Page 9 of The Omega Accountant

Something flickered across his features—too complex to name, gone beforeIcould interpret it. "We'lladdress that when the time comes."

Non-answer.Politicalresponse.Ilooked away, out toward the windows where dawn had begun painting the sky in watercolor strokes of pink and gold.Thecity stretched below, a landscape of possibilities now narrowed to a single, impossible choice.

"Your father..."Ibegan.

"Will be furious,"Matteofinished, a hint of grim satisfaction coloring his tone. "Whichis a secondary benefit."

That drew my attention back to him. "Youwant to antagonize theDon?"

"I want to protect what's mine."Thepossessive pronoun rolled off his tongue with disturbing ease. "Andyou,LucaBianchi, with your missing millions and your meticulous records, are now mine to protect."

The declaration should have horrified me.Instead, something molten pooled low in my belly, omega instincts responding to alpha certainty even as my mind rebelled against the primitive reaction.Iblamed the pre-heat, the exhaustion, the fear—anything but the dangerous pullI'dfelt since our hallway encounter.

"You don't even know me,"Iprotested weakly.

"I know enough."Heset his glass down, the movement deliberate. "Iknow you're intelligent, observant, and brave to the point of foolishness.Iknow you value integrity over self-preservation.Iknow your scent..."Hepaused, nostrils flaring slