Page 3 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter two

Professional Courtesy

Dante

Then silence. Blessed, temporary silence.

Until the tapping started.

It began the first night—three short taps, three long, three short again.

S.O.S. in Morse code, maybe? Or just an Omega slowly losing his mind, methodically testing every inch of his prison for weaknesses.

The pattern varied: different rhythms, different intervals, always soft enough that Leo probably couldn’t hear it from the main apartment but perfectly audible from Dante’s bedroom.

But Christ, the scent.

That was the real problem. Without Gensyn’s omnipresent scent scrubbers and his apparently malfunctioning implants, Orion’s pheromones seeped through the walls like a violation of every corporate air quality protocol.

The more it permeated, the more Dante’s skin felt wrong.

He would flush hot then cold, his heart rate accelerating despite the regulatory breathing exercises he’d been taught.

His carefully controlled libido was now a trained dog straining at its leash, whining with desperation.

He’d tried opening windows—they didn’t open.

He tried the portable air purifier from his luggage—it wheezed for an hour and died with what sounded like mechanical emphysema.

He’d even attempted to rig a scent blocker using supplies from the apartment’s first aid kit, which resulted in him nearly suffocating himself with improvised menthol paste.

Three days in SVI territory, and he was already coming apart at the seams.

The tapping resumed. Soft, deliberate, definitely intentional. Dante rolled onto his side and pressed his ear to the wall, trying to make sense of the rhythm.

Was that code? Or was he so sleep-deprived and scent-drunk that he was imagining patterns where none existed?

But he kept trying to figure it out anyway.

Dante checked his phone. 4:12 AM. This was not sustainable.

Yesterday, between analyzing wall-tapping patterns and fighting Orion’s pheromonal assault on his senses, Dante managed to establish his cover as a vaccine production specialist. He toured SVI’s research facility with the kind of wide-eyed corporate awe that made people want to show off.

The facility was impressive in a brutal, utilitarian way—all concrete and steel with the faint smell of industrial disinfectant that never quite masked the underlying odors.

Dr. Sarah Voss, the lead researcher, gave him the grand tour with the cheerful energy of someone who genuinely believed she was saving the world through better living via chemistry.

The security was tighter than expected but not insurmountable—keycard access, biometric scanners, but all with the kind of gaps that suggested they were more worried about external threats than internal ones.

He should have been cataloguing every security vulnerability, mapping exit routes, and identifying potential allies. Instead, he found himself distracted, wondering if Orion’s scent had always been so potent or if it was intensifying in response to stress.

“Interpersonal optimization protocol research by our Intervention Specialist Team is particularly promising since we upgraded our equipment,” Dr. Voss had said with the kind of enthusiasm that should have triggered all his professional alarms. Instead, he’d been thinking about amber eyes and defiant snarls.

Duckie Chang, the nervous lab tech with obvious gambling debts based on the brace on his knee and his black eye, had been talkative about the “developments in human behavioral modification” happening in the restricted sections.

Yet another lead Dante filed away without the thorough follow-up his Gensyn training demanded .

All very promising for the mission. If he could focus on his objectives instead of obsessing over the activities coming through his bedroom wall.

His phone buzzed with an encrypted message from his handler:

Amalie

Hope you’re settling in well, sweetie! How’s the local hospitality? The Board wants constant communication about any breakthrough discoveries!

Dante stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back:

Facility access secured. Local management practices are illuminating. Should have detailed intelligence soon.

Amalie

Wonderful! I knew you’d find their methods educational.

He set the phone aside and rubbed his temples. Amalie’s relentlessly cheerful corporate-speak was giving him a headache.

A soft knock at his door interrupted his brooding. Dante checked the time—5:23 AM—too early for work-related conversations.

He opened the door to find Leo swaying in the hallway, still in yesterday’s clothes, holding a bottle of something that smelled like industrial solvent and sporting fresh scratches across his neck.

“Dante,” Leo said, slurring. “Sorry to bother you so early. I was wondering... could we talk? In a consulting capacity?”

Leo was drunk. Not fall-down drunk, but past the point where corporate discretion would normally kick in. Which meant this conversation was going to be either very useful or very awkward.

Possibly both .

“Of course,” Dante said, stepping aside to let him in. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.”

While Dante busied himself with the apartment’s primitive coffee maker—which functioned about as well as everything else in this building—Leo slumped into one of the bolted-down chairs and took a long pull from his bottle.

“I’ve been having some challenges,” Leo began, “with a particular asset management situation.”

“The Omega,” Dante said.

“Right.” Leo took a long drink and seemed to be weighing his words. “Look, I understand this is way outside protocol for both of our companies, but SVI techniques are failing. Have been failing. I’ve tried everything in our handbooks. I need help. Gensyn help.”

Dante waited, letting the silence stretch. In his experience, drunk people eventually filled uncomfortable silences with more information than they intended to share.

“He’s valuable,” Leo continued. “Extremely valuable. The kind of... investment... that could make a career. Or destroy one.”

“How valuable?”

Leo hesitated, then spoke: “2.7 million iscs. Medical debt auction. I outbid some very serious people to acquire his contract.”

Dante kept his expression neutral despite the staggering figure. “That’s quite an investment.”

