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MATTEO

T he family estate loomed against the twilight sky, no longer a childhood home but a battlefield where blood ties became chains. I adjusted my cufflinks—platinum, understated, lethal in their elegance—and felt Luca's presence beside me in the car, a quiet counterpoint to the storm gathering in my chest.

"We don't have to do this," he said, voice barely disturbing the air between us.

I didn't look at him. Couldn't . His scent had strengthened in the hours since he'd slept, the honey-citrus notes richer, more complex. The fresh suppressant patch he'd applied held, but couldn't mask the deepening undertones of pre-heat simmering beneath the chemical veil. What would happen when I claimed him publicly was already unfolding in my mind like a military operation: each reaction cataloged, each consequence mapped.

"We do." The words fell between us, heavy with finality.

The car rolled to a stop at the front entrance where Vincenzo waited, my father's most loyal shadow. His eyes registered Luca's presence with calculated neutrality before settling on me.

"Your father awaits in the dining room. The Souza delegation arrived ten minutes ago."

Of course they had. My father would orchestrate this dinner like the political theater it was—the potential alliance displayed for my benefit, the pressure applied from all sides. What he couldn't anticipate was my own maneuver, the accountant sitting silently beside me who had unwittingly become my most powerful piece on the board.

"Perfect timing," I said, exiting the car and extending my hand to Luca , a gesture that wasn't lost on Vincenzo . The old consigliere's eyes narrowed fractionally—a microscopic tell that would have been invisible to anyone who hadn't grown up watching for the slightest sign of impending violence.

Luca hesitated only a moment before taking my hand, his fingers cool against mine. I felt the slightest tremor there, the only indication of the fear he otherwise mastered completely. His control impressed me—an omega walking into an alpha stronghold with nothing but my word as protection. Either very brave or very foolish. Perhaps both.

"Stay close," I murmured as we followed Vincenzo through the grand foyer, my thumb brushing once across Luca's pulse point. The answering spike in his scent—honey sharpening to something brighter—confirmed what I already knew. His body recognized mine on a level beyond conscious thought, just as mine had cataloged his scent weeks ago in that hallway encounter.

The dining room doors opened to reveal the assembled players in my father's game: Don Corvino at the head of the massive oak table, regal in his aging power; Sofia Souza and her father Emilio positioned strategically at his right; various captains and their mates arranged in descending order of importance. All eyes turned to us as we entered, a collective assessment that shifted rapidly to confusion as they registered Luca's presence at my side.

My father's face hardened to granite as he took in our clasped hands, the proprietary way I positioned Luca slightly behind my right shoulder. The message was clear to anyone who understood our world's silent language—this was no employee, no random dinner guest.

"Matteo." My name in my father's mouth sounded like the first warning before gunfire. " I wasn't aware you were bringing a guest."

I guided Luca forward, my hand settling at the small of his back. The touch was deliberate, measured—a gesture of possession that would be unmistakable to every alpha in the room. " Not a guest, Father . My claimed omega."

The words dropped into the silence like a bomb, detonating in waves of reaction around the table. Sofia's perfectly manicured nails dug into her napkin. Emilio Souza's face flushed with angry disbelief. My father's expression registered nothing for three heartbeats, then transformed into something cold and vicious.

"Perhaps we should discuss this privately," he suggested, voice deceptively mild. The underlying threat would have made lesser men wither.

"Nothing to discuss." I pulled out a chair for Luca , positioning him two seats down from my father—close enough to demonstrate conviction, far enough to provide some buffer from the Don's rage. " The claiming paperwork was filed this afternoon. It's already done."

A technical truth. The paperwork had been filed, though the physical claiming—the bite that would transfer my scent permanently into Luca's bloodstream—hadn't yet occurred. A detail my father would discover soon enough, but not before I'd established Luca's position beyond legal challenge.

