Page 12 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“I told you, I don’t have a choice,” I said, hating the pleading note in my voice. “My father?—”
“Always a choice,” Mr. Storm said softly, the quiet intensity of his gaze burning into me even as his chest heaved with barely controlled breaths.
Another wave of heat washed over me, this one strong enough to make my knees buckle. I caught myself against the wall, my breath coming in short gasps. The alphas’ scents were overwhelming in the enclosed space, each one calling to something primal in me.
I took a tentative step forward, driven by biological imperative stronger than fear.
“That’s it,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice dropping to a seductive purr that belied the threat in his words. His ice-blue eyes darkened to midnight as they tracked my approach, his powerful body visibly fighting against its own response to me. “Come closer, little omega. Let me tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you when these injuries heal.”
The contrast between his tone and his words created a confusing cocktail of fear and desire that made my head spin. I took another step, drawn by his voice despite the danger it promised.
“I’m going to find you,” he continued, those darkened eyes tracking my every movement, his chest rising and falling with increasingly rapid breaths. “No matter where you run, no matterwhere you hide. And when I do, I’m going to make you remember every second of what you’re planning to do to us.”
I should have turned and fled. Any sane person would have. But my heat-addled brain couldn’t process the threat properly, not with his alpha scent calling to me, not with my body screaming for relief only he could provide.
“Please,” I whispered, not even sure what I was asking for. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“But you will,” Mr. Enigma said, his green eyes calculating as they raked over me, lingering on where my nipples pressed against the thin fabric, on the dampness visible on my inner thighs. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, a movement that seemed involuntary. “You’ll use us because it’s convenient. Because it saves your father. Because your body wants it.”
I flinched at the accuracy of his assessment. “That’s not fair.”
“Consequences,” Mr. Storm said, a fine tremor running through his powerful frame as he fought to maintain control. His eyes narrowed. “Balanced to the crime.”
I was close enough now to see the rise and fall of their chests, to note the way their bodies responded to my proximity despite their words. All three were visibly affected, their alpha biology betraying them just as my omega biology was betraying me. The sheets over their lower bodies did little to hide their state, and the air was thick with the scent of alpha pheromones mingling with my omega heat.
Mr. Iceflare noticed my gaze and his smile turned cruel, though his voice had roughened to a growl that sent heat pooling low in my belly. “Looking for something, omega? Planning your approach? Let me save you the trouble. The moment you touch me, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“How?” I challenged, desperate enough to be reckless. “You’re injured. You can barely sit up.”
“True,” he conceded with a dangerous glint in his eyes, even as a bead of sweat traced down his temple, betraying his struggle. “But I don’t need physical strength to make this a nightmare for you. Come closer, and I’ll describe in exquisite detail exactly what I’m going to do to you when I’m free. Every cut, every bruise, every moment of terror.”
I faltered, my bravado crumbling. The coldness in his eyes told me he meant every word, even as his body reacted to mine with unmistakable hunger.
“Or perhaps you’d prefer me?” Mr. Enigma offered with mock sweetness, his voice a husky rasp that belied his controlled expression. “I could tell you all about how I’ll find your father once we’re done with you. How I’ll explain to him exactly what his child did to three helpless alphas. How I’ll make sure he knows every sordid detail before I put him out of his misery.”
The blood drained from my face. “You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” he asked, arching one eyebrow as his fingers twisted in the sheets, his knuckles white with the effort of restraint. “You don’t know me, omega. You don’t know what I’m capable of when someone crosses me.”
My eyes darted to Mr. Storm, hoping perhaps for some mercy from the quietest of the three. His gray eyes met mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. Unlike the others, who fought their responses with tension and aggression, his control was eerier, a stillness that seemed almost unnatural, broken only by the rapid pulse visible in his throat.
He didn’t need to speak. His gaze alone conveyed everything—the promise of pursuit, the certainty of capture, the assurance that my scent, my face, and every detail about me was being cataloged in his memory. Where the others threatened with words, his silent assessment told me he would be the one to ensure I never felt safe again.
The muscle in his jaw twitched once, the only visible crack in his control, and I understood with perfect clarity that this quiet alpha might be the most dangerous of them all.
I took a stumbling step backward, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. They meant it. Every word. These weren’t idle threats from powerless men. These were promises from alphas who had the means and the will to carry them out, alphas who were fighting their own biological imperatives even as they threatened me.
“You’re making a mistake,” I said, my voice trembling despite my attempt at defiance. “I’m not the enemy here. De Luca is.”
“And yet here you stand,” Mr. Iceflare pointed out coldly, though his eyes had darkened to midnight, his powerful chest heaving with the effort of restraint. “Ready to use us for your own ends. That makes you complicit, little omega. That makes you a target.”
Another cramp hit me, this one so severe I cried out, doubling over. The need was becoming unbearable, a physical pain that radiated from my core outward. My body didn’t care about threats or morality or the future; it only knew that three virile alphas were within reach and I was in heat.
“Look at him,” Mr. Enigma said to his companions, his voice a cruel parody of sympathy even as his nostrils flared, drinking in my scent. “So desperate. So needy. I almost feel sorry for him.”
“I don’t,” Mr. Iceflare replied flatly, though the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the strain in his voice told a different story. “He made his choice the moment he walked through that door.”
I forced myself upright, clinging to the last shreds of my dignity. “You act like you’re so superior, but your bodies are responding just like mine. You want this too, whether you admit it or not.”
