Page 92 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
I ducked behind a large piece of machinery, making myself as small as possible in the shadows. The footsteps continued, moving with unerring purpose through the darkness. How could they see in this pitch black? How could they know where I was?
They can smell you, idiot,my brain helpfully supplied.You’re covered in their scent, and they’re covered in yours. You’re extremely easy to track.
The realization hit me with crushing force. Of course they could track me. After last night, after hours of being claimed by all three of them, their scent was probably embedded in my skin, my hair, my very pores. And mine in theirs.
I needed to mask my scent, to confuse the trail. My eyes darted around the warehouse, searching for anything that might help. There, a puddle of something dark and oily on the floor near one of the machines. It smelled industrial, perfect for covering an omega’s scent.
The footsteps were getting closer, moving with the confidence of a predator who knows their prey is cornered. I had seconds, not minutes.
Making a split-second decision, I dipped my hands in the foul-smelling liquid and rubbed it on my neck, my wrists, anywhere my scent would be strongest. The smell was overwhelming, burning my nostrils and making my eyes water. But if it masked my scent even slightly, it would be worth it.
My omega instincts howled in protest as I covered the alphas’ marks with the noxious substance. It felt wrong on a level so deep it was almost physical pain—like I was committing some terrible sacrilege. I gritted my teeth and ignored it. Survival first, biological imperatives later.
I crept toward a different exit, moving as silently as possible despite the thundering of my heart. The footsteps paused, then changed direction—moving away from me. The improvised scent-masking was working, at least temporarily.
I slipped out a side door into the night air, gulping in breaths that didn’t taste of oil and decay. The industrial area stretched before me, a maze of opportunities and dangers. I could hear shouting in the distance—the guards still searching,still coordinating their efforts. But it was the silence that worried me more. The alphas wouldn’t need to shout to communicate. They’d hunt as a unit, coordinated and deadly.
I kept moving, sticking to shadows, changing direction frequently, doing everything I could to break the scent trail. The city proper was still a good mile away, its lights a distant promise of safety and anonymity. If I could reach it, lose myself in the crowds and noise and competing scents, I might have a chance.
A gunshot rang out somewhere to my left, followed by shouting. The guards had found something, or someone. Good. Let them chase shadows while I made my escape.
I ducked between two warehouses, following a narrow alley that would lead me closer to the city. The space was tight, the walls on either side looming over me. Every shadow made my heart stutter; every distant sound had me freezing in place. The adrenaline coursing through my system heightened every sense—the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my clothes from brushing past that dead guard, the distant wail of sirens approaching the compound, the bitter industrial smells of the abandoned factories surrounding me.
I paused at the end of the alley, scanning for any signs of pursuit before darting across an open area to another cluster of buildings. The city lights glowed in the distance, tantalizingly close yet still too far. If I could make it there, I could lose myself in the crowds, the competing scents, the anonymity of urban life.
Another burst of gunfire from the direction of the compound made me duck instinctively, though it was too far away to be a direct threat. The chaos was escalating—whatever rescue operation the alphas’ men had mounted was meeting significant resistance. Part of me wondered if Mr. Iceflare, Mr. Enigma, and Mr. Storm had made it out alive. The thought of them being killed in the escape attempt sent an unexpected pang through my chest that I refused to examine too closely.
They’re not your concern anymore,I reminded myself harshly.Your only priority is getting as far away as possible.
I found a building with a door hanging off its hinges and slipped inside. The interior was cavernous—an abandoned factory floor with massive, silent machines looming in the darkness. Moonlight filtered through broken windows high above, casting eerie shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled of rust and decay, of abandonment and forgotten purpose.
My footsteps echoed despite my attempts at stealth, each sound amplified in the vast emptiness. I navigated through the machinery, looking for a place to hide and rest, just for a moment. My legs trembled with exhaustion, my lungs burning from the extended sprint. I needed to catch my breath, to plan my next move.
A stack of wooden crates provided the perfect shelter—hidden from casual view but with clear sight lines to both entrances. I sank to the ground behind them, my back against the wall, and finally allowed myself to feel the full weight of what I’d just done.
I had escaped. I was free.
The realization hit me with overwhelming force, a sob of relief catching in my throat. After weeks of captivity, of being used and manipulated and threatened, I had taken control of my own fate. Had outwitted both De Luca and the alphas, at least temporarily.
But my victory was tempered by harsh reality. I had no money, no resources, no safe place to go. De Luca still held my father. And somewhere out there, three alpha mafia bosses were likely already planning how to hunt me down.
I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to quiet my racing thoughts. I needed a plan. First, I’d rest here for a few hours, then move deeper into the city before dawn. Find somewhere toblend in, to disappear. Then I’d need to find a way to save my father. Anonymous tips to the police? Contacting a rival family? There had to be options that didn’t involve sacrificing myself to three alpha mafia lords with possession on their minds.
My hand unconsciously moved to my neck, fingers tracing the marks they’d left there. Even now, even after everything, my body responded to the memory of their touch—a flutter in my stomach, a warmth spreading through my core, a longing that had nothing to do with heat biology and everything to do with something far more dangerous.
“Stop it,” I whispered to myself, the sound barely audible even in the silent warehouse. “They’re not your alphas. They’re not your anything.”
But my omega hindbrain disagreed, purring at the memory of being surrounded by their scent, their heat, their strength. Of being claimed so thoroughly that their essence still lingered inside me, marking me as theirs in the most primal way possible.
The conflict between my rational mind and my omega instincts was exhausting. I leaned my head back against the wall, allowing my eyes to close just for a moment. I was safe here, at least for now. The warehouse was abandoned; the alphas were still dealing with their escape; De Luca’s men were searching the woods. I could afford a brief rest before continuing my flight.
As exhaustion claimed me, three pairs of eyes haunted my thoughts—ice blue, vivid green, stormy gray. Three voices echoed in my mind, promising things that made me shiver with equal parts fear and anticipation.
I would run. As far and as fast as I could. And maybe, just maybe, I would run far enough, fast enough, to escape the fate they had promised me.
But deep down, in a place I refused to acknowledge, I knew the truth. They would find me eventually. And when they did…
I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the immediate future. On survival. On freedom. On the next step, and the next, and the next.