Luca sat with remarkable poise, back straight, eyes carefully lowered—the perfect picture of omega submission that I knew from our interactions was entirely performative. The subtle defiance hidden beneath his compliance only heightened my appreciation for his complexity.

I took my own seat, reaching for the wine glass already filled. " I believe we were discussing family business?"

Emilio Souza recovered first, years of mafia negotiations giving him the control to smooth his expression into something approaching diplomatic. " Congratulations would seem to be in order," he said, eyes calculating. " Though I admit some surprise, given our recent discussions."

"Circumstances change," I replied, lifting my glass in a mock toast.

My father's knuckles whitened around his knife handle. " Indeed they do." His gaze shifted to Luca , assessing him with the cold precision that had ended many men's lives. " Mr . Bianchi , isn't it? From accounting?"

Luca raised his eyes, meeting the Don's stare with surprising steadiness. " Yes , sir."

"How convenient." The words dripped with venom. " My son finds himself an omega just as financial irregularities emerge in our records."

I felt Luca tense beside me, his scent souring slightly with anxiety despite the suppressants. My own anger rose in response—protective instincts I'd never experienced with such intensity surging beneath my calculated exterior.

"The irregularities were discovered by Luca ," I corrected smoothly. " And reported to me directly. Which you'd know if you'd bothered to review the evidence before making accusations."

Carlo, positioned at the far end of the table, caught my eye with a subtle warning. Too far . But I'd crossed the line deliberately, forcing my father's hand. Either he would erupt now, in front of witnesses who would carry tales of family discord back to their own territories, or he would contain his rage until we were alone. Either scenario served my purpose.

My father chose containment, his smile a slash of white teeth against olive skin. " Family dinner seems an inappropriate venue for accusations of any kind." He turned to Sofia , whose perfect composure had fractured just enough to reveal the wounded pride beneath. " My apologies for the confusion, my dear. It seems my son has made his choice without consulting the family's interests."

Sofia's answering smile was frigid. " No apology necessary, Don Corvino . Some men prefer... simplicity." Her gaze flicked dismissively over Luca , assessing and discarding him in one contemptuous glance.

The dinner progressed through its courses like a carefully choreographed battle. Conversation flowed around business interests and territory disputes, everyone pretending not to notice the seismic shift that had occurred with Luca's introduction. I kept him within my orbit, my hand occasionally brushing his arm or shoulder—establishing my claim through touch, reinforcing the message to every alpha present: mine .

Luca played his part perfectly, speaking only when addressed directly, his responses intelligent but measured. What the others couldn't see was the sharpness in his eyes, the way he absorbed every exchange, every nuance of power dynamics around the table. The accountant was cataloging information, storing it away with the same precision he applied to financial records.

When the final course had been cleared, my father stood, signaling the end of the formal dinner. " Matteo , a word in my study." Not a request.

I nodded, turning to Luca . " Wait for me in the car. Carlo will escort you."

Fear flickered briefly across his features before he controlled it. " I can stay."

"No." The word emerged sharper than intended, my instincts divided between keeping him close for protection and removing him from imminent danger. " I'll handle this."

Reluctantly, he allowed Carlo to guide him from the room, my consigliere's hand hovering near but not touching him—respecting my claim while ensuring Luca's safety. I watched them go, waiting until the door closed behind them before facing my father.

"Your study, then," I said, an heir apparent's deference layered over underboss defiance.

The Don's study remained unchanged since my childhood—the same heavy oak desk, the same leather chairs, the same oppressive weight of family legacy hanging in the air like smoke. My father closed the door behind us, the soft click more menacing than a slammed door would have been.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded, veneer of civility evaporating the moment we were alone.

I moved to the sideboard, pouring myself two fingers of scotch with deliberate calm. " Claiming an omega that interests me. I wasn't aware I needed permission."

"You need permission to sabotage a strategic alliance that's been years in the making." He stalked toward me, alpha rage rolling off him in waves of pine and amber turned acrid with fury. " The Souza girl brings territory, political connections, alliance opportunities. What does your accountant bring besides a tight ass?"

