic alliance into something neither of us had vocabulary to fully define. The numbers told their story with mathematical precision—the language I'd always trusted when human motivations remained opaque or suspect.

But for the first time, the certainty of those numbers felt less significant than the certainty forming between alpha and omega, between underboss and accountant, between two people navigating territory more complex than either had anticipated when this journey began.

Perhaps that was the most unexpected discovery of all—that in a world defined by calculation and strategy, by violence and manipulation, the partnership forming between us might prove more consequential than even the betrayal we'd uncovered together.

Fingers unconsciously rising to touch the claiming mark at my neck, I turned back to the screens, to the evidence only I had been able to unravel. My mind—the weapon Matteo had recognized and respected beyond biological designation or traditional hierarchy—focusing once more on the patterns that would protect what we were building together.

What had begun as paper claiming had evolved into something neither of us had fully anticipated—a partnership forged through crisis and choice alike, strengthened through mutual recognition of capability beyond secondary gender or traditional expectation.

His, alpha biology insisted with possessive certainty.

Ours, partnership countered with evolving conviction.

The distinction made all the difference as we faced betrayal that threatened everything we'd begun building together—from claiming bond to mutual respect, from biological connection to genuine partnership.

My fingers returned to the keyboard, mind once again engaging with the numerical evidence I alone had been able to decode. Not just omega serving alpha purpose, but equal contributor to partnership neither had anticipated when this journey began. The ultimate vindication against those who would have dismissed me as mere pawn, as useful scapegoat, as biological vulnerability rather than intellectual asset.

"Let's finish what we've started," I said, certainty hardening my voice as I prepared to dismantle, through pure intellectual prowess, the machinations of those who had underestimated what this omega could accomplish.