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13

LUCA

C onsciousness returned slowly, fragments of reality assembling themselves like shattered glass behind closed eyelids. Cold metal pressed against my back. Hemp rope bit into my wrists, the fibers rough against abraded skin. The lingering chemical taste of sedatives coated my tongue, bitter and medicinal.

My omega instincts, sharper than my drug-fogged mind, had already cataloged the essentials: multiple alpha scents permeating the space, the distinctive pine and bergamot undercurrent marking this as Souza territory. Silvia's faint cinnamon-clove scent, stale but present, suggesting she'd been here but no longer was. The metallic undertone of guns, the acrid bite of cigarettes, the subtle sourness of fear—not my own, but embedded in the walls of what had clearly served as an interrogation room for years.

I kept my eyes closed, breathing evenly to maintain the illusion of unconsciousness while gathering whatever intelligence I could. Three distinct heartbeats. Two by the door—guards, their postures betrayed by the subtle creaking of tactical gear. One closer, seated perhaps six feet away—steady respiration, the subtle notes of expensive cologne beneath the Souza territorial markers. Leadership , then.

"I know you're awake, Mr . Bianchi ," a voice stated, cultured and precise. " The drugs should have metabolized sufficiently by now. Your respiratory patterns changed approximately two minutes ago."

No point in pretending. I opened my eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light that seemed designed specifically for disorientation. As my vision adjusted, details emerged from the artificial brightness—a sparse, concrete room. A metal table between me and the speaker. A camera in the corner, its red light blinking with mechanical indifference.

Emilio Souza sat across from me, his small frame immaculately dressed in a tailored suit that cost more than I'd once earned in months. His silver hair and refined features created an impression of benign elderliness that was immediately belied by the clinical assessment in his dark eyes.

"Where is my sister?" I asked, voice rougher than intended from the lingering effects of whatever they'd used to sedate me.

"Safe," Souza replied with a dismissive wave. " Her continued comfort depends entirely on our productive conversation."

The calculated cruelty—the casual leveraging of Silvia's safety against my cooperation—ignited something cold and focused within me. Not panic or desperation, but a clarity that cut through lingering chemical fog like sunlight through mist. I would get her out of this. Whatever it took.

"What do you want?" The question emerged steadier than I felt, my omega biology simultaneously registering threat from the alpha's presence while my mind calculated possibilities, exits, leverage.

"Information, to begin with." Souza leaned forward slightly, hands clasped on the metal table between us. " The financial data you've been analyzing with Matteo . The evidence you've gathered against certain... mutual interests."

The question revealed more than he likely intended—confirmation that this was about the missing millions, about the connections I'd uncovered between Souza holdings and Don Corvino's manipulation of family finances. Not just omega being used as bait or biological leverage against a claimed alpha, but targeted extraction of specific intelligence.

A wave of nausea rolled through me suddenly, unexpected and intense. I swallowed hard, fighting the sensation while trying to maintain my composure. The drugs, I assumed—lingering side effects of whatever they'd used to render me unconscious. But something felt different, more fundamental than simple chemical reaction. My body's scent had shifted subtly, a richness I hadn't registered before threading through my usual honey-citrus notes despite the suppressants I'd applied before Silvia's arrival.

Souza's nostrils flared slightly, his head tilting with sudden interest as he caught the change. Alpha senses, always more attuned to biological shifts than most omegas realized. His expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes shifted—recalculation, reassessment of the asset before him.

I pushed the physical discomfort aside, focusing on the immediate threat. " I don't have access to that data here," I replied, testing boundaries while scanning the room for anything that might serve as advantage. " It's secured in Matteo's systems."

"But you have the information here," Souza tapped his temple with one manicured finger. " That remarkable mind that identified financial patterns our best people spent months carefully constructing. Patterns no one else noticed."

The compliment, delivered with the same calculated precision as everything else about the man, confirmed what I'd begun to suspect. The Souzas didn't just want me as leverage against Matteo . They wanted what I knew—the financial architecture I'd decoded, the connections I'd established between seemingly unrelated transactions.

I had value beyond my claiming bond. Knowledge that threatened operations clearly more significant than I'd initially understood.

"If I had such information," I said carefully, "sharing it would eliminate whatever value keeps me and my sister alive."

A smile touched Souza's lips—appreciation for the gambit rather than offense at the implied refusal. " Clever ," he acknowledged. " But unnecessary. We have no intention of eliminating such a valuable asset. Quite the contrary."

He removed a tablet from inside his jacket, sliding it across the table toward me. The screen displayed a complex financial structure—parallel to what I'd discovered but with significant differences. Shell companies I hadn't previously identified. Offshore accounts hidden beneath layers of encryption I hadn't penetrated.