The crude assessment ignited something primal in my chest, a growl building before I could suppress it. " Be careful, Father ."

"Or what?" He laughed, the sound devoid of humor. " You'll defend his honor? The omega you've known for what—a day? The convenient distraction who appeared just when the Sofia arrangement became imminent?"

I sipped my scotch, using the burn to focus my thoughts. " Luca isn't a distraction. He's mine."

"He's nothing," my father spat. " A weak omega who stumbled into something bigger than himself. He'll break the first time real pressure is applied."

The words struck closer to my own doubts than I cared to admit—not about Luca's worth, but about his safety in our world. I'd brought him into deeper danger by claiming him publicly, painting a target on him that couldn't be erased.

"You're wrong about him," I said, setting down my glass with more force than necessary. " And you're wrong about this alliance. The Souzas want our distribution routes, not a merger of bloodlines. Sofia was their bargaining chip, nothing more."

"And I suppose your accountant told you this?" Contempt dripped from every word.

"No. My sources in their organization did." I moved to stand directly before him, matching his posture—alpha to alpha, son to father, future to past. " The same sources who report that Emilio Souza has been meeting with the Venucci family to discuss alternative arrangements. This dinner was always a formality. They never intended to honor the marriage contract."

Doubt flickered across my father's features before hardening back to certainty. " Even if that's true, it doesn't justify throwing away years of planning for some omega office worker."

"I'm not asking for your approval." The words hung between us, the unspoken challenge they carried clear as broken glass. " I've made my choice."

My father studied me with the cold calculation that had built our empire from nothing. " You'll regret this. He's weak. He'll compromise you when it matters most."

"He's mine," I repeated simply. " I'll make him strong."

For a moment, something almost like pride flickered in my father's eyes—not for my choice, but for my unwavering stance. It vanished quickly, replaced by the Don's trademark resolve.

"Get out," he said quietly. " Take your omega and go. But know this—the next time you enter this house, you'll come prepared to explain exactly what you know about our missing funds. Or you won't enter at all."

The implicit accusation hung between us like smoke—that I might be involved in the theft, that Luca might be my accomplice rather than my informant. I should have anticipated this angle of attack.

"I'll bring you answers," I promised, moving toward the door. " But they won't be the ones you expect."

I left without waiting for his response, striding through the hallways of my childhood home with the certainty that boundaries had been redrawn tonight. The role of dutiful son had been shed like an outgrown skin, revealing something more dangerous beneath—a man with his own territory to defend, his own omega to protect.

Carlo waited beside the car, his expression carefully neutral as I approached. " The package is secure," he reported, our code for Luca's safety.

The tactical efficiency was exactly why Carlo was my consigliere—he'd stationed Luca in the car the moment the dining room doors closed, a protective perimeter established before anyone could follow. My father's men wouldn't have had time to intercept them while I kept the Don occupied in his study.

"And?"

"Three of the Don's men attempted to approach. They were... discouraged." The slight satisfaction in Carlo's voice told me what I needed to know—my consigliere had defended my claim, established my autonomy from my father's authority.

"Good." I opened the car door myself, sliding into the back seat where Luca waited, tension evident in every line of his body. His scent had soured with anxiety, the honey notes buried beneath stress pheromones that triggered my protective instincts like a physical blow.

"Are you alright?" he asked as the door closed, sealing us in privacy.

The question startled me—his concern directed outward despite his own precarious position. Another piece of evidence that my father's assessment of him was fatally flawed.

"They didn't hurt you," I said instead of answering, my eyes scanning him for signs of trauma or interference.

"No. Your man— Carlo —he kept them away." Luca's hands twisted together in his lap, betraying the calm he projected. " What happened with your father?"

"Exactly what we expected." I reached across the space between us, covering his restless hands with one of mine. The contact steadied something in me even as I felt him tense momentarily before relaxing into the touch. " He's threatened, but contained for now."

