Page 9 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“And you, Mr. Enigma,” I continued, the absurdity of naming alphas not lost on me, “looking at me like I’m a puzzle you’re trying to solve won’t change anything. Though I appreciate the effort.”
The third alpha, with his stormy eyes, occasionally focused on me with surprising intensity before drifting away again. There was something different about him, not the explosive fury that occasionally broke through Mr. Iceflare or the calculating assessment that Mr. Enigma managed, but something deeper, like a gathering storm.
“Mr. Storm,” I whispered, completing my ridiculous naming ritual. “You might be the scariest one of all when you’re fully awake.”
A fresh wave of heat washed over me, making my skin prickle uncomfortably. My body was responding to the presence of not one but three virile alphas. I could feel the first stirrings ofwarmth gathering between my thighs, my scent growing sweeter with each passing moment.
“I need to… I’ll be back,” I stammered, fumbling for the door handle behind me. “I just need a minute. Or possibly several years of therapy.”
I practically fell through the door in my haste to escape, slamming it shut behind me. The room beyond was nothing like the chamber. It was luxuriously appointed with a king-sized bed draped in expensive linens, a sitting area with plush chairs, and an en suite bathroom visible through an open door.
“A prison disguised as a palace,” I said. “How thoughtful.”
I made a beeline for the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I went. Maybe a cold shower would clear my head, would wash away the lingering scent of alpha that seemed to have embedded itself in my pores after just minutes in their presence.
The water did little to help. If anything, it heightened my sensitivity, each droplet an unwanted stimulation against my increasingly fevered skin. I gasped as the spray hit my chest, my nipples hardening to painful points.
“Traitor,” I hissed at my own body. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Between my legs, I was responsive, my body preparing itself in a way that had nothing to do with the shower and everything to do with the three alphas just beyond the door.
My cycle was progressing with horrifying efficiency. By the time I stepped out of the shower, my legs were trembling, and I had to brace myself against the marble countertop to remain upright.
“This isn’t happening,” I said, my reflection in the mirror showing a stranger. “This is not my life right now. This is some other poor omega’s nightmare, and I’m just visiting.”
But it was my life. And I had limited options. De Luca would hurt my father if I didn’t cooperate. The alphas would hunt meif they got free. And my own biology was rapidly becoming my worst enemy.
I rummaged through the drawers and closet, finding them stocked with a disturbing collection of sheer, revealing clothes clearly chosen to entice an alpha. With a grimace, I pulled on the least offensive option, an oversized t-shirt that hung to mid-thigh but was thin enough to be nearly transparent.
“Subtle, De Luca,” I said, catching my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with the beginning stages of heat, and the shirt did absolutely nothing to hide my body’s reactions. My nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric, and the hem barely covered the essentials. “Why not just wrap me in cellophane with a bow on top? Maybe add a sign that says Free Breeding Omega – Inquire Within?”
Standing in this meticulously prepared room, the full extent of De Luca’s insanity hit me with new force. The man had bombed a hotel filled with mafia leaders, taken three of the most dangerous alphas in the city, and set up an entire facility, all to create an heir for his dying legacy. The scale of it was breathtaking. The precision. The madness.
“Get it together, Ty,” I told myself firmly. “You need a plan. You need?—”
A sharp cramp doubled me over, my body’s demand for alpha attention becoming physically painful. I could feel my internal temperature rising, my skin becoming hypersensitive to even the light brush of the t-shirt.
“Stupid omega biology,” I gasped. “Couldn’t you have picked a more convenient time to betray me?”
Another cramp hit, stronger than the last, and I gasped, dropping to my knees beside the bed. Warmth flooded between my thighs, soaking through my underwear and threatening to run down my legs. My body clenched around nothing, the biological need for an alpha becoming an all-consuming ache.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, pressing my thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the pressure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I forced myself to stand on shaking legs. I knew I couldn’t go back into that room tonight. I stumbled toward the bed, the cool sheets momentarily soothing my overheated skin as I collapsed onto the mattress, but the relief was short-lived. My body knew what it wanted, what it needed, and that something was just beyond a door I refused to open.
“Just get through tonight,” I whispered to myself, curling into a fetal position as another wave of heat washed over me. “One night at a time.”
I pulled a pillow between my thighs, pressing it against my core in a pathetic attempt to relieve the building pressure. The alphas’ scents had followed me from the other room, clinging to my skin and hair despite the shower. The combination swirled in my head, making it impossible to think clearly. My traitorous mind kept conjuring images of them, not as they were now, injured and out of it, but as they would be at full strength. Powerful. Dominant. Taking what they wanted.
“Stop it,” I hissed, pressing my face into the mattress.
Another cramp seized me, this one strong enough to pull a whimper from my throat. I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood, determined not to make any more noise that might carry through the walls. The last thing I needed was for De Luca to think I was in distress and send in that creepy doctor to “help.”
As the night wore on, my heat intensified in waves. One moment I’d be almost lucid, planning escape routes and strategies, and the next I’d be writhing against the sheets, desperate for relief that wouldn’t come. I cycled between rage at De Luca, fear for my father, shame at my body’s reactions, and a bone-deep longing for the alphas just beyond the door.
Somewhere in the early hours of morning, exhaustion finally won out over discomfort. My last coherent thought before sleep claimed me was that tomorrow would be worse. Much worse. And I had no idea how I was going to survive it with my sanity, or my dignity, intact.
four