Another wave of nausea washed over me as I leaned forward to examine the data, this one stronger than before. My vision blurred momentarily, a cold sweat breaking across my forehead. Something was wrong—beyond the sedatives, beyond the stress of captivity. My body was trying to tell me something my mind hadn't yet processed.

"Suppressants are fragile technology," Dr . Keller had warned Matteo after my heat had subsided. " Especially in high-stress situations. The chemical balance is easily disrupted when the body experiences extreme conditions."

The memory surfaced with sudden clarity— Matteo standing in the penthouse bathroom doorway, nostrils flaring as he'd caught my scent days after the heat had passed. " Your scent is... different. Richer ." The slight confusion in his expression. " The claiming bond, perhaps."

Understanding bloomed with terrifying certainty, a truth my body had been trying to communicate through subtle shifts in scent, through waves of nausea, through the inexplicable exhaustion I'd attributed to stress.

The heat. The sabotaged suppressants. The claiming. The knotting.

Pregnancy.

The realization stole my breath more effectively than any physical blow could have. Not just me at risk now, but something infinitely more vulnerable. Something that changed everything about my situation, my options, my responsibilities.

"This is Operation Mezzanotte ," Souza explained, misattributing my sudden pallor to the financial revelations before me rather than the biological one taking shape in my consciousness. " The financial infrastructure Vincenzo and I spent years constructing. A parallel system designed to transfer Corvino assets to joint control once certain... impediments were removed."

I forced myself to focus, to process the information with the same analytical precision I'd applied to the original financial discrepancies. Not just embezzlement or even alliance-building, but preparation for complete absorption of Corvino holdings through financial strangulation. The missing millions hadn't been the goal—they were the test case, proof that the system worked before implementing it on the full scale of Corvino operations.

"You needed Don Corvino's cooperation," I observed, pieces falling into place despite the storm of realization still thundering through my system. " But not Matteo's ."

"Exactly." Souza's approval felt like oil on my skin, unwanted and contaminating. " The old man understood necessity. Recognized that consolidation offered advantages neither family could achieve independently. His son proved... resistant to practical arrangements."

The tablet continued displaying financial structures that represented years of careful planning, of meticulous construction designed to transfer an empire without triggering the traditional bloodshed such moves typically required. A masterpiece of financial engineering that I had accidentally begun unraveling with my discovery of the missing millions.

This was my leverage—the knowledge now expanding in my mind as I recognized additional connections, weaknesses, vulnerabilities in their system. Information worth more than my omega status, than my claiming bond to Matteo , than even my biological potential as hostage.

But now, that biological potential had manifested in the most consequential way possible. The child growing within me— Matteo's heir, continuation of Corvino bloodline, physical manifestation of the claiming that had bound us beyond legal documentation—changed every calculation. Not just my safety at stake, but legacy itself. Future embodied in cellular division that had already begun, invisible but undeniable.

My hand instinctively moved toward my abdomen before the restraints yanked it back, the protective gesture aborted but the intention registered by Souza's watchful gaze. His expression shifted minutely, something almost like amusement threading through his clinical assessment.

"Interesting," he observed, the single word weighted with implications I couldn't fully process in my current state. " It seems our negotiations have acquired additional... dimension."

The confirmation that he'd understood—that he'd interpreted my involuntary gesture correctly—sent ice through my veins. Not just prisoner but incubator of potential advantage, of biological leverage that transcended financial knowledge or claiming bonds.

I forced my expression to neutrality, falling back on years of practiced control in hostile environments. " Account number 847-93021," I said suddenly, watching Souza's expression with the same precision he'd been using to study mine. " Cayman -based, registered to a shell corporation operating through Liechtenstein protocols. That's your primary transfer point for the Corvino shipping division assets."

Surprise flickered across his features—momentary but unmistakable. He hadn't expected me to identify that account from the brief glimpse of their structure, hadn't anticipated the speed with which I could process the financial patterns laid before me.

"The beauty of mathematics," I continued, confidence growing as I recognized the advantage forming in this unlikely moment of vulnerability. " Numbers don't lie, even when people build labyrinths to hide them. You've created a magnificent structure, but it has architectural weaknesses. Points where the entire framework could collapse if the right authorities received anomaly reports."

The guards by the door shifted slightly, responding to the subtle change in atmosphere as power dynamics recalibrated. Souza's expression remained controlled, but something in his scent had shifted—the first hints of concern bleeding through practiced neutrality.

"You're more dangerous than you look, Mr . Bianchi ," he said quietly, assessment replacing the dismissive confidence he'd initially projected. " I understand now why Matteo claimed you against political advantage. Not just omega biology but genuine asset."

I leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed, holding his gaze with a directness that defied omega stereotypes. " My sister's location and immediate release. That's my price for not activating the financial tripwires I've already established."

"Tripwires?" Skepticism colored his tone, but the tension in his posture betrayed genuine concern.

"Did you think I discovered the missing millions and took no precautions?" I allowed a ghost of a smile to touch my lips, channeling the quiet confidence I'd observed in Matteo during negotiations. " Three separate alert systems, programmed to trigger if I don't enter specific codes at twelve-hour intervals. The first deadline passed while I was unconscious. The second is approaching in—" I glanced at the clock on the wall, its red digital display the only splash of color in the concrete room, "—approximately ninety minutes."

Bluffing had never been my strength, numbers and patterns my usual territory rather than psychological manipulation. But the ledgers I'd studied weren't just financial records—they were maps of human motivation, of risk assessment, of the calculations that guided decisions in our world. I'd learned to read those patterns too, to understand the mathematics of fear and advantage that governed interactions at this level.

"You expect me to believe an omega accountant established automated financial alerts sophisticated enough to threaten Operation Mezzanotte ?" Souza's skepticism remained evident, though underlaid with genuine uncertainty.

"I expect you to make a rational calculation," I countered, maintaining the calm certainty that represented my only advantage in this moment of absolute vulnerability. " Is the risk of losing billions in carefully constructed financial architecture worth keeping my sister as leverage? Particularly when Matteo is already coming for us both?"

The statement hung between us, weighted with implication and the ring of truth that statistics provided. Not just omens but mathematical certainty that an alpha whose claimed omega had been taken would come with violence that transcended rational assessment or tactical disadvantage.

And now, with the knowledge growing within me—heir to everything Matteo represented, continuation of bloodline the Corvino family valued above all else—his coming was inevitable as sunrise, as certain as the mathematical principles that governed financial patterns and biological imperatives alike.

"You've created something elegant," I continued, nodding toward the tablet still displaying their financial structure. " But I've already identified six critical nodes that could be targeted by regulatory authorities. The first alert sends red flags to FinCEN regarding the Cayman transfers. The second initiates audit requests focused on specific shell companies in your network. The third?—"

"Enough." Souza raised a hand, the first genuine response I'd provoked beyond calculated performance. " You've made your point, Mr . Bianchi ." He studied me with renewed assessment, recalibrating whatever initial impression he'd formed based on secondary gender or apparent vulnerability. " Tell me these tripwires can be deactivated."

"Of course," I replied, the lie emerging with confidence born of necessity rather than practice. " I'm an accountant, not a terrorist. Systems designed with fail-safes are simply good business practice."

The tension hung between us, alpha calculation weighing risk against potential loss, measuring the probability that an omega would have established such sophisticated countermeasures against the certainty of catastrophic financial exposure if I had.

"Your sister will be brought here," he decided finally, the concession emerging with the careful framing of a man unused to negotiating from disadvantage. " You will deactivate these alleged tripwires. Then we will continue our discussion regarding your future role in our organization."

The phrasing—deliberate, revealing—confirmed what I'd suspected beneath surface demands. The Souzas didn't want me eliminated or even returned to Matteo . They wanted my financial acumen, my pattern recognition, my ability to navigate complex systems with precision they clearly recognized as valuable beyond secondary gender or claiming status.

What they didn't yet realize was how completely the biological reality now taking shape within me changed their calculations. Not just omega accountant or claimed mate, but carrier of Corvino heir, of biological continuation that transcended financial manipulation or organizational politics.

"Her safety first," I insisted, pushing advantage while it existed. " I see her, confirm her condition, speak with her privately. Then I deactivate the alerts."

Souza's jaw tightened fractionally—alpha instinct bristling against omega making demands despite rational recognition of the leverage I'd established. He nodded once to the guard by the door, the gesture carrying the weight of command that required no verbal reinforcement.

As the guard departed to retrieve Silvia , Souza's focus returned to me with renewed intensity. " You continue to surprise me, Mr . Bianchi . When this situation resolves, I hope you'll consider the advantages of arrangement more suited to your capabilities than serving as Matteo Corvino's claimed omega."

The implication hung between us—not just negotiation for immediate safety but longer-term recruitment, recognition of value that transcended traditional hierarchy or biological designation. In another context, with another alpha, the acknowledgment of capability beyond omega stereotypes might have registered as progressive, as opportunity rather than manipulation.

But beneath the civilized veneer, beneath the financial sophistication and apparent respect, lay the fundamental truth of our situation: I remained bound and captive. Silvia remained leverage. And the child now growing within me—unexpected, unplanned, but increasingly undeniable—represented vulnerability beyond what even I had calculated when allowing myself to be taken from Matteo's protection.

"I already have an arrangement that recognizes my capabilities," I replied, the truth emerging with certainty that surprised even me. " One that offers partnership rather than ownership."

Something shifted in Souza's expression—not anger but genuine curiosity, perhaps even momentary respect for the omega who negotiated from position of apparent vulnerability yet maintained dignity beyond what traditional hierarchy would have permitted.

"Partnership," he repeated, the word emerging with consideration rather than mockery. " An interesting perspective on claiming bond established through heat manipulation."

"Choice exists even within constraint," I countered, the certainty behind my words growing as I articulated what had formed between Matteo and me through crisis and consequence alike. " Partnership forged through fire burns stronger than chains imposed through biology or hierarchy."

Before Souza could respond, the door opened to reveal Silvia —bruised but standing, her dark eyes widening as she registered my presence across the room. The beta resilience that had defined her since childhood evident in the defiant set of her shoulders despite the restraints binding her wrists.

"Three minutes," Souza declared, rising from his chair with the fluid grace of a man accustomed to controlling every aspect of his environment. " Then we deactivate your tripwires, Mr . Bianchi . For everyone's continued safety."

As he and the remaining guard stepped outside, leaving Silvia and me alone in the concrete room with its blinking camera, I allowed myself the first genuine smile since regaining consciousness. Not victory—we remained very much in danger—but recognition of advantage created through intelligence rather than force, through strategy rather than biological dominance.

"Luca," Silvia whispered, moving quickly to my side despite her own restraints. " Are you hurt? Did they?—"

"I'm okay," I assured her, the lie necessary to maintain the confidence that represented our only advantage. " And I've bought us time. Matteo is coming."

The certainty behind that statement surprised even me—not hope or wishful thinking, but bone-deep knowledge that transcended rational assessment or statistical probability. The claiming bond between us, still new and incompletely formed, nevertheless transmitted certainty that defied explanation beyond the ancient biology that connected alpha to omega through mechanisms science had yet to fully map.

"How can you be sure?" Silvia asked, practical as always despite the circumstances.

I met her gaze directly, allowing her to see the confidence that had formed through crisis and claiming alike, through choice preserved within constraint, through partnership discovered within possession.

"Because he's mine as much as I'm his," I replied simply, the truth behind the declaration carrying weight beyond its syllables. " And nothing in this world will stop him from coming for what belongs to him."

My hand moved instinctively toward my abdomen, stopped again by restraints but the intention clear enough for Silvia's perceptive gaze. Her eyes widened, recognition and understanding dawning as she connected my gesture with whatever she saw in my expression, in my scent that had been gradually changing since the heat, since the claiming, since biology had begun writing future into my cellular structure.

"Luca," she breathed, voice barely audible in the monitored room. " Are you?—"

I nodded once, the confirmation requiring no words between siblings who had communicated through silence and subtle gestures since childhood, when speaking truths aloud had sometimes invited consequences neither could afford to face.

The camera continued its mechanical surveillance, the red light blinking with indifferent regularity as I leaned closer to Silvia , voice dropping to whisper as I detailed what she needed to know, what she needed to do when opportunity presented itself. The financial leverage I'd established might be temporary, the bluff eventually called, but it had created the window we needed.

Time for Matteo to reach us. Time for the rescue already in motion. Time for the partnership formed through claiming and consequence to demonstrate its strength beyond biological imperative or legal documentation.

The hollow ache in my chest—the emptiness where our claiming bond should have pulsed with his presence—had begun to ease, a subtle warming that suggested proximity increasing, distance decreasing with each passing minute. Not imagination or desperate hope, but molecular recognition of alpha approaching claimed omega through mechanisms that transcended conscious understanding.

He was coming. And when he arrived, the Souzas would discover what I already knew with bone-deep certainty: that what had formed between underboss and accountant, between alpha and omega, between two people who had chosen connection within constraint, represented something far more dangerous than traditional hierarchy or biological imperative could fully comprehend.

Partnership forged through fire. Strength discovered within vulnerability. Choice preserved within claiming.

Ours to build beyond what either of us had imagined possible when this journey began.

And now, with the child growing from that union—heir to everything Matteo valued, continuation of legacy he would defend with his last breath—the coming storm would rewrite everything the Souzas thought they understood about power, about vulnerability, about the claiming bond they had tried to manipulate for their own advantage.

They had miscalculated indeed.