Page 11
11
LUCA
T he whispered argument reached me through ventilation ducts like fragments of a broken confession—not meant for my ears yet impossible to unhear. I pressed my back against the cool wall of Matteo's private bathroom, where I'd retreated moments before his father's unscheduled arrival with a contingent of Corvino captains. They hadn't noticed me slipping away, assuming I was merely an omega seeking distance from alpha confrontation.
They had no idea how carefully I'd trained myself to listen from shadows.
"—cannot stand for this disgrace. The omega accountant over the Souza alliance?" Don Corvino's voice carried the particular timbre of controlled rage I'd heard in many alphas—a deceptive calm stretched thin over violent intent. " You have twenty-four hours to rectify this mistake, Matteo . Annul the claiming. Return the omega to his proper place. Or I strip you of everything—your position, your inheritance, the Corvino name itself."
The silence that followed weighed more than any response could have. In that pause lived the shattering of legacy, the fracturing of bloodlines that defined our world's most sacred currency. Family .
"You would disinherit your only son over this?" Matteo's voice emerged lower than his father's, a controlled bass note that revealed nothing of what must be churning beneath.
"Over this? No ." Don Corvino's laugh held no humor. " Over your complete rejection of everything I built. The omega is merely the final evidence of your unsuitability. The Souza alliance would have secured our position for generations. Instead , you choose to follow your knot rather than your brain."
"My brain is precisely what tells me the Souza alliance is poison," Matteo replied, his voice unwavering. " Sofia would have brought nothing but treachery. And Luca has uncovered financial manipulation you thought well-hidden."
"And yet you still don't see," the Don countered. " I wanted you to find it. To understand the necessity of what I've built with Emilio . To recognize power requires sacrifice of sentiment."
My breath caught. The implications spun outward like ripples in dark water—had the missing money been deliberate? A test for Matteo ? For me?
"Twenty-four hours, my son. Decide where your loyalty truly lies—with your family legacy or with an omega who will be forgotten the moment his heat fades."
Footsteps receded, a door closed with careful precision rather than satisfying slam. Power did not announce itself with noise in the Corvino family. It whispered in measured threats, in controlled exits, in the absence of rage where rage would be justified.
I remained motionless against the wall, processing what I'd heard with the same methodical focus I applied to financial discrepancies. The situation had evolved beyond missing millions, beyond my safety, beyond even the claiming that had altered our biochemistry. Now Matteo stood to lose everything—his birthright, his position, his name itself—because of me.
Because I had been the variable Don Corvino hadn't calculated correctly when orchestrating his merger with the Souza family.
The bathroom suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing inward with each breath that carried Matteo's lingering scent—sandalwood and cedar now permanently threaded with notes of my honey-citrus. Our claiming had altered more than just legal status; it had rewritten our molecular signatures into something neither of us could erase.
Yet Don Corvino expected precisely that—erasure. Annulment . Return to separate entities as if our bodies hadn't transformed to recognize each other at levels beyond conscious control.
I emerged from the bathroom to find Matteo standing at the windows overlooking the city, his powerful frame silhouetted against fading daylight. The set of his shoulders revealed none of the burden his father had just placed upon them—the impossible choice between birthright and claimed omega. Between legacy and what we had become to each other.
"You heard," he said without turning, not a question but a recognition of my presence that transcended ordinary awareness.
"Yes." I saw no point in denying it. Our bond, still new and incompletely understood, had apparently sensitized him to my proximity in ways neither of us had anticipated. " Your father wants you to annul the claiming."
"Among other impossibilities." His voice carried no inflection, no hint of the turmoil that must exist beneath such perfect control.
I moved toward him slowly, uncertain of my place in this moment. The claiming had altered our biological relationship, yet so much remained undefined between us—partnership formed through crisis rather than choice, intimacy forced through heat rather than natural progression.
"Matteo." His name emerged softer than intended. " I won't be the reason you lose everything."
He turned then, his expression containing complexity I couldn't fully interpret—something fierce and tender simultaneously, something that transcended alpha possession or mafia calculation.
"You're not." The simplicity of his response belied the weight behind it. " My father's inability to recognize what matters beyond power politics is the reason."
"But the choice he's forcing?—"
"Is no choice at all." He closed the distance between us, one hand rising to trace the claiming mark at my neck with unexpected gentleness. " This isn't politics or strategy anymore, Luca . This is..." He paused, seeming to search for words that didn't exist in the vocabulary of mafia heirs or alpha biology. " This is us."
The words landed with unexpected weight. Us . Not alpha and omega, not boss and accountant, but something neither of us had vocabulary to define yet.
"I need to prepare contingencies," he continued, his hand falling away as focus returned to his expression. " My father's ultimatum changes our timeline. The Souzas will move more aggressively once word spreads that I've been cut off from Corvino resources."
