Page 72 of Knot Made to Break: Part One

I threw myself into the compulsive urge to clean, to regain some illusion of control. And since old habits were hard to break, the need to earn my keep and make the penthouse perfect for when they returned overtook me. I wanted to prove I could take care of them the way they were always caring for me. That I could be a good Omega, despite everything…

After mopping, I scrubbed the counters, organized the fridge and pantry, cleaned the bathrooms, and wiped down thebanisters. Dizziness hit me suddenly, and I gripped the handle of the vacuum I was running over the rugs, waiting for it to pass. I knew I should rest, eat more than the few bites I’d managed earlier. My Alphas would be pissed if they learned I’d barely eaten breakfast and skipped lunch entirely, but my appetite was nonexistent.

Once everything was vacuumed, I wasn’t sure what to tackle next. It was a toss up between cleaning windows or starting the laundry.

I chewed on my nails, wondering if the guys would consider it an invasion of privacy if I went into their rooms to gather their dirty clothes. I didn’t think they’d mind, so I slipped into Marco’s room first, picking up the few random items that lay strewn on the bed or the floor and tossing them in his hamper.

I couldn’t help but admire the beautiful black and white art prints that decorated his walls. Biting my lip and glancing toward the door to make sure I was still alone, I decided to creep closer. Artful shots of vintage looking cars were framed by thick white mats encased in black picture frames. Each one showed a different angle—the flow of the chrome, the curves of the leather seats, bright headlights decorating each side of a stylized bumper, and a closeup of a steering wheel and dashboard. Every small detail had been captured in a way that really made the viewer pay attention to the beauty of the machinery. I wasn’t a car person myself—hell, I was lucky I’d had a bicycle to ride growing up—but even I could appreciate the artistry behind the photos.

Gazing around the rest of his room, I spotted a camera resting on Marco’s desk and wondered if he had taken the images himself.

I filed that tidbit away for later and forced myself to leave. I lugged the hamper to the laundry, then took my time separating the whites from the colors before starting a load. My handhovered over a dark hoodie sitting in the basket, and before I could talk myself out of it, I stole it from the pile and slid it on, unable to resist inhaling Marco’s scent from the soft cotton.

It hung to mid-thigh and felt cozy and warm. It was like wearing a hug, and I smiled as I went about my day, feeling calmer with his familiar signature soothing the sharp edges of my nerves.

After collecting the trash, I set the two bags by the front door, then frowned at how messy it made the open concept living room look. It might’ve been my perfectionism talking, but I hadn’t worked so hard to have garbage stinking up the place. Chewing on my lip, I hurried to the laptop in the kitchen and checked the security cameras my mates had shown me how to view. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. I fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie, trying to psych myself up to leave the penthouse so I could put the trash near the elevator for the guys to handle later.

I can do this. In and out. No big deal.

Hefting the garbage, I opened the door, and my breath caught in my throat. Two imposing figures flanked the entrance, their broad shoulders and dark clothing exuding an aura of danger. My gaze locked on the guns holstered at their hips, and a wave of panic crashed over me. The trash bags slipped from my trembling fingers, landing with a soft clatter on the marble floor.

No, no, no... This can’t be happening.

I stumbled back, slamming the door shut with a resounding bang. I threw the locks in place and then leaned my body against the cool surface, my chest heaving with each ragged breath. My pulse fluttered wildly in my throat, like a trapped bird desperate to break free. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I closed them tightly, trying to block out the fear before I passed out from hyperventilation.

A deep chuckle rumbled from the other side of the reinforced door, sending a chill down my spine.

Oh god, they’re laughing at me. They’re going to break in and—

“Hey, easy there. I’m a friend, not a threat,” a gruff voice called out, interrupting my downward spiral of doom, no doubt scenting my absolute distress. “Name’s Enzo. And this is Lonnie. We work for Dimitri.”

I froze, my mind reeling. He knew Dimitri? Could it be true that he was one of his guys? I wanted to believe him, but trust was a fragile thing, and mine had been shattered too many times.

“Listen, the boss sent me here to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re safe until he gets back. You’ve got nothing to worry about, especially from us,” Enzo continued, his tone softening. “Believe me, D would kill me if I harmed so much as a hair on your head. So would his brothers.”

I took a shaky breath, willing my heart rate to return to normal. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That this isn’t some trick?” I hated how small my voice sounded, how vulnerable.

“I get it. You’ve been through hell, and trust doesn’t come easily,” Enzo replied, understanding coloring his words. “But I swear on my life, I’m here to protect you. Dimitri and his brothers, they care about you something fierce. They’d never let anyone hurt their Omega. Though I am surprised they didn’t tell you they were sending backup when they rushed outta here this morning.”

Silence stretched between us, heavily weighted with my anxiety. I wanted to believe him, to feel safe again, but the scars of my past ran deep.

“Shit,” he cursed when my bitter scent remained. “Listen, I promise I’m a friend. I’ve been inside the penthouse before. Thepillows on the couch are a mixture of tan and brown. There’s an ugly-as-fuck statue of Zeus on the bookcases flanking the TV that Emilio gave Dimitri on his twenty-fifth birthday. It’s on the right side, second shelf from the top, I think. And that abstract painting beside the door? Their mother painted that.”

My eyes tracked around the room to each of the details he described while I nervously picked at my nails, wincing as I drew blood. The sting, however, was a familiar type of pain, and it grounded me.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible through the wood. “I… I want to trust you. But it’s hard. I’m scared.”

His tone dropped low, deep, and heartfelt, full of empathy and kindness. “I know, sweetheart. And that’s alright. We’ll take it slow, yeah? You just focus on breathing, and I’ll be right here, keeping watch.”

Enzo’s words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and I realized instantly it was the effect of a Beta. That perfect blend between dominant Alphas and gentle Omegas.

Slowly, I inched closer to the peephole, my hands pressing against the cool metal of the door. I went to my tip-toes and peered through the tiny lens, my breath catching in my throat as I saw him—Enzo, this stranger I was supposed to inherently trust.

Colorful bruises marred his face. His lip was split, and he had Steri-Strips holding together a gash that plunged through one dark brow. I knew from listening to my Alphas talk that Enzo had taken a beating from Vincent Valentino, and guilt burned through me like acid. If this guy was who he said he was, his injuries were partially my fault. As was the death of his friend.

I watched him as he kneeled down, his broad shoulders hunched as he carefully picked up trash that had spilled out of the garbage bags I’d dropped in my panic. The sight of himcleaning up my mess, of him not trying to force his way in, eased the last of my apprehension.

Everything he’d shared sounded like the truth. Maybe he really was here to protect me, to keep me safe until my Alphas returned.

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