Page 15 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to the alphas’ chamber.
The scene that greeted me was not what I expected.
Two beta guards were checking on the alphas, one taking vitals while the other collected breakfast trays. All three alphas lay in their beds, looking weak and disoriented, a stark contrast to their alert, threatening demeanor from yesterday. Mr. Iceflare’s eyes were half-lidded, his responses sluggish as the guard checked his pulse. Mr. Enigma appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness, while Mr. Storm stared vacantly at the ceiling.
If I hadn’t seen them fully alert and threatening yesterday, I might have bought the act. These guys deserved Oscars for Best Performance by Alphas Pretending to Be at Death’s Door.
“Any changes?” one guard asked the other.
“Same as yesterday. Still weak from their injuries.” The second guard shrugged.
They barely acknowledged my presence as they finished their tasks and headed for the door. I pressed myself against the wall to let them pass, catching a whiff of their beta scents, unremarkable and clinical compared to the powerful alpha pheromones that filled the room.
The moment the door closed behind them, the transformation was immediate and startling.
Mr. Iceflare sat up, all traces of weakness vanishing as he stretched his shoulders, the muscles rippling beneath his skin in a way that made my mouth go dry. Mr. Enigma’s vacant expression sharpened into alert intelligence, his green eyes focusing with laser-like intensity as he raked a hand through his dark waves. Mr. Storm swung his legs over the side of his bed, his movements controlled and purposeful as he rolled his neck, the quiet crack of tension releasing audible in the sudden silence.
I stood frozen, mouth slightly open at the dramatic change. They hadn’t been this alert even with me yesterday; they’d maintained some pretense of injury and disorientation. Butnow, watching them move with such ease, I realized they’d been playing a much deeper game than I’d imagined.
“Well, well,” I drawled, finding my voice and channeling my inner alpha despite the heat raging through me. “Looks like the three little foxes aren’t as injured as they’ve been pretending to be. What’s next in your repertoire of deception? Spontaneous blindness? Selective mutism? Interpretive dance?”
Mr. Iceflare’s eyes locked on mine, his gaze trailing down my body with such intensity that it felt tangible, lingering where my robe gaped slightly at my chest. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something dangerous and electric.
“You’re more observant than you look, omega,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“And you’re better actors than I gave you credit for,” I countered, taking a step closer. The movement sent a fresh wave of my heat-scent through the room, and I watched with a mixture of satisfaction and embarrassment as all three alphas’ nostrils flared in response. “Tell me, do you put on the same pathetic show for the guards? Or am I getting special treatment? Because if this is special treatment, I’d hate to see what you consider casual acquaintances.”
Mr. Enigma’s lips curved into a smile that was equal parts charm and danger, his eyes darkening as they tracked a bead of sweat trailing down my neck. “Everyone gets the performance they deserve. The guards see what they expect to see—three injured alphas barely clinging to consciousness.”
“And what do I deserve to see?” I asked, surprising myself with my boldness. Apparently, my self-preservation instinct had taken a vacation along with my dignity.
“Truth,” Mr. Storm said, his eyes tracking my movement as I approached. Unlike the others’ more overt stares, his gaze was subtle but somehow more penetrating, as if he could see through my skin to the chaos within.
I snorted, though the sound came out shakier than I’d intended. “How generous of you. And what truth is that, exactly? That you’re perfectly capable of breaking out of here but are choosing to stay for what? The ambiance? De Luca’s sparkling personality? The gourmet hospital food? Because I’ve gotta say, the five-star accommodations don’t seem worth the whole ‘captive breeding stock’ situation.”
Mr. Iceflare didn’t answer directly. Instead, his lips curved into a calculating smile that revealed nothing while promising everything. The look in his eyes was one I’d seen before, in chess players several moves ahead of their opponents. He shifted position, the sheet slipping lower on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle disappearing beneath the fabric. It was a deliberate move, I was sure of it. Alphas and their power plays.
Mr. Enigma exchanged a meaningful glance with his companions, a silent communication that excluded me entirely. His casual shrug did fascinating things to his shoulder muscles, drawing my unwilling attention. “Curious little mouse, aren’t you? All questions and sass, even when you’re drowning in your own heat.”
Mr. Storm leaned forward slightly, the movement deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. His quiet voice carried more weight than the others’ more forceful tones. “Worth waiting for.”
The way he said it sent a conflicting wave of fear and heat through me. I clutched the lapels of my robe tighter, suddenly very aware of how little it concealed as three pairs of alpha eyes devoured me from across the room. The air was thick with their combined scents—crisp winter pine and sandalwood from Mr. Iceflare, cinnamon and warm vanilla from Mr. Enigma, fresh rain and cedar from Mr. Storm—mingling with my heat. Their scents enveloped me completely, each distinct yet harmonizing in a way that made my omega instincts purr with recognition even as my rational mind screamed warnings.
“I’m not that interesting,” I said, aiming for flippant but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Just your average omega trying to avoid getting my father killed while simultaneously not becoming a baby daddy incubator for a geriatric mob boss. You know, Tuesday stuff.”
“We disagree,” Mr. Iceflare said, his eyes darkening as they tracked a bead of sweat rolling down my neck. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the gesture quick but predatory. “You’re quite the puzzle. The desperate omega who doesn’t want to be here but keeps coming back.”
“I told you why,” I snapped, heat flaring in my cheeks. “My father?—”
“Yes, yes, your father,” Mr. Enigma cut in, waving a dismissive hand. His movements were languid but purposeful, each gesture designed to draw my eye to the flex of muscle beneath his skin. “A compelling reason, certainly. But not the only one, is it?” His green eyes glinted with knowing amusement as he inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. “Not with the way your scent spikes every time one of us speaks. Sweet like honey but with something sharper underneath. Something I’ve never encountered before.”
“That’s called ‘desperation mixed with loathing,’” I shot back. “Eau de Omega in Distress. Not available in stores, thank God.”
I opened my mouth to deliver another scathing retort, but another cramp seized me, this one so intense I had to grab the edge of Mr. Storm’s bed to keep from doubling over. A whimper escaped before I could stop it, and I felt my body respond embarrassingly, the scent of my need immediately flooding the room. Great. Nothing says “I’m in control of this situation” like literally broadcasting my desperation.
The reaction from the alphas was immediate and visceral. All three inhaled sharply, their pupils dilating until only thin rings of color remained. Mr. Iceflare’s hands fisted in his sheets,his knuckles white with strain. Mr. Enigma’s jaw clenched so hard I could see a muscle jump in his cheek. Mr. Storm went completely still, like a predator seconds before the pounce, only the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his reaction.
“Your heat’s getting worse,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice rougher than before, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He shifted again, and I couldn’t help but notice the obvious tent in the sheet covering his lower half. “How long has it been since it started?”