"What do you need me to do?" I asked, falling into the rhythm of practical problem-solving that had defined our working relationship before heat and claiming had complicated everything.
The question earned a ghost of a smile—appreciation for functionality where many omegas might have dissolved into emotional disarray. " Continue analyzing the financial trails. Find every connection between my father and the Souzas . We need leverage beyond what we've already uncovered."
I nodded, turning toward the workstation where our joint investigation had been progressing before Don Corvino's interruption. Matteo's hand caught my arm gently, halting my retreat.
"Luca." His voice dropped lower, something almost hesitant threading through his usual certainty. " Thank you."
The gratitude caught me off guard—unexpected vulnerability from the alpha who commanded respect through mere presence. " For what?"
"For seeing this through. For not running when most would have."
The acknowledgment of choice—my choice to remain despite danger, despite complication, despite the sacrifice now demanded of him—shifted something subtle between us. Recognition of agency beyond biological imperative or legal claiming.
"We're partners," I replied simply, echoing the definition we had established in the aftermath of heat-claiming. " Partners don't run."
Something flashed across his features—appreciation, perhaps, or recognition that transcended alpha possession or omega submission. Then his phone buzzed, pulling his attention away as I returned to the financial data awaiting analysis.
Hours passed in quiet focus, the rhythm of our work punctuated only by occasional exchanges of information, theories, discoveries. Outside , darkness claimed the city, lights blossoming across the urban landscape like stars fallen to earth. I lost myself in numbers and transactions—the language that had always made sense when human motivations remained opaque.
I didn't register the soft chime of the service elevator until the scent reached me—familiar yet unexpected, carrying notes of cinnamon and clove that triggered memories of childhood kitchens and whispered secrets.
Silvia.
My head snapped up as my sister stepped into the office, her beta status allowing her to move through security checkpoints with less scrutiny than alphas or omegas would face. Her dark eyes—so similar to my own—swept the room with practiced assessment before landing on me with undisguised relief.
"Luca." My name in her mouth carried years of shared history, of protective older sister watching over the omega brother who invited unwanted attention through mere existence. " Thank God ."
I rose from my workstation, confusion warring with joy at seeing her after weeks of separation. " Silvia ? How did you?—"
"Get in?" She moved toward me, her movements carrying the efficient purpose that had made her a successful event coordinator for legitimate Corvino businesses. " I still have access cards. And I brought dinner for Matteo's security team. They know me."
The practicality of her explanation matched the sister I remembered—direct, resourceful, unimpressed by mafia hierarchy despite working within its structures. But something in her expression triggered warning signals I couldn't immediately identify—a tightness around her eyes, a tension in her movements that spoke of urgency beneath casual explanation.
"Where is he?" she asked, glancing toward Matteo's empty office. " Your ... alpha?"
The hesitation before the designation carried volumes of unspoken questions, of opinions carefully restrained. Silvia had always been protective, but never intrusive—respecting my independence even when her beta instincts urged greater intervention.
"Meeting with Carlo ," I explained, studying her more carefully now. " Security arrangements. Why are you here, Silvia ?"
Her gaze darted toward the security cameras positioned discreetly in the corners of the office, then back to me with renewed intensity. " Can we speak privately? Just for a moment?"
The request triggered both nostalgia and caution. How many times in childhood had those exact words preceded her whispered warnings about our father's moods, about alphas watching too closely, about dangers I was too young to fully comprehend? Silvia had been my first protector long before Matteo had claimed that role through bond and bite.
"Of course." I led her toward the small conference room adjacent to the main office, closing the door behind us with practiced casualness that belied my growing unease. " What's happened?"
Once the door sealed us in relative privacy, Silvia's carefully maintained composure fractured. She grasped my hands, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the building. " You need to leave, Luca . Tonight . Now ."
The urgency in her voice—so at odds with her usual measured approach—sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the temperature of her skin against mine. " What are you talking about?"
"Don Corvino has issued the ultimatum. Matteo has twenty-four hours to annul the claiming or face disinheritance." Her words confirmed what I'd already overheard, but carried additional urgency that suggested knowledge beyond what I'd gleaned. " But that's not all. The Souzas are moving against both of you. They've hired specialized extraction teams—the kind that specialize in omega acquisition."
The euphemism—"omega acquisition"—hung between us like poison gas, too terrible to name directly. In our world, omegas with valuable skills or connections sometimes disappeared, resurfacing months later bonded to rival families, memories chemically altered, personalities subsumed beneath forced claiming and biological manipulation.
"How do you know this?" My voice emerged steadier than the churning in my stomach would suggest possible.
"Marco Ricci ," she answered, naming her sometimes-boyfriend who worked security for one of the Corvino subsidiaries. " He overheard arrangements being made. The Souzas want you specifically—the omega who cost them their alliance. They'll use you against Matteo , Luca . Break you to break him."
The calculated cruelty of the strategy struck me with physical force—not just elimination or intimidation, but weaponization of the bond that now connected Matteo and me beyond legal documentation.
"Matteo knows the risks," I countered, though uncertainty threaded through my conviction. " He's increased security, limited access?—"
"He doesn't know about the infiltrators," Silvia interrupted, urgency making her uncharacteristically abrupt. " They've already compromised his inner circle. The same people who sabotaged your suppressants have access to this building, this floor, possibly this very room."
The revelation stole my breath momentarily. If Silvia was right—if security had been compromised beyond what we'd already discovered—then the fortress Matteo had constructed around us was already breached, the protection he'd sacrificed his birthright to maintain already failing.
"We need to tell him," I said, reaching for my phone. " Carlo can increase?—"
"Carlo is the one who granted the access," Silvia cut in, her words landing like physical blows. " He's been working with the Souzas for months. Matteo's consigliere, his most trusted advisor, is the one who arranged your suppressant sabotage."
The accusation against Carlo —the beta who had guarded my door during heat, who had stood at Matteo's right hand through every confrontation—seemed impossible, contradicting everything I'd observed about loyalty within the Corvino organization.
Yet as denial formed on my lips, something else surfaced from memory— Carlo's careful neutrality when Don Corvino had issued his ultimatum, the way his eyes had tracked financial data without surprise when we'd uncovered connections to Souza holdings. Small moments of dissonance I'd attributed to beta caution rather than hidden allegiance.
The betrayal explained why Matteo's security precautions hadn't gone further. He'd moved me to his office based on Carlo's assurances that the floor remained secure, that the threat existed primarily from outside forces rather than from within his inner circle. Matteo had trusted his consigliere's assessment of our safety—a trust Carlo had deliberately cultivated to keep me accessible.
"You're certain?" I asked, needing absolute confirmation before believing such fundamental betrayal.
"Marco intercepted communications himself," Silvia replied, pulling out her phone and showing me encrypted message logs with timestamps from earlier that day. " He sent these to me directly from Carlo's secured channel to the Souza lieutenant. They're planning to take you tonight, during the security shift change. Use you to force Matteo into compliance, or worse."
"Worse?" The question emerged despite knowing I wouldn't want the answer.
"Force-bond you to a Souza alpha after breaking your current claim," she said flatly, giving voice to the horror she'd previously cloaked in euphemism. " Make you a permanent hostage against Corvino interests, your biochemistry weaponized against your will."
A wave of nausea crashed over me, my hand rising unconsciously to touch the bond-bite— Matteo's claim, now mingled permanently in my biochemistry. Force -breaking a claim required barbaric measures—chemical antagonists that triggered rejection responses, physical trauma to the bonding site, psychological manipulation that left permanent scars on both mind and body.
"There's a car waiting three blocks west," Silvia continued, words emerging rapid-fire now that she'd conveyed the fundamental threat. " Marco will drive you to a safe house outside the city. Just until Matteo can secure better protection, establish independent territory beyond Souza reach."
The plan—clearly formulated with care, with genuine concern for my safety—hung between us like smoke, obscuring clear sight of consequences, of alternatives, of what such a departure would mean for Matteo and the sacrifice he'd already made on my behalf.
"I can't just leave him," I said, the protest emerging from some place deeper than conscious thought. " Not without warning, without explanation."
"If you stay, you become the weapon they use to destroy him," Silvia countered, harsh truth delivered with sisterly bluntness. " Is that what you want? For the sacrifice he's already made to be for nothing?"
The question struck with precision, targeting exactly the fear that had lurked beneath my calm exterior since overhearing Don Corvino's ultimatum. Matteo had already chosen me over family legacy, over birthright, over the name that defined his place in our hierarchical world. What right did I have to make that sacrifice meaningless by becoming the very vulnerability our enemies would exploit?
"I need five minutes," I said finally, decision crystallizing through necessity rather than desire. " To pack essentials. Leave a message."
Relief transformed Silvia's expression, softening the tension that had hardened her features into unfamiliar patterns. " I'll wait by the service elevator. Marco is monitoring the security feed, creating a loop that will mask our departure."
She squeezed my hands once more before slipping from the conference room, her movements carrying the efficient purpose that had defined her since childhood—practical solutions to impossible problems, protection offered without fanfare or need for acknowledgment.
Alone, I pressed my palms against my eyes, feeling the tremor I'd successfully concealed from Silvia's watchful gaze. The claiming mark at my neck pulsed with phantom sensation— Matteo's bite, his scent permanently altering my biochemistry, the bond between us still new and incompletely understood yet already essential in ways I hadn't anticipated.
To leave meant risking that bond, straining connections still forming between us. To stay meant risking far worse—becoming the instrument of Matteo's destruction, the vulnerability enemies would exploit without mercy or restraint.
