Page 32 of The Omega Accountant

The admission surprised me as it emerged—not calculated to gain cooperation but honest recognition of how our separate strengths had begun complementing rather than competing.Hisfinancial acumen paired with my strategic thinking.Hisattention to detail balanced against my broader vision.Omegaand alpha, accountant and underboss, creating something more effective than either could achieve alone.

* * *

LUCA

Eight hours into our investigation, fatigue had settled across my shoulders like a physical weight.Thesecure room felt smaller with each passing hour, the walls of data closing in as we chased financial ghosts through digital labyrinths.Myeyes burned from staring at screens, numbers and transactions blurring into meaningless sequences as midnight approached.

Across from me,Matteomaintained his focus with the preternatural stamina that defined him—alpha resilience that seemed impervious to ordinary human limitations.Hisdark eyes moved methodically between screens, cataloging connections my analysis revealed with the precision of a predator tracking prey through familiar territory.

But something wasn't right.

I sat back, removing my glasses to press fingers against tired eyes.Thepattern remained elusive—a whisper just beyond conscious recognition, a shadow glimpsed in peripheral vision that vanished when directly observed.We'dtraced the missing funds through seven different shell companies, followed their reemergence inSouza-adjacent holdings, established timeline correlations withDonCorvino'sprivate meetings.

Yet something fundamental remained hidden.

"There's another layer,"Imurmured, mostly to myself.

Matteo's attention shifted instantly, his focus narrowing with that disconcerting intensity that made it impossible to forget what he was—alpha, predator, underboss capable of ordered violence with the same precision he applied to strategic planning.

"Show me," he said, the simple command carrying no dominance, only respect for whatImight have discovered.

I shook my head, frustration bleeding through professional detachment. "Ican't... not yet.It'slike seeing a face in fog—Iknow it's there, butIcan't make out the features."

He studied me with that unnerving stillness that seemed to strip away pretenses, to see beyond constructed facades to something essential beneath.Notalpha assessing omega, but strategist recognizing fellow tactician.

"Then we approach differently," he decided, rising from his chair with fluid grace that belied hours of immobility. "Stepaway.Resetyour perspective."

The suggestion—so contrary to my natural inclination to pursue problems until solved—caught me off guard. "Wedon't have time for?—"

"We make time," he interrupted, the authority in his tone softened by something almost like gentleness. "Yourmind is your greatest weapon,Luca.Weaponsrequire maintenance."

The assessment—my mind as weapon, as asset, as something valuable beyond my secondary gender—registered with unexpected impact.Matteomoved to the small kitchenette integrated into the secure room, returning moments later with two cups of something that smelled like the expensive tea he preferred over coffee.

"Drink," he said, placing one before me. "Thentell me what you're seeing that eludes direct observation."

I accepted the cup, allowing its warmth to seep into handsIhadn't realized had grown cold.Theliquid tasted of bergamot and something subtler, a blend probably worth more thanI'donce earned in a day.Thenormality of it—of sharing tea while discussing financial crimes and family betrayal—struck me as absurdly incongruous with our situation.

"It's the timing,"Isaid finally, giving voice to the shadow-pattern forming in my consciousness. "Thetransactions follow a specific sequence, but not the one we'd expect if this were purely about moving funds fromCorvinotoSouzainterests."

Matteo's expression remained neutral, but something in his scent shifted—interest sharpening the sandalwood and cedar notes that now carried subtle undertones of my own honey-citrus.Thebond between us translating chemical awareness where words might prove insufficient.

"Elaborate," he encouraged, nothing in his tone suggesting impatience or doubt—only genuine interest in whatI'dbegun uncovering.

I set the cup aside, reaching instead for blank paper—sometimes physical representation helped clarify digital complexity.Myhand moved across the page, sketching timelines, transaction patterns, correlations between fund movements and known events.

"If this were simple embezzlement, or even strategic alliance-building as we've assumed, the pattern would show gradual accumulation,"Iexplained, pen creating visual representation of the concept. "Butwhat we're seeing is cyclical—funds move out, return, move again in rhythmic sequence that suggests..."Ipaused, the final piece clicking into place with sudden clarity.

"Testing,"Matteosupplied, his intelligence keeping pace with my analysis even without omega attention to micro-patterns. "Trialruns."

"Exactly."Mypen circled a particular sequence of transactions. "Notbuilding alliance, but preparing infrastructure.Creatingfinancial pipelines that could move much larger sums when needed.Theten million wasn't the goal—it was the proof of concept."

The implication hung between us—not embezzlement but preparation for something far more significant.Notalliance but groundwork for potential takeover.

"My father isn't just considering alternatives to my succession,"Matteoconcluded, cold certainty hardening his voice. "He'spreparing to eliminate me entirely."

The brutality of the assessment should have shocked me.Instead, it aligned perfectly with the numerical evidence—the dispassionate truth of data that couldn't lie when properly decoded.Myfingers traced the patternI'dsketched, the physical representation confirming what digital analysis had suggested.

"These transaction dates,"Isaid, circling specific points on the timeline. "Theycorrelate with assassination attempts attributed to rival families.Attemptsagainst you, specifically."

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