Page 71 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“Boundaries!” I protested, grabbing a towel and hastily drying off.
“Nine… eight…”
“Oh my God, you’re actually counting down? What are you, five?” I wrapped the towel around my waist, unlocking the door just as he reached “three.” “Happy now? I’m clean, I’m decent, I’m?—”
The words died in my throat as I took in the scene before me. The way they’d positioned themselves around the room—Mr. Iceflare at the door, Mr. Enigma by the window, Mr. Storm near the connecting door to my quarters—these were strategic positions that covered all potential entry points.
“What’s going on?” I asked, suddenly very aware of the tension in the air.
“Guards changed rotation,” Mr. Storm said simply. “New pattern.”
“Which means?” I prompted, though I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what it meant.
“De Luca’s getting desperate,” Mr. Iceflare replied.
“Meaning he wants me pregnant yesterday,” I translated, a cold weight settling in my stomach. “And if I’m not…”
“He’ll take more drastic measures,” Mr. Enigma finished. “We heard the guards talking. He’s ordered more potent fertility drugs for you. Ones with significant side effects.”
“Fantastic,” I said, moving past Mr. Iceflare to the table where the guards had left food. “Nothing says ‘good morning’ like learning your reproductive system is about to be chemically hijacked by a dying mob boss with delusions of grandeur.”
I picked at the unappetizing protein mush, trying to ignore the way all three alphas tracked my movements with predatory focus. Their collective attention was unnerving.
“You’re staring,” I said finally, setting down my spoon. “It’s creepy. Even for mafia alphas.”
“We’re concerned,” Mr. Enigma corrected, moving closer with that fluid grace that all three somehow possessed despite their size. “These drugs De Luca’s planning to use—they’re dangerous. Especially for a male omega.”
“Everything about this situation is dangerous,” I pointed out, gesturing around the room. “Being locked up with three alphamafia bosses who’ve threatened to hunt me down once they escape? Not exactly a safety seminar.”
“We won’t let him hurt you,” Mr. Iceflare said, his voice carrying that alpha certainty that was both irritating and oddly comforting. “You’re ours now. No one touches what’s ours.”
There it was again, that possessive declaration that should have sent me running for the hills but instead made something warm unfurl in my chest. My omega hindbrain practically purred at the protection being offered, while my rational mind screamed warnings about trauma bonding and misplaced survival instincts.
“I’m not yours,” I said, the protest sounding weak even to my own ears. “I’m not anyone’s. This was just?—”
“Don’t,” Mr. Iceflare interrupted, closing the distance between us with two long strides. His hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone with surprising gentleness. “Don’t lie to yourself, little mouse. Don’t lie to us.”
His touch sent electricity racing through my system. I wanted to pull away, to maintain some semblance of independence, but my traitorous body leaned into his touch with eager submission.
“This is just biology,” I insisted, though the breathless quality of my voice undermined the protest. “Omega responding to alpha. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything,” Mr. Storm contradicted, moving to stand behind me, his solid presence both comforting and intimidating. His hand came to rest on the nape of my neck, thumb stroking my scent gland with deliberate intent. “It means you’re ours as much as we’re yours.”
The dual stimulation—Mr. Iceflare’s hand on my face, Mr. Storm’s on my neck—sent shivers racing down my spine. I was caught between them, surrounded by alpha scent and alpha heat and alpha intent.
“Stop trying to mind-fuck me,” I managed, though the protest lacked conviction. “I know what this is—what you’re doing. This is just another form of control.”
“Is it?” Mr. Enigma asked, completing the circle as he moved to my side, his hand coming to rest on my hip. “Or is it something else entirely? Something that scares you more than any threat we could make?”
He was right, damn him. This, whatever was developing between us, terrified me more than any physical threat. I could handle pain, could handle fear, could handle the harsh realities of captivity. But this feeling of rightness when surrounded by them? That was a threat to the very core of who I was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, my voice steadier than I expected. “I’m just trying to survive this nightmare. Same as you.”
“Liar,” Mr. Iceflare said, but there was no heat in the accusation. Just certainty. His thumb continued its gentle stroking of my cheekbone, the tenderness at odds with the power I could feel leashed in his body. “Your scent gives you away every time, little mouse. You want this as much as we do.”
Mr. Iceflare’s mouth crashed against mine with enough force to make my toes curl. His tongue swept past my lips without waiting for an engraved invitation, claiming territory with the efficiency of a conquering army.
“Holy shit,” I gasped when he finally let me breathe, my lips tingling intensely. “Is kissing an Olympic sport for alphas? Because that deserves at least a silver medal, possibly gold depending on the Russian judge.”