I moved through the office with forced calm, gathering only what couldn't be replaced—the encrypted drive containing our financial evidence, personal identification documents, the emergency suppressants Matteo had stored in my desk drawer after the sabotage incident. Material necessities that masked the more profound loss accompanying my departure.
At the workstation we'd shared through days of investigation, I paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard as words formed and reformed in my mind. What could I possibly write that would explain without endangering, that would convey the complexity of what drove me away without compromising the security of where I was going?
In the end, simplicity seemed the only option:
Thank you. Don't lose everything for me. I'll contact you when safe.
The message—woefully inadequate yet all I dared commit to writing—stared back from the monitor, cursor blinking with metronome steadiness while my pulse raced with anything but regularity. I couldn't risk more specific explanation, couldn't indicate Silvia's involvement or Carlo's suspected betrayal. Anything beyond this bare acknowledgment might create additional danger for Matteo once my absence was discovered.
I gathered my small bundle of necessities, moving toward the service elevator where Silvia waited with controlled impatience evident in her posture. The claiming mark at my neck throbbed with each step away from the territory Matteo had established around us both—biological recognition of separation from alpha that transcended conscious control.
"Ready?" Silvia asked, her voice pitched low despite the empty corridor.
"No," I answered honestly. " But necessary doesn't require readiness."
Her expression softened with momentary sympathy before efficiency reasserted itself. " Marco's created the security loop. We have approximately three minutes before live feed resumes."
The elevator doors opened silently, beckoning with promise of escape from dangers I'd only partially comprehended before Silvia's unexpected arrival. As I stepped inside, the mating mark pulsed with renewed intensity—biological protest against separation that made scientific sense yet felt like something beyond mere chemistry. Like loss. Like fracturing of something essential.
"It's the right choice," Silvia reassured as the doors closed, sealing us in temporary sanctuary. " For both of you."
I nodded without speaking, unwilling to voice the doubt that had begun forming beneath rational acceptance of our escape plan. Something about this felt wrong beyond the obvious pain of separation—some detail overlooked, some assumption unexamined.
The elevator descended with unsettling smoothness, numbers counting down toward ground level where Marco waited with promised transportation. Each floor represented distance from the territory Matteo had established around us, from the protection he had sacrificed birthright to maintain.
At the twentieth floor, the elevator jerked to an unexpected halt, lights flickering momentarily before stabilizing at reduced intensity. Silvia's expression shifted from surprise to something closer to fear.
"This isn't Marco ," she whispered, reaching for her phone only to find no signal in the suspended elevator car. " Something's wrong."
Before I could respond, the ceiling panel crashed inward, revealing a figure in tactical gear who dropped into the elevator with practiced precision. The scent hit me immediately—pine and bergamot, the signature pheromone profile Matteo had identified as belonging to Souza enforcers.
Not rescue. Capture .
My stomach dropped as realization hit— Marco's security loop had been detected—or perhaps he'd never had the chance to implement it at all. The Souza infiltration ran deeper than any of us had suspected, their surveillance likely monitoring the very systems Marco was trying to manipulate. Whether he'd been captured or worse, the Souza team had clearly neutralized our only external support and turned our escape plan into the perfect trap.
Silvia moved instinctively between me and the intruder, beta protectiveness trumping practical assessment of our disadvantage. " Get away from him," she growled, voice dropping to a register I'd rarely heard from my diplomatic sister.
The masked figure said nothing, simply extracted what looked like a medical injector from a tactical vest pocket. Silvia charged forward—brave, foolish, protective—only to be incapacitated with brutal efficiency, her body crumpling to the elevator floor with terrible stillness. Not dead—the attacker had calibrated force precisely—but unconscious and no longer capable of intervention.
I backed against the elevator wall, mind racing through limited options that all ended in the same inevitable conclusion. One omega against a trained Souza enforcer in confined space. The statistical probability of successful resistance approached zero.
"Don't fight," a voice emerged from behind the tactical mask, toneless and mechanical. " The injection contains a mild sedative. Compliance makes this easier for everyone."
"Compliance always does," I replied, surprising myself with calm that belied the terror coursing through my system. " But easier doesn't mean right."
The needle pierced my neck before I could attempt evasion, the injection site burning briefly before spreading numbing warmth through my veins. As consciousness began fading, the claiming mark at my neck pulsed once with almost painful intensity— Matteo's claim, his scent permanently integrated with mine, sending one final alert before chemical suppression silenced even that bond-driven warning.
My last coherent thought before darkness claimed me wasn't of fear or pain or even anger at the trap we'd walked into so willingly. It was simpler, more profound—an apology and a plea wrapped in the name that had come to mean safety despite the danger surrounding us both:
Matteo... I'm sorry.