Page 9

9

LUCA

C onsciousness returned as a slow tide, each wave bringing fragments of reality into sharper focus. The sheets beneath me—impossibly soft, almost liquid against my cooling skin. The weight of an arm draped protectively across my waist. The scent that surrounded me—no longer just mine, but something richer, more complex. Sandalwood and cedar intertwined with honey and citrus, creating an olfactory signature that announced our bond to anyone with the ability to detect it.

The claiming had changed everything on a molecular level.

I opened my eyes to a room bathed in the gentle glow of morning light filtering through expensive curtains. My body ached in ways both familiar and entirely new—the pleasant soreness of physical satisfaction layered over the bone-deep exhaustion of heat. The fever had receded to a low simmer, temporarily banked by the claiming but not yet completely extinguished. Hours remained before my biology would release its hold entirely.

Beside me, Matteo slept—a sight so unexpected it momentarily stole my breath. In sleep, the hard edges of the mafia underboss softened, revealing contours of the man beneath the alpha exterior. His dark lashes rested against olive skin, his mouth relaxed from its usual controlled line. One arm remained possessively around my waist even in unconsciousness, his body curved toward mine in protective instinct.

The memory of the night before filtered through the remaining haze of heat—the desperation that had consumed me, the quiet strength with which he'd resisted his own biology, the moment when choice had emerged through biological imperative. I choose you, Matteo . Please . My own words, spoken through fever but with unexpected clarity.

And he had waited for those words. Had refused to take what biology and law would have permitted without them.

My fingers rose unconsciously to the junction between neck and shoulder, finding the raised edges of the claiming bite that had forever altered my biochemistry. The mark pulsed with lingering sensitivity, a physical reminder of the bond now connecting us beyond paper claims or legal declarations. Our scents had merged, our biology irrevocably linked through the ancient mechanisms of alpha and omega. What had begun as strategic arrangement had transformed into something neither of us had anticipated.

I slipped carefully from beneath his arm, needing a moment of solitude to process the profound changes of the past hours. My legs trembled slightly as I padded toward the bathroom, muscles protesting movements after the intensity of heat and claiming. The tiles felt blessedly cool beneath my bare feet, the sensation grounding me in physical reality when everything else seemed shifted, rearranged into unfamiliar patterns.

The mirror revealed a stranger—or perhaps the truest version of myself I'd ever confronted. My dark curls stood in wild disarray, my skin marked with evidence of possession—not just the claiming bite at my neck, but smaller claims pressed into flesh across collarbones, shoulders, hips. My eyes held a new awareness, pupils still slightly dilated from the lingering effects of heat.

I looked claimed. Marked . Bonded .

And beneath it all, strangely at peace.

The expected shame, the rebellion against biological imperative that had defined my relationship with my omega nature for years—it hovered at the edges of consciousness but couldn't take hold. Something fundamental had shifted within me, beyond the biochemical changes of claiming. Some acceptance I hadn't anticipated, born not from surrender to biology but from the unexpected dignity Matteo had preserved within it.

Movement caught my attention—a tray placed neatly on the counter that hadn't been there the night before. Fresh fruit arranged in careful patterns, a carafe of water beaded with condensation, packets of electrolyte powder, and what appeared to be omega-specific nutritional supplements designed for post-heat recovery. Beside it all, a folded note in unfamiliar handwriting: By order of Mr . Corvino . Delivered 6 AM . For when you wake.

The evidence of care—practical, unsentimental, precisely what my body needed—triggered an unexpected tightness in my throat. This wasn't Carlo's doing or some standard protocol. These were specific items Matteo himself must have requested, anticipating exactly what I'd need upon waking. How many alphas would think to provide such necessities? How many would consider an omega's physical needs beyond the satisfaction of heat? The tray spoke of planning, of consideration that extended beyond possession to genuine care.

I sipped water gratefully, my body responding to needs I hadn't fully registered until they were met. The fruit tasted impossibly sweet against my tongue, natural sugars replenishing depleted energy reserves. As I ate, awareness of my surroundings expanded beyond immediate physical sensation.

The bathroom showed evidence of hasty cleaning—damp towels neatly folded, glass shards from the sabotaged suppressant vials completely removed, surfaces wiped clean of the evidence of my vulnerability. Someone —likely staff rather than Matteo himself—had restored order while I slept, removing all traces of the violation that had preceded the claiming.

