Page 89 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“Doctor wants to see you,” he grunted, not bothering with pleasantries. “Now.”
Perfect. Just what I needed to complete this wonderful morning—an invasive medical examination by De Luca’s creepy doctor. Nothing says “good morning” like a cold speculum and a man who views you as a walking incubator.
“Can I at least shower first?” I asked, gesturing to my disheveled state. “I’m not exactly presentable. Unless the good doctor has a fetish for eau de alpha gangbang.”
Peters’ eyes raked over me, taking in the visible marks with a smirk that made my skin crawl. “Doctor said immediately. Besides, he’ll want to see… evidence… of your activities.”
I bit back the urge to tell him exactly where he could shove his leering attitude. Antagonizing the guards wouldn’t help my escape plan. “Fine. Lead the way, Igor.”
“It’s Peters,” he corrected with a scowl.
“Really? You give off such a strong ‘Igor’ vibe. You know, the hunchbacked assistant to the evil scientist? Though I guess De Luca is more ‘evil mob boss’ than ‘mad scientist,’ so the comparison isn’t perfect.”
His scowl deepened, but he didn’t rise to the bait, just gestured for me to follow him down the corridor. As we walked, I studied our surroundings with new intensity, noting security cameras, exit signs, anything that might help with my escape. The compound was a maze of concrete hallways, but I’d been paying attention during my limited movements within it. The kitchen was on the ground floor, near the east wing. The service entrance there would be my best bet when chaos erupted.
As we passed the alphas’ chamber, a prickling sensation ran down my spine. I could feel their attention intensely, could almost picture them pressing against the wall, listening, tracking my movements with that predatory focus that made my stomach flip. Whether they were actually aware of my passing or my imagination was working overtime, I couldn’t say. But the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, was unmistakable.
Dr. Rossi was waiting in the medical suite, his thin face impassive as he gestured for me to sit on the examination table. Unlike De Luca, the doctor showed no obvious signs of discomfort around me. I was just another specimen to be examined, another task to complete.
“Remove your clothing,” he instructed without looking at me, preparing his equipment with mechanical efficiency.
“You know, most doctors at least offer a gown,” I said, but began to undress anyway. Peters had already left, closing the door behind him.
The examination was clinical and invasive—blood drawn, temperature taken, internal checks that made me grit my teeth with discomfort and humiliation. Throughout it all, Dr. Rossi maintained a professional distance, treating me like a specimenrather than a person. I wondered if he practiced that cold detachment in the mirror every morning. “Today I’ll perfect my ‘you’re not human, just a collection of organs’ stare!”
“Your heat cycle has concluded,” he announced finally, confirming what I already knew. “No signs of conception yet, though it’s too early to be certain.”
My heart sank. This was the news I’d been dreading, the confirmation that would send me back to that room with artificial stimulants. Another round of being poked and prodded and filled.
“Mr. De Luca will be disappointed,” he continued, making notes on his tablet. “He was hoping for immediate results.”
“Yeah, well, my uterus didn’t get the memo about his timeline,” I said, the sarcasm a flimsy shield against the fear building inside me. “Next time I’ll tell it to be more cooperative. Maybe set up a direct line of communication. ‘Hello, reproductive system? The evil mafia don would like you to hurry up and get knocked up. Chop-chop!’”
Dr. Rossi glanced up, something almost like surprise flickering across his features before the professional mask returned. “Get dressed. The guard will take you back to your quarters.”
I dressed quickly, my mind racing. De Luca would know by now that my heat had broken. Would know there was no biological imperative for me to be with the alphas anymore. He would force the issue with drugs, with threats against my father, with whatever means necessary.
Tonight’s escape plan had just become even more urgent.
Peters was waiting outside to escort me back. As we walked, I continued my mental mapping of the compound, noting which corridors seemed less monitored, which doors might lead to potential escape routes. The guard seemed distracted, his attention focused elsewhere, probably on the increased securitymeasures for the three dangerous alphas who were becoming more of a threat by the hour.
When we reached my quarters, Peters gave me a final, leering once-over before locking the door behind me. The moment I was alone, I began gathering supplies—a change of clothes, the small amount of cash I’d managed to hide from the guards, a few protein bars I’d squirreled away from my meals. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
The bigger question was how to get out of my locked room. I examined the door carefully, looking for weaknesses. It was solid, the lock on the outside well maintained. I wasn’t exactly equipped with lockpicks or explosives, and my omega biology wasn’t going to melt metal anytime soon.
“Think, Ty,” I said, pacing the small space. “There has to be a way out of here that doesn’t involve waiting for someone to open the door.”
But that seemed to be exactly what I needed, someone to open the door. Maybe when the chaos started, when the alphas made their move, the guards would be distracted enough that I could create some kind of diversion. Fake an injury? Start a fire? Pretend to go into another heat?
Late in the afternoon, De Luca himself came to my door, his face gray with anger and illness—his frame gaunt, his skin sallow. But his eyes were still sharp, still calculating, dangerous despite his failing health.
“Dr. Rossi says your heat has broken,” he said without preamble.
“Yeah, bodies tend to do that,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Heat cycles end. It’s this crazy thing called biology. I know it’s disappointing when nature doesn’t bend to your will, but maybe try controlling the weather next. Might have better luck.”
His eyes narrowed at my sarcasm. “And there’s no sign of conception yet.”
“Even if I am pregnant,” I pointed out, “it’s too early to tell. Unless Dr. Rossi has some magical pregnancy detection powers I’m not aware of. Does he also predict lottery numbers and tell fortunes on the side?”