"And the Souzas ?"

"Will be looking for revenge," I admitted, refusing to shield him from the consequences of our alliance. " But they'll move carefully. A public claim has legal weight they can't easily overcome."

The car pulled away from the estate, carrying us back toward the penthouse I'd already mentally recategorized as ours rather than mine . Security protocols had been tripled, access restricted to a handful of my most trusted men. A fortress guarding what belonged to me—what I'd claimed before enemies and family alike.

"What do we do now?" Luca asked, his voice small in the darkness of the car.

I could hear the larger question beneath the surface—what happens to us, to this arrangement born of necessity rather than choice? The claiming that existed on paper but not yet in blood and bond?

"Now we go home," I said, the words simple but heavy with implication. " I set security lockdown. We begin tracing the missing funds tomorrow."

Luca nodded, accepting the practical answer even as his scent betrayed lingering uncertainty. The honey-citrus cloud surrounding him had notes I was beginning to recognize—bitter oranges for fear, burnt sugar for anxiety, the faintest hint of warm vanilla when he briefly relaxed against my touch.

"He thinks I'm weak," Luca said suddenly, his gaze fixed on the city lights blurring past the window. " Your father. I heard him through the door."

The confession shouldn't have surprised me. Of course Luca would have lingered, gathered information—the accountant using every resource to understand his position. My estimation of him rose further.

"My father measures strength only in violence," I replied. " He's incapable of recognizing other forms of power."

Luca turned to me then, eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. " And you? What kind of strength do you value?"

The question penetrated deeper than expected, forcing me to examine assumptions I rarely questioned. What did I value? The ability to command through fear, as my father did? The strategic brilliance of my consigliere? The unwavering loyalty of my captains?

Or something else entirely—the quiet courage of an omega who faced down mafia threats armed with nothing but financial records and unshakable integrity?

"Survival," I answered finally. " The strength to endure when others would break. To adapt when circumstances change. To fight when necessary and wait when prudent."

Something shifted in Luca's expression, a subtle recalibration. " Then perhaps I'm not as weak as he believes."

"No," I agreed, allowing my thumb to trace a small circle on the back of his hand. " You're not."

The car turned onto the private access road leading to my penthouse building, security checks visible at regular intervals. The sight should have relaxed me, evidence of protection successfully deployed, but instead I found myself scanning for vulnerabilities, for places an enemy might breach our defenses. In my world, security was never absolute—merely layers of deterrence against inevitable intrusion.

Luca sensed the change in my focus, his own gaze following mine to the security measures surrounding us. " They'll come for us, won't they? Your father, the Souzas , whoever took the money..."

"Yes," I answered honestly, seeing no point in shielding him from reality. " But they'll find I defend those under my protection with everything I possess."

The possessive declaration hung between us as the car stopped at the private underground entrance. Carlo opened my door, his hand instinctively resting on his concealed weapon as he scanned the garage for threats. I emerged first, creating a physical barrier between potential danger and Luca as he followed.

The elevator ride to the penthouse passed in silence, the weight of the evening's events pressing down on both of us. Only when we were inside, doors locked and security systems engaged, did Luca's shoulders finally lower from their defensive posture.

"You should rest," I said, watching as he moved uncertainly through what was now his space as much as mine.

"I've been sleeping all day," he reminded me.

"And you'll need more. Tomorrow won't be easy."

He turned to face me, something resolute gathering in his expression. " I want to understand what I'm part of now. Beyond the missing money. What claiming me really means for you, politically."

The directness of his approach caught me off guard—this was no cowed omega seeking reassurance, but an equal demanding truth. I found myself respecting him more for it.

"It means I've defied my father publicly," I explained, removing my jacket and loosening my tie in a deliberate display of normalcy. " Rejected a strategic alliance with the Souzas . Claimed an omega my father considers beneath our family's status. Effectively declared my independence from his authority."

"All to protect me?" Skepticism colored his voice. " That seems... disproportionate."

"To protect you," I agreed, moving closer to him, drawn by some instinct I couldn't fully name. " And to protect myself from a marriage I didn't want. To challenge my father's outdated methods. To secure an ally who can help me trace the missing funds."

I stopped just short of touching him, close enough to see the slight dilation of his pupils, to catch the subtle shift in his scent as honey brightened with something like interest beneath the suppressants.

"So I'm convenient," he said, the words lacking the bitter edge they might have carried.

"You're necessary," I corrected. " There's a difference."

Luca's eyes searched mine, looking for deception or manipulation. Finding neither, he nodded slowly, accepting my assessment if not fully embracing it.

"We should establish boundaries," he said pragmatically. " For this... arrangement."

"Boundaries," I repeated, amused despite the gravity of our situation. " You want a contractual claiming?"

"I want clarity," he countered. " If I'm to be publicly yours, I need to know what that entails privately."

The question cut to the heart of what lay between us—the tension that had simmered since our first encounter, the biological pull neither of us had acknowledged directly. The claiming existed on paper, would soon exist in public perception, but the physical reality remained unconsummated.

"It entails what we choose," I said carefully, acutely aware of the power imbalance between us. " Nothing is required beyond what's necessary to maintain the public claim."

Relief flickered across his features, followed by something more complex—disappointment? Interest ? The contradiction fascinated me.

"And what's necessary?" he asked, voice dropping slightly.

"Scent transfer. Proximity . Eventually , a claiming bite." I delivered the facts clinically, as if discussing business terms rather than intimate acts that would bind us physically. " But none of it needs to happen tonight."

Luca nodded, processing the information with the same analytical focus he'd likely apply to financial records. " And sleeping arrangements?"

"The penthouse has four bedrooms. You can have whichever you prefer." I gestured down the hallway. " Though for appearances, we should share the master suite when guests are present."

Another nod, practical and composed. Only the slight acceleration in his scent—honey warming, citrus sharpening—betrayed his response to the discussion.

"Thank you," he said finally. " For the clarity. And for the protection."

"Don't thank me yet," I cautioned. " What I've done puts you in more danger, not less. My father was right about one thing—you've been pulled into something far larger than missing money."

"I realized that when men followed me home," Luca said dryly. " The question is what we do about it now."

"Now," I echoed, "we fortify. Prepare . Investigate . And above all, we present a united front to anyone who challenges us."

Luca considered this, then straightened his shoulders slightly. " I can do that."

The simple declaration carried more weight than elaborate promises might have. This was Luca Bianchi —straightforward, intelligent, resilient in his quiet way. A surprising ally I'd claimed for strategic reasons, now finding myself increasingly drawn to for entirely different ones.

"Get some rest," I said again, stepping back to restore professional distance between us. " Tomorrow , we start hunting."

He retreated toward the hallway, pausing at the threshold. " Matteo ?"

My name in his mouth sent an unexpected curl of pleasure through me. " Yes ?"

"You said you'd make me strong," he said quietly. " You don't need to. I already am."

His chin lifted slightly as he spoke, gaze steady and unflinching. The faintest edge of determination sharpened the honey in his scent, cutting through the lingering suppressants—a subtle but unmistakable declaration that matched his words. Not begging for protection, not cowering, but standing his ground.

With that, he disappeared down the corridor, leaving me alone with his words echoing in my mind. I moved to the windows overlooking the city, my territory spread before me like a living chess board, players moving in shadows, pieces repositioning after tonight's declaration of intent.

My father was wrong about Luca . The Souzas were wrong about my intentions. Whoever had stolen from us was wrong to think they wouldn't be found.

And perhaps I had been wrong as well—to think I could maintain emotional distance while claiming an omega who challenged everything I thought I knew about strength.

I watched Luca's retreating form in the reflection of the window glass, a resolution forming in my mind. I would protect him, yes. But I wouldn't need to make him strong.

He already was.