Page 20 of Harley & Her Ferals

Dad adopted him because he wanted an Alpha son.

I resented him for only a single day before I realized that he was just as sad and scared as I was.

We’re in this together

My stomach drops as the scent of scalding black tea washes through the room:Dad.

Lionzio sits up straighter at the same time as I do.

Dad stalks into the room, swinging a pile of gray files in his heavily beringed hand.

Instantly, his charismatic but domineering presence, sucks the oxygen from the room.

I struggle not to meet his terrifying, narrowed gaze, which should be reassuring because it’s the same honey color as my own.

It’s not.

On him, it’s like a glowing predator’s, whose charm is there only to lure you in, before he strikes the killing blow.

Dad is dressed in a typically flamboyant scarlet suit, which has a waistcoat that flares with flames. A pistol hangs on the wide belt at his waist.

In his fifties, his wild hazel hair is starting to turn gray like his beard.

My heart hurts that even now, part of me hopes that he’s called me here because he’s missed seeing me.

I’m an Omega. I need approval and praise more than my brother does, and since he’s never been able to shake the fact that he’s adopted, he needs it like his next breath.

He wouldn’t be able to be kept under my dad’s thumb so well, if he didn’t.

And doesn’t Dad fucking know it?

Dad slams the files down on top of his plate hard enough that I wince in case the porcelain breaks. Then his gaze zeros in on me.

I jump but attempt to hold my proper posture like I was taught to as a kid and not shrink back from his furious pheromones as every Omega instinct in me is screaming for me to.

“Morning.” Lionzio’s voice is strained. “I brought Harley here, as you—”

“Morning, giomia mia.” Dad sharply cuts off Lionzio, smiling over the table at Allegra instead.

When he ignores Lionzio and me, we both slump back in our seats. We’re used to it.

“Morning, Papi,” Allegra simpers around a mouthful of muffin.

My own stomach is churning with too many nerves to even think of eating, despite the fact that this is a feast compared to the strict diet of oatmeal and eggs that I’ve been kept on for my breakfast because of my training.

Unexpectedly, Dad prowls toward me. “What the fuck is that in your hair?”

What?

Confused, I blink.

I struggle not to take a swing at Dad out of instinct, cringing back into my chair instead.

When Dad grabs hold of my chin, I brace myself for a blow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I hear Lionzio’s chair clatter back, as he shoves himself up.

“Lion,” I warn.

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