“It was supposed to be straightforward,” Leo went on, the alcohol loosening his tongue. “Standard domestic contract with a one-year claiming clause. It seemed like it’d be easy, establish dominance hierarchy, mutual benefit arrangement. Except...”

“Except? ”

“He won’t submit.” The words came out flat, defeated. “Nearly a year of proper SVI conditioning techniques, and he’s gotten worse.” Leo stared into his coffee.

“How much worse?”

“More defiant. More violent. Smarter about his escapes. That little show the other day? That was him going easy on me because we had an audience. Usually, he draws more blood.”

Leo pushed up his sleeves, revealing a collection of bite marks, scratches, and a large burn. “See this? Last week’s ‘behavioral correction session.’ I try to explain the basic concept of submission, he tries to set me on fire with the coffee pot.”

Dante was intrigued. “An SVI claiming clause gives you a year to claim him before someone else can buy his contract, correct? Forgive my lack of knowledge here, but it is my understanding that an Omega must willingly and publicly submit for a claim to be established here. Have you considered other options?”

“Like what? Selling him?” Leo’s laugh was sharp, but there was something underneath it—fear, maybe, or genuine concern. His eyes darted to the wall separating them from Orion’s room, then back to Dante.

“Do you know what happens to contracts like his when they change hands?” Leo continued, lowering his voice. “The new owner usually starts by breaking both legs to establish dominance. Orion’s got spirit, but he’s not invincible. I’ve seen what some of these bastards do to stubborn Omegas.”

An interesting moral complexity that Dante filed away for later consideration. Leo was failing spectacularly at managing his asset, but his fear seemed genuine—a mix of self-interest and something that might be affection.

“So you’re protecting him?” Dante asked .

Leo’s expression shifted through several emotions—defensiveness, shame, resignation.

“I’m trying to claim him properly,” he corrected, shoulders stiffening.

“The way it’s supposed to work. Alpha and Omega, natural hierarchy, mutual benefit.

But also...” He glanced at the bottle in his hand.

“I sank my life savings and a shitload of corporate debt into this contract. But I’m not—” He struggled with the words.

“I’m not that kind of Alpha. He’s valuable, he’s mine, but I don’t want to destroy him. ”

“Has anything in the SVI manuals worked?” Dante redirected, filing away this new insight into Leo’s character. Not just a failed Alpha, but one with a twisted sense of protective ownership.

Leo was quiet for a long moment. “No. Obviously not. That’s why...” He looked up at Dante with something approaching desperation. “I need help. A consulting arrangement.”

“I’m not sure what kind of assistance—”

“You’re from Gensyn,” Leo interrupted. “You people know how to handle difficult assets. I saw what you did in the courtyard—thirty seconds and he was compliant. How?”

Dante considered his words carefully. “Different techniques. More... refined approaches.”

“Exactly! That’s what I need. Gensyn’s famous for efficient resource management. You could help me with this situation. Secretly, of course, but I can pay you. It’ll be worth it to me, too, whatever your price.”

There it was. The opening he had been waiting for. Leo was so desperate that he was ready to let a corporate rival into his most personal business. Which meant access to Orion, opportunity to study the situation, and potential leverage for his actual mission.

As he formulated his response, Dante mentally composed two different reports. The first was the official one for Amalie: Subject identified as potential leverage point for Project Tether acquisition. Threatening a 2.7 million isc asset would create optimal pressure point for information extraction.

The second was... something else. A growing file of observations about Orion himself. His intelligence. His defiance. The way his scent affected Dante’s impeccable self-control.

“I’d be willing to provide some consultation, discreetly, of course,” Dante replied. “In the spirit of inter-corporate cooperation, I won’t even charge you.”

Leo’s relief seemed to sober him. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Why not? Besides, I’m curious about your methods. SVI’s approach to personnel management is quite different from what I’m used to.” And he was curious—about Orion, about the tapping, about what made an Omega valuable enough to risk a corporate career over.

“Incredible. Like a cultural exchange!” Leo leaned forward. “So where do we start?”

Dante set down his coffee cup and smiled. “Well, first I’d need to assess the current situation more thoroughly. Observe the subject’s behavioral patterns, analyze the existing protocols, and identify inefficiencies in the current approach.”

“You want to study my inefficiencies?”

“I want to understand the problem before proposing solutions. Very standard consulting practice.”

Leo nodded vigorously. “Makes sense. When do you want to start?”

“How about this evening? After we both get some actual work done today.”

“Perfect.” Leo stood up, already looking more hopeful than he had since Dante arrived. “This is... this could work, Dante. Maybe finally get some progress on this situation. ”

After Leo left, Dante sat in his apartment and listened to activities filtering through the wall. The morning routine was in progress: Leo’s cajoling voice, a tray being set down, then almost immediately the crash of dishes hitting the floor.

“Orion, please, just eat something—”

“Fuck your food!”

More crashing. Leo retreating.

Dante smiled. Whatever else Orion was, he was consistent.

Through the wall, the tapping resumed. Deliberate, rhythmic, almost musical.

Dante pressed his ear to the wall and listened. After a moment’s hesitation, he tapped back—three short, precise sounds.

The tapping on the other side stopped abruptly. Then: three identical taps in response.

This time, he was going to figure out what Orion was trying to say.