Page 117 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“Fuck,” he growled, the single word torn from somewhere deep and primitive inside him.
The omega’s scent had changed—not subtly, not gradually, but with a potency that made Anders’ alpha instincts roar to life with such ferocity that his vision actually blurred at the edges. The jasmine and lilies that formed Ty’s natural signature were now wrapped in something richer, sweeter, more complex. Something that called to the most ancient part of Anders’ biology.
Fertility. Life. Pregnancy.His child.
His eyes snapped open, ice-blue gaze turning molten as he stared at the rumpled sheets where Ty had slept just hours before. With a movement that was almost reverential, Anders reached down, gathering the fabric in his fist and bringing it tohis face. He inhaled deeply, a full-body shudder passing through him as the confirmation flooded his senses.
“Anders?” Wyatt’s voice came from the doorway, unusually tense as he caught the shift in Anders’ scent, the spike of possessive pheromones so strong it was practically visible in the air between them.
Anders turned slowly, his expression transformed by something so primal it barely resembled human emotion. “He’s carrying,” he said, his voice dropping to a register so deep it seemed to vibrate the air. “Our little omega is pregnant with our child.”
Wyatt’s usual stoicism cracked, his pupils dilating so rapidly the stormy gray of his irises nearly disappeared. A low animal sound emerged from his chest as he stepped into the room, scenting the air with almost desperate intensity.
“You’re certain?” he asked, though his body had already accepted the truth, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if physically restraining himself from hunting down their omega immediately.
Anders didn’t answer with words. Instead, he extended the sheet, offering the proof in the only way that mattered to their alpha biology. Wyatt crossed the room in two strides, taking the fabric and pressing it to his face. The effect was instantaneous—a violent tremor passed through his powerful frame, and when he looked up, his eyes held a hunger that transcended mere desire.
“Mine,” he growled, the word barely recognizable as human speech.
“Ours,” Anders corrected, the single word carrying the weight of their shared bond, their shared claim.
The door flew open as Conall burst in, his usual grace abandoned in the face of the pheromones flooding the apartment. His green eyes were wild, his breathing ragged as if he’d run miles rather than down a hallway.
Anders didn’t need to explain. The scent in the room told the story more eloquently than words ever could. Conall moved forward, almost trancelike, taking the offered fabric from Wyatt’s hands. His reaction was the most visceral of all—a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl tore from his throat as he dropped to his knees, the sheet clutched in white-knuckled fists.
“He’s pregnant,” Conall said, his voice raw with emotion. “Our little mouse is actually carrying our child.”
The three alphas stood in a circle of shared possession, their scents mingling into something new and dangerous—a collective claim, a bond centered around the omega who had managed to escape them once but would never escape again.
“Which of us?” Wyatt asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.
Anders moved to the window, staring down at the street, as if he might spot Ty returning from his shift at any moment. His reflection in the glass showed a face transformed by possession, by need, by a primal drive to claim and protect that civilization had never fully tamed.
“Does it matter?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “He’s ours. The child is ours. Trinity shares everything of significance.”
“Of course it doesn’t matter,” Conall agreed, though his hand unconsciously moved to his own scent gland, as if already imagining the connection to the child growing in their omega’s body. “But biology has its own imperatives. If one of us is the biological father?—”
“Then that alpha will have a stronger protective instinct toward the child,” Anders finished, turning back to face his brothers. “All the more reason to keep him close, under the protection of all of us.”
The air in the room seemed to pulse with their combined intent, the decision made without further discussion. The hunt, which had been calculated and patient until now, had just become something far more urgent.
“We accelerate our timeline,” Anders said. “De Luca is taken tomorrow.” His hand came down on the windowsill with enough force to crack the wood. “And our omega comes home.”
Conall rose to his feet, the playful charmer replaced by something ancient and dangerous. “Home,” he echoed, the word a vow.
“Where he belongs,” Wyatt added, completing the trinity of intent.
Anders looked between his sworn brothers, seeing his own possessive fury mirrored in their expressions. Three alphas, one omega, one child. Their family. Their future. Their claim.
“No more waiting,” Anders declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “No more patience. Tomorrow, we take back what’s ours.”
The possessive declaration hung in the air between them, a covenant sealed in pheromones and silent understanding. After months of hunting, their prey was finally cornered. And this time, there would be no escape.
The Trinity Syndicate’s command center hummed with precise efficiency as Anders finalized plans for tomorrow’s dawn assault. He studied the three-dimensional model of De Luca’s compound, mentally cataloging every entry point, every guard position, every potential obstacle. Nothing would be left to chance.
“The Vitale and Corsini forces will create diversions here and here.” He indicated on the model. “Drawing De Luca’s security to the perimeter while our teams infiltrate through these service tunnels.”
Wyatt nodded, his eyes never leaving the section of the model representing the cell blocks. “Extraction teams are ready. Primary target is De Luca himself. Secondary is the omega’s father.”
