Page 70 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“What, you want morning breath to be part of our captivity experience? How authentic.” I tried again to move, only to have Mr. Enigma’s arm join Mr. Iceflare’s across my waist, effectively pinning me in place. “Seriously? Is this kindergarten naptime? Let me up.”
“After,” Mr. Iceflare said, his eyes never leaving my face. “After we discuss what happened last night.”
Oh, hell no. I was not having a feelings talk with three alpha mafia bosses while naked.
“Nothing to discuss,” I said with forced lightness. “Biology happened. Heat happened. We all got what we needed. End of story, roll credits, no sequel planned.”
Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm against my neck, his breath tickling my ear in a way that absolutely did not send shiversdown my spine. “Nice try, little mouse. But we all know it was more than that.”
“We don’t ‘all know’ anything,” I countered, finally managing to squirm free of their hold through sheer determination and strategic use of my bony elbows. “Except that I desperately need a shower before I permanently fuse to the sheets.”
I scrambled off the bed, wincing as various parts of my anatomy reminded me just how thoroughly I’d been claimed the night before. The evidence of their possession was written across my skin in a map of bruises, bite marks, and other souvenirs I’d be feeling for days.
“Jesus Christ,” I said, examining a particularly impressive bite mark on my inner thigh. “Were you trying to claim me or eat me? Because there’s a fine line, and you definitely crossed it somewhere around midnight.”
“Both,” Mr. Storm said simply. “You taste good.”
“That’s—that’s not a normal response,” I sputtered, grabbing a towel from the small stack. “That’s serial killer territory.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile on anyone else. “Not serial. Selective.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better,” I rolled my eyes, wrapping the towel around my waist in a futile attempt at modesty. “I feel so special being on your very exclusive murder menu.”
Mr. Iceflare rose from the bed with the fluid grace of a predator, completely unconcerned with his nudity. His powerful body bore its own marks from our night together—scratches down his back, bite marks on his shoulders, bruises where my fingers had dug into his biceps. The sight sent an unwelcome heat through my system that had nothing to do with my recently broken heat.
“Shower,” he commanded, nodding toward the small attached bathroom. “Then food. Then we continue what we started.”
“What we ‘started’ was finished at least four times last night,” I shot back, backing toward the bathroom. “I’m pretty sure we set some kind of omega-alpha interaction record. We should get a certificate or something.”
“It’s cute that you think we’re done,” Mr. Enigma called after me, his grin visible even from across the room. “We’re just getting started, little mouse.”
I retreated to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. The illusion of privacy was better than nothing. I turned on the shower, letting the lukewarm water run while I examined myself in the small, cloudy mirror.
I looked… different. Not just the obvious signs of a night spent being thoroughly claimed by three alphas, but something more fundamental. My eyes seemed brighter, my skin flushed with health despite the exhaustion. I looked alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
“It’s just post-heat glow,” I told my reflection firmly. “Nothing to do with them specifically. Any alpha would have produced the same result.”
My reflection didn’t look convinced.
I stepped into the shower. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the memory of their hands on me, their mouths, their cocks stretching me in ways that should have been painful but instead were exquisite. No amount of soap could cleanse the feeling of rightness that had settled in my chest when surrounded by their scent, their warmth.
“This is bad,” I whispered to myself, forehead pressed against the cool tile as water sluiced down my back. “This is very, very bad.”
I was developing feelings for them. Not just one of them—all three. The commanding presence of Mr. Iceflare, the charming seduction of Mr. Enigma, the quiet protection of Mr. Storm—each had found a way past my defenses, each had claimed a piece of me that I might never get back.
These weren’t just any alphas. These were mafia bosses. Dangerous men who had threatened to hunt me down and make me pay for my part in their captivity. The fact that they were being gentle now, caring now, didn’t change who they were or what they would do once they were free.
And they would be free soon. I could see it in the way they moved, in the increasing slack in their restraints, in the calculating looks they exchanged when they thought I wasn’t watching. It was only a matter of time before they broke free of De Luca’s compound.
What would happen to me then?
A knock on the door interrupted my spiral into panic.
“You’ve been in there for fifteen minutes,” Mr. Iceflare called, his voice carrying easily through the thin door. “Either you’ve drowned or you’re avoiding us. Neither is acceptable.”
“Maybe I’m just enjoying my alone time,” I called back, turning off the water with reluctance. “Some of us need more than thirty seconds to process being used as an alpha chew toy.”
“Ten more seconds,” he replied, ignoring my snark completely. “Then I’m coming in.”
