Page 4 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
I closed my eyes, silently wondering how I’d survive the coming days. When my heat hit full force, I wouldn’t just want relief—I’d need it to maintain my sanity.
“Wait!” I cried out. “At least tell me what happens to my father if I do this! I need guarantees!”
De Luca studied me with renewed interest, perhaps surprised by my attempt to negotiate despite my position.
“If I do this,” I said slowly, forcing my voice to remain steady, “I want guarantees. Written contracts. My father gets medical care immediately. And I want to see him regularly, to know he’s alright.”
De Luca’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Bold of you to make demands in your position.”
“You need me,” I countered, summoning every ounce of courage I possessed. “A willing omega will have a better chance of conception than one who’s fighting against their own biology every step of the way.”
For a moment, De Luca simply stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed, the sound bouncing off the warehouse walls.
“You have spirit, Mr. Hart. I’ll give you that.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. You’ll have your guarantees. Your father will receive immediate medical attention. And you may see him, once he’s stabilized and once you’ve fulfilled your first obligation.”
“Which is?”
“Meeting your alphas, of course.” De Luca’s smile turned cruel. “My men are already en route to collect them from the hospital. By tonight, we’ll have them securely in our facility.”
My stomach dropped. The Vitale Brotherhood. I’d heard whispers about their ruthlessness, their power. These weren’t just any alphas; they were apex predators in human form. And De Luca intended to use them, to force me to become part of his twisted legacy plan.
A choked sob escaped as the reality of my situation crashed over me. My father’s life for my freedom. My body for his safety. The weight of what I’d agreed to pressed down on my chest until I could barely breathe.
I’d just sold my future to save my father’s life. In a few hours, my own biology would betray me, turning me into exactly what De Luca needed, a desperate omega driven by instincts I couldn’t control. The humiliation burned hotter than any fever, knowing these powerful men would see me at my most vulnerable, my most primal.
As De Luca’s men led me from the warehouse, I caught my reflection in a dusty window—pale, terrified, but somehowstill standing. I straightened my shoulders slightly, clinging to whatever dignity I could salvage.
Whatever happened next, my life as I knew it was over. But I would survive it. I had to.
For my father. For myself.
two
. . .
The sleek black car sliced through morning traffic. Inside, three of the most powerful men in the city sat in contemplative silence, each preparing for the summit in their own way.
Anders Knight straightened his platinum cuff links, his ice-blue eyes scanning the traffic patterns around them. At thirty-five, he had built the Trinity Syndicate from nothing into an empire that commanded respect across the criminal landscape. His striking features remained impassive, betraying nothing of the calculations running through his mind.
“The Corsini delegation will push for access to the harbor district,” he stated, breaking the silence. “They’ve been moving shipments through Vitale’s channels at a premium. They’ll want direct access.”
Beside him, Conall O’Reilly’s lips curved into a knowing smile. At thirty-four, his understanding of human nature made him invaluable in negotiations. His vivid green eyes held a glint of amusement.
“They’ll lead with something outrageous first—probably demand a piece of our casino operations,” Conall predicted,running a hand through his dark waves. “Classic misdirection. Make us feel relieved when they ‘settle’ for what they actually wanted all along.”
From the opposite seat, Wyatt Slater observed in silence. At thirty-three, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had seen the worst of humanity and remained unimpressed. His stormy gray eyes never stopped moving, scanning every vehicle that came too close to their convoy.
“Enzo,” Wyatt stated, the single name carrying all the warning his brothers needed.
Anders nodded once, acknowledging the observation. “Enzo Corsini is ambitious. But ambition without patience is just recklessness.”
“He’s not alone in that ambition,” Conall added, his expression sobering. “His brother Dante has been systematically targeting our digital infrastructure. Clever attacks. Almost got through our security protocols twice last month.”
The three men fell silent as their driver navigated onto the private road leading to the Montecito Hotel. Anders glanced at his sworn brothers, feeling the familiar surge of pride at how far they’d come. From three orphaned boys fighting for scraps in the eastern slums to the most feared trinity in the criminal world. They’d sworn their blood oath at sixteen, after surviving the gang war that had claimed what remained of their families. “Brothers in blood and purpose until death,” had been their vow, sealed with knife cuts across their palms that had left matching scars none of them bothered to hide. That oath had carried them through the brutal climb to power, through betrayals and victories, through the founding of the Trinity Syndicate and its rise to prominence.
The Montecito would now host representatives from all three major syndicates for the first time in three years. The last summit had ended in bloodshed when a minor family hadattempted to assassinate the Vitale leadership. The resulting war had reshaped the city’s criminal landscape, with the Trinity Syndicate emerging as a dominant force alongside the Vitales—another victory for the three sworn brothers who had survived far worse than political machinations.
“Two cars ahead, two behind,” Wyatt said as they approached the hotel’s entrance, his economy of words typical of his communication style.
