Page 18 of The Omega Accountant

"Clean?"Carlo'svoice betrayed no judgment, only practical concern.

"Enough.Sendthe cleanup crew to the alley behindMarcello's.Tellthem it's a message delivery, not a disappearance."

"Understood.Andyour status?"

My hand pressed against my side, coming away sticky with my own blood. "Superficial.I'mreturning now."

I ended the call, pocketing the phone with blood-slicked fingers.Thewound burned, a sharp reminder of momentary carelessness.I'dallowed the assassin one move too many, distracted by thoughts of the omega waiting in my penthouse—the omega whose scent had begun infiltrating my consciousness like a slow-acting drug.

Luca.

Three days had passed since our agreement to work as partners.Threedays of shared investigation, of shoulders brushing as we hunched over financial records, of his honey-citrus scent gradually permeating my territory despite the suppressants.Threedays of growing awareness that simmered beneath professional distance.

The path back to the penthouse took me through shadow-draped streets, my senses hyperaware of potential threats lurking in each darkened doorway.Myterritory had shrunk to a defensible perimeter around one building, one floor, one omega.Protectingwhat was mine had become an imperative that narrowed my focus to a dangerous degree.

The private elevator ascended soundlessly, carrying me upward toward safety.Bloodhad begun to congeal beneath my suit, the wound throbbing in time with my heartbeat.Theinjury itself concerned me less than what it represented—a lapse in vigilance, a weakness in my defenses.TheSouzashad advanced from surveillance to direct action more quickly than anticipated.Theywere testing boundaries, probing for vulnerabilities.

Testing how farIwould go to protect what belonged to me.

The elevator doors opened onto the quiet penthouse.Lampsbathed the main living area in warm light, creating the illusion of normalcy that had no place in our reality.Lucasat cross-legged on the sofa, papers spread around him like fallen leaves, his dark curls disheveled from running his fingers through them.Hehadn't noticed my arrival, absorbed in his analysis, brow furrowed in concentration behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

For a moment,Iallowed myself to observe him undetected.Inthese unguarded moments, his focus absolute and unaware of scrutiny,Iglimpsed what drew me beyond strategic considerations—his intelligence evident in every precise movement, his determination showing in the set of his shoulders.Thesuppressant patch behind his ear had begun to fade at the edges, his scent gradually strengthening in response.Distinctive, unmistakable, increasingly distracting.

Mine.

The primal thought surfaced beforeIcould suppress it.I'dclaimed him on paper, in public declaration, but the biological bond remained unconsummated.Thedelay had been strategic, practical—a claiming bite would change everything, creating permanent physiological changes in both of us.Yetwith each passing day, the absence of that bond chafed against instinctsI'dspent years controlling.

Blood dripped onto the marble floor, shattering my reverie.

Luca's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he registered my presence—and my condition. "Matteo!"

He was on his feet in an instant, papers scattering forgotten as he crossed the room toward me.Hisscent spiked with alarm, the honey notes souring with distress as he cataloged the blood staining my shirt, my hands, the floor.

"What happened?Areyou—"Hereached for me without hesitation, hands hovering near the bloodstain spreading across my side.

"It's nothing,"Isaid, stepping back to maintain distance.Hisproximity threatened my control in waysIhadn't anticipated, the combination of his scent and the adrenaline still coursing through my system creating a dangerous cocktail. "Amessage from theSouzas."

Understanding dawned in his expression, followed quickly by something darker. "Theyfound us."

"They've always known where we are."Imoved past him toward the kitchen, needing distance, already regretting the instinctive withdrawal when his scent registered hurt beneath the concern. "They'vesimply escalated from watching to acting."

Luca followed, his earlier fear transforming into something more controlled, more analytical. "Youkilled him."

Not a question.Astatement of fact delivered without judgment.Anothersurprise from the omega accountant who continued to defy expectations.

"Yes."Iremoved my ruined jacket, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at the wound. "Thefirst of many, most likely."

Luca absorbed this with quiet intensity, then moved to the cabinet whereIkept medical supplies.Hegathered antiseptic, gauze, suture kit—his movements efficient, determined.Professionalrather than panicked.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to one of the kitchen stools.

The command in his voice—so unexpected from an omega—caught me off guard.Ifound myself complying before conscious thought intervened, settling onto the stool as he arranged supplies on the counter.

"Take off your shirt," he continued, opening the antiseptic. "Ineed to see how bad it is."

I raised an eyebrow, amusement cutting through pain. "Givingorders now, little accountant?"

"Someone has to, when you're bleeding all over your imported marble."Histone remained practical, but something flashed in his eyes—concern beneath the bravado, fear beneath the competence.

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