Page 78 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“I’m sure you’ll survive the tragedy of a mouse-free mattress,” I replied, though my voice lacked its usual bite. “You managed just fine before I came along.”
“Did we?” he asked, and something in his tone made my heart skip a beat. “I’m not so sure about that anymore.”
I heard the soft scrape of fabric against wood, like he was sitting down. His chain clinked gently as he settled.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice closer now, like he was speaking directly to where I sat on the other side. “One minute you were with us, the next you were gone. Did we hurt you?”
“No,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “Not physically, anyway.”
“Then what?” he pressed gently. “Talk to me, Ty.”
“I can’t do this,” I said, my voice smaller than I’d intended. “Whatever this is becoming—I can’t.”
“Why not?” A new voice joined in—Mr. Storm, his usual economy of words still somehow conveying more than most people’s paragraphs. His chain made barely any sound, like he’d been positioned by the door all along, silent and watchful.
“Because it’s not real,” I insisted, pressing my palms against my eyes. “It’s circumstance and biology and survival instinct. It’s not… It can’t be…”
“Real?” Mr. Iceflare supplied when I couldn’t finish the thought. “You think what’s happening between us isn’t real?”
I heard the distinctive sound of his chain rattling as he paced the area his restraint allowed. The familiar metallic clink had become almost comforting over the past days—a reminder that despite their power, despite their threats, they couldn’t reach me unless I chose to let them.
“How could it be?” I asked, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “We’re captives in an insane breeding scheme. You’re literally chained to a wall. I’m being coerced with threats against my father. This isn’t exactly a romantic meet-cute.”
“Circumstances don’t dictate feelings,” Mr. Iceflare replied, his voice dropping to that register that seemed designed specifically to make my insides turn to jelly. “They just reveal what was always possible.”
“Very philosophical,” I snarked, falling back on my default defense mechanism. “Did you get that from a fortune cookie or an inspirational social media account?”
Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm even through the door. “There’s our sassy little mouse,” he said, affection evident in his voice. “I was starting to worry.”
I smiled despite everything, then immediately schooled my expression back to neutral even though no one could see me. This was exactly the problem, they could make me smile even when I was actively trying to escape their influence.
“I know you’re scared,” Mr. Enigma continued, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “So are we.”
That caught me off guard. “You? Scared? Of what? Bad hair days? Running out of victims to extort?”
“Of what we’re feeling,” he admitted, the honesty in his voice making my chest ache. “Of how much you’ve come to mean to us in such a short time. Of how much it would hurt to lose you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. “That’s just alpha possessiveness talking. Biological imperative to claim and protect. It’ll fade once you’re free and have your pick of willing omegas who don’t come with my particular baggage collection.”
“Is that what you think?” Mr. Iceflare asked, and I could hear the frown in his voice. “That we see you as interchangeable with any omega?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” I challenged. “I’m just the unlucky breeding vessel De Luca assigned to you. A convenient hole during your captivity. Don’t pretend I’m special just because I’m the only omega in your current zip code.”
The silence that followed my outburst was heavy, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.
“You think that’s all you are to us?” Mr. Storm finally asked, his voice carrying a rare edge of emotion. “Convenient?”
“What else would I be?” I shot back, ignoring the way my heart raced at the implication that I might be more.
“Everything,” he said simply.
My breath caught in my throat, the raw honesty in that one word slipping past my defenses with devastating effectiveness.
“Don’t,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against the door. “Don’t say things like that. It’s not fair.”
“Why?” Mr. Enigma asked gently. “Because it makes it harder to pretend you don’t feel the same way?”
“Because it’s a lie,” I insisted, though even to my own ears it sounded like I was trying to convince myself. “It has to be. You’re mafia alphas. I’m a nobody omega with a debt-ridden father and a talent for sarcasm. In what universe does that lead to anything but disaster?”
