Page 102 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Viktor, their head of security, stepped forward. “We’ve maintained surveillance as instructed, sir. Target maintains regular patterns—work, home, occasional grocery trips. No contact with De Luca’s organization or law enforcement.”
Anders studied the grainy footage, a muscle working in his jaw as he took in how much thinner Ty had become. Even through the poor quality, he could see the sharp angles of Ty’s cheekbones, the delicate fragility of his wrists as he moved with that defiant grace that had first entranced Anders during their imprisonment. The sight ignited a slow-burning rage in Anders’chest, mingled with an ache of longing so intense it bordered on physical pain. Their little mouse was suffering, and the alpha in him roared at the injustice of it.
“His living conditions?” Anders asked, though he already knew the answer from previous reports. His fingers twitched with the need to touch, to claim, to protect what was rightfully theirs.
“Substandard,” Viktor replied. “The apartment is secure but poorly maintained. Heat is inconsistent. He’s been rationing food to make rent.”
Behind Anders, Conall made a low sound of displeasure that rumbled from deep in his chest. “This isn’t what we discussed.”
“No,” Anders agreed, “it isn’t.”
The search for Ty had consumed them for nearly two months. What should have been a simple tracking operation had proven surprisingly challenging. Their little omega had covered his tracks well, avoiding digital footprints and staying away from areas with extensive surveillance coverage. When they finally located him, Anders had felt a savage satisfaction that bordered on euphoria. Their omega had been found. Now it was simply a matter of reclaiming him properly.
“Continue,” Anders instructed Viktor, unable to tear his gaze from Ty’s image on the screen. Even exhausted and stressed, their little mouse moved with a quiet determination that made Anders’ chest tighten with something dangerously close to admiration.
The security chief tapped a tablet, bringing up new footage. “There’s been a development. The restaurant manager has been encouraging harassment. Today he attempted to coerce Hart into attending a ‘private party’ with these men.”
The screen showed two alpha businessmen leering at Ty as he passed through the dining room, their intentions clear in their predatory postures.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Anders’ expression hardened into something lethal. Beside him, Wyatt’s hand moved to his weapon, an unconscious gesture that spoke volumes. The mere thought of other alphas touching what belonged to the Trinity sent a wave of possessive rage through Anders so intense he could taste it—metallic and sharp at the back of his throat.
“Names,” Anders said, the single word carrying the weight of a death sentence.
“Richard Richardson and James Keller,” Viktor supplied. “Richardson owns a development company that’s been trying to move into Corsini territory. Keller is his VP of operations.”
“And now they’re trying to move on what’s ours,” Conall said, his usual charm replaced by something darker, more primal. His green eyes glittered with a dangerous light that promised retribution.
Anders watched as the footage continued, showing Ty leaving work, the businessmen following with the restaurant’s line cook. His jaw tightened to the point of pain as he saw them corner Ty in the alley. Those men were touching what belonged to the Trinity. What belonged to him. It was an offense that could only be answered with blood.
“Our men were instructed not to intervene,” Viktor explained quickly, sensing the alphas’ mounting rage. “Per your orders to maintain distance from Hart.”
“Where was this?” Anders demanded, every muscle in his body coiled with the need to hunt, to eliminate any threat to their omega.
“Three blocks from the restaurant.”
Anders checked his watch. “That’s less than ten minutes from Vitale territory.”
He pulled out his phone, dialing a number from memory. It was answered on the second ring.
“Marco,” Anders said without preamble. “I need a favor.”
The parking garage echoed with Richardson’s screams as Anders methodically dislocated his fingers one by one. The businessman’s expensive suit was now stained with blood and urine, his earlier bravado replaced by pathetic begging.
“Please,” Richardson sobbed, “I didn’t know he belonged to you. I swear I didn’t know!”
Anders paused, studying the broken man with clinical detachment that masked the savage satisfaction coursing through his veins. Every scream was a balm to the primal part of him that had been roaring for retribution since seeing those hands on their little mouse.
“That’s the problem with men like you, Richardson. You think omegas are public property unless explicitly claimed.” He grabbed the man’s hand again, twisting the thumb until a sickening pop silenced the garage. “This one has always been ours. From the moment he was born.”
Nearby, Keller whimpered through a mouthful of broken teeth, watching his boss’ torture with wide, terrified eyes. Wyatt stood over him, expression impassive as he documented the proceedings with his phone. The Vitale contingent had departed after the initial introductions, Marco recognizing that what followed wasn’t meant for allied eyes.
“Business is business,” Anders continued conversationally, wiping blood from his knuckles with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Territories can be negotiated. Profits can be shared. But some things are absolute.” He crouched to meet Richardson’s pain-glazed eyes. “The omega is ours. Not to look at. Not to speak to. Not even to think about.”
With surgical precision, Anders drove his fist into Richardson’s knee, shattering the patella. The businessman’s scream echoed through the concrete structure, bouncing off walls and returning like a grotesque chorus. The sound satisfied something primal in Anders’ chest, justice for the fear these men had caused their little mouse.
“Consider this a professional courtesy,” Anders said, standing and straightening his cuffs. “A lesson in the natural order of things. Had you succeeded in touching him…” He let the sentence hang unfinished, the implication clear.
Conall approached, having finished his call. “The restaurant has been addressed. The owner now understands his responsibilities.”
