Page 45 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“Afraid,” Wyatt said. “But fighting it.”
Anders stared at the closed door, his jaw tightening. The boy’s attempt at casual departure hadn’t masked the conflict in his scent, the reluctance to leave warring with self-preservation. It changed nothing, and yet, somehow, it changed everything.
“De Luca dies slowly,” he said, the words a promise rather than a threat. “For all of it.”
His brothers nodded in agreement, no further discussion needed. De Luca’s fate was sealed, had been from the moment he’d orchestrated their capture.
The morning brought the usual routine—guards with food, the pretense of weakness, the careful collection of intelligence. Anders maintained his facade of injury as Rodriguez approached with breakfast, letting his body appear more affected than it truly was.
“How are you feeling today, Stefano?” Peters asked.
Anders remained silent, his eyes tracking the nervous movements of Rodriguez as the younger guard offered food. The moment was perfect for another seed of doubt.
“Your boss is getting desperate,” Anders said quietly, his voice pitched so only Rodriguez could hear. “His health is failing faster than he’s letting on. The tremor in his hands, the pallor of his skin. He’s dying, and he knows it.”
Rodriguez’s hand faltered slightly, his eyes darting to the door as if afraid De Luca might be listening. “Shut up and eat.”
“You know I’m right,” Anders continued. “And when he’s gone, who do you think will protect you from what’s coming?”
The guard’s pulse visibly quickened, a tell Anders had been waiting for. “No one’s coming for you.” He allowed himself a small, cold smile. “Everyone has allies, Rodriguez. The Vitale Brotherhood is extensive. Loyal. And they don’t forget those who wrong their leaders.”
“Enough talk,” Peters called. “Hurry it up, Rodriguez.”
Anders fell silent, but the seed had been planted. When the guards finally left, locking the heavy door behind them, Anders exchanged a significant look with his brothers. The chain at his wrist clinked as he shifted position, testing its give.
“Rodriguez is wavering,” Conall noted. “Might be useful.”
“If he doesn’t panic first,” Wyatt cautioned. “Fear makes men unpredictable.”
Anders nodded, acknowledging the risk. Every variable had to be accounted for, every contingency planned. When they broke free, and they would break free, there could be no room for error.
“De Luca first,” he said, returning to their established priority list. “Then his inner circle. Then anyone who participated directly in our capture or confinement.”
“And the omega?” Conall asked, the question hanging in the air between them.
“We keep him,” Anders said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “He’s ours.”
The three exchanged looks of perfect understanding. The omega had unwittingly triggered something primal in all of them, a possessive instinct that wouldn’t be satisfied until Ty Hart was permanently marked as theirs.
Their conversation might have continued, but the connecting door to the omega’s quarters burst open. Ty stumbled through, gripping the doorframe with white knuckles as his legs threatened to give out beneath him.
Anders’ eyes widened at the sight. Ty’s normally vibrant hazel eyes were glazed and unfocused, pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of color remained. His hair clung to his forehead in sweat-soaked waves, and his skin had taken on an alarming shade of red that spoke of dangerous fever. Every inch of him trembled, his inner thighs glistening in quantities that suggested this was far beyond normal heat intensity.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” Ty managed through gritted teeth, his voice rougher than usual. “Apparently, my body didn’t get the memo that we already did the whole ‘desperate omega’ routine yesterday. Talk about a biological encore nobody asked for.”
Anders was on his feet immediately, the chain at his wrist extending as he moved toward Ty with predatory focus. The scent overwhelmed him instantly, jasmine and honey intensified to an almost unbearable sweetness that triggered an instant, painful hardening of his cock. This wasn’t just renewed heat; this was something more intense, more primal.
“Your heat’s returned,” Anders stated, reaching Ty just as the boy’s knees buckled.
“Wow, your detective skills are truly remarkable,” Ty gasped, attempting to maintain his sarcastic facade despite the obvious pain racking his body. “Next you’ll tell me water is wet and alphas are insufferable. I was fine for a few hours and then”—he gestured weakly at himself—“surprise round two: electric boogaloo. Twice the heat, none of the dignity.”
Anders caught him before he hit the floor, lifting him effortlessly against his chest. Ty’s skin burned against his own with dangerous intensity, radiating heat that seared wherever they touched. The boy’s entire body shuddered at the contact, a broken whimper escaping his lips as he instinctively pressed closer to Anders’ bare skin.
“Kiss me,” Ty suddenly begged, the request so unexpected and raw that it caught Anders off guard. “Please, need your mouth, need to taste you.”
The desperate plea shattered Anders’ restraint. He claimed Ty’s mouth in a bruising kiss, tasting fever and need on the boy’s tongue. Ty responded with shocking hunger, his hands clutching at Anders’ face, his neck, anywhere he could reach as if afraid the alpha might pull away.
“Bathroom,” Anders commanded when they finally broke apart, already moving toward the adjoining facilities. “Now.”