The memory of those shattered vials triggered a colder awareness. Someone had entered this room while I slept. Someone had deliberately destroyed the protection between my biology and vulnerability. The Souzas , Matteo had said, believing forced heat would drive him to claim without consent, to take advantage of biological vulnerability.

They had miscalculated.

"Luca."

The voice from the doorway startled me from reflection. Matteo stood there, shirtless and watchful, his dark eyes assessing my condition with careful attention. The wound at his side had been rebandaged sometime during the night, the evidence of violence a stark reminder of the dangers surrounding us both. His scent reached me before he moved closer—sandalwood and cedar now carrying subtle notes of honey that hadn't existed before the claiming. My scent, integrated with his on a molecular level.

"You should have woken me," he said, voice roughened from sleep yet controlled in that way that seemed integral to his nature.

"You needed rest." I reached for one of the robes hanging nearby, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way I hadn't been moments before. Heat -haze had temporarily receded, leaving self-consciousness in its wake.

Matteo's eyes tracked the movement, something possessive flaring briefly before being mastered. " How are you feeling?" The question contained layers—concern for my physical condition, yes, but also uncertainty about the emotional aftermath of what had transpired between us.

"Better." I cinched the robe around my waist, the soft fabric a temporary barrier between vulnerability and exposure. " The fever's decreased."

"Temporarily," he confirmed, maintaining his position at the threshold rather than approaching further. Giving space. Choice . " It will return in cycles for another day or so, but with decreasing intensity."

The clinical assessment contained no presumption, no assumption that he would be the one to see me through those remaining cycles. Again , that preservation of choice within biological constraint that I hadn't expected from an alpha—especially not one born to mafia authority.

"Thank you," I said, the words emerging before I'd fully formed the thought behind them. " For ..." I gestured vaguely, uncertain how to articulate gratitude for something so complex, so fundamental.

"Don't thank me for basic decency, Luca ." His response held no pride, no expectation of praise for restraint that should have been standard rather than exceptional. " I should apologize for not stopping them. For not preventing this."

The shift in responsibility—from my gratitude for his restraint to his apology for the violation that had preceded it—realigned something fundamental between us. Not possession but partnership. Not surrender but alliance.

"You couldn't have known," I offered, moving toward him with careful steps. " None of us anticipated they would go this far."

His expression darkened, something dangerous flashing briefly before being contained. " I should have. The Souzas are known for biological manipulation. They've used heat-triggering agents before against rivals' families."

The casual reference to mafia tactics I'd never considered sent a chill through me despite the lingering warmth of heat. The world I'd entered through missing millions and paper claims contained dangers beyond physical violence—biological warfare targeting the most vulnerable aspects of secondary gender.

"Carlo is interrogating the delivery service that brought the suppressants," Matteo continued, his voice dropping to something colder, more calculated. " When we find who tampered with them?—"

"You'll kill them," I finished, not a question but an acknowledgment of the reality we inhabited.

His gaze met mine directly, no pretense, no softening of what he was willing to do. " Yes ."

The simplicity of his confirmation should have horrified me. Instead , I found myself nodding slightly, accepting the reality of our world—of his world, which had become mine through claiming and consequence. Violence as currency, as response, as the language of power and protection.

"You're not disturbed by that," he observed, something like surprise registering beneath his controlled exterior.

I considered the question, examining my own response with the analytical precision I'd once reserved for financial discrepancies. " I should be," I admitted, echoing words I'd spoken to him nights before, when he'd returned bloodied from defending territory that included me. " But I understand necessity in ways I didn't before."

Something shifted in his expression then—respect perhaps, or recognition of a hardness in me that belied the omega stereotypes his father had so readily applied. " The heat has changed more than just our scents."

"Not the heat," I corrected gently. " Experience . Perspective ." I touched the claiming mark at my neck, feeling its subtle pulse beneath my fingertips. " Choice within constraint."

His eyes tracked the movement of my hand, something possessive and tender simultaneously flaring in his gaze. " Do you regret it?" The question emerged roughly, vulnerability beneath alpha control.

The answer rose within me with unexpected clarity—no shame, no conflict, none of the rejection of my omega nature that had defined me for years. Where I expected doubt, I found only certainty. " No ." The simplicity of my response surprised even me. " Do you?"

"Never." A single word, absolute in its conviction.

Silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken significance. Whatever had begun as strategic arrangement, as protection through possession, had evolved into something neither of us had fully anticipated. The biochemical bond created through claiming had layers beyond biological imperative—trust formed through choice preserved, through boundaries respected, through dignity maintained within vulnerability.

A slight tremor passed through me, the first warning of heat returning in its cyclical pattern. Matteo noticed immediately, his nostrils flaring slightly as my scent shifted in subtle warning.

"It's starting again," he said, neither question nor presumption.

I nodded, heat beginning to simmer beneath my skin once more—less desperate than before, more manageable, but unmistakable in its biological demand. " Not as strong. But yes."

He took a single step forward, then stopped, restraint evident in every line of his powerful frame. " What do you need, Luca ?" The question—the same one he'd asked during the depths of heat-madness—carried the same respect for autonomy, the same refusal to presume despite biological claiming and legal rights.

The heat building within me whispered of need, of completion, of satisfaction available through the alpha standing before me. But beneath those biological imperatives lay something more meaningful—the recognition of choice preserved, of partnership rather than possession.

"You," I said simply, allowing the robe to slip from my shoulders in deliberate choice rather than heat-driven desperation. " But as partners. Not as alpha claiming omega."

Something powerful flashed across his features—surprise, perhaps, at the distinction I'd drawn, followed by hunger that transcended mere biological response. " Partners ," he agreed, moving toward me with the controlled power that defined him.

When his arms encircled me, when his scent enveloped me completely, I surrendered not to biological imperative but to the partnership we had forged within it. Alpha and omega, protector and protected, but equals in the choice we had made despite the constraints forced upon us.

As his lips found mine, the claiming bond between us flared hot and electric. My body responded instantly, my omega biology singing with recognition—yes, this one, this alpha—as Matteo's tongue swept possessively into my mouth. I tasted him—rich coffee and something darker, more primal—while his large hands traced deliberate patterns across my naked skin, following the constellation of marks he'd already left during the night. My nipples tightened to aching points as his thumbs brushed over them, sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he growled against my mouth, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest.

I whimpered as slick gathered between my thighs, my entrance clenching around emptiness, craving his thickness. The heat was building again, not the desperate madness of before, but a simmering need that left me fully aware of every sensation—every drag of his calloused fingertips against my oversensitive skin, every press of his hard cock against my stomach.

"Please," I whispered, my hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his hastily donned sweatpants. " I need to feel you inside me again."

Matteo's eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with desire. " Tell me what you want, Luca ." His hands gripped my ass, fingers dipping between my cheeks to find me wet and ready. " Tell me exactly what you need."

"Your cock," I said, boldness rising through the haze of returning heat. " I need your cock filling me up, stretching me open. I need to feel you come inside me again."

He groaned, lifting me effortlessly and carrying me back to the bed. I spread my legs for him without hesitation, displaying myself in wanton invitation. The sight of his massive body looming over me—all olive skin and rippling muscle, the bandage at his side a stark reminder of his mortality despite his power—made my breath catch.

"Mine," he said simply, pushing his sweatpants down to free his thick, heavy erection.

I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his shaft, feeling it pulse in my grip. " And you're mine," I replied, voice steady despite the trembling in my limbs. " Not because biology says so. Because we choose it."

His cock nudged at my entrance, the blunt head pressing against my slick hole. I arched into the contact, desperate for him to fill me, to complete the connection that had fundamentally altered us both. When he finally pushed inside, the stretch was exquisite—my body remembered him now, welcomed him, but still marveled at the perfect fullness.

I surrendered not to biological imperative but to the partnership we had forged within it. Alpha and omega, protector and protected, but equals in the choice we had made despite the constraints forced upon us.

Our enemies had miscalculated indeed. What they had intended as vulnerability, we had transformed into strength. What they had designed as manipulation, we had reclaimed as choice.

And what had begun as paper claiming had evolved into something far more dangerous to those who would stand against us—a bond forged through fire, strengthened through restraint, and sealed through mutual choice within the biological imperatives that defined our world.

Mine, my omega hindbrain whispered as his scent enveloped me completely.

Ours, my conscious mind corrected, as his hands cradled my face with surprising gentleness.

The distinction made all the difference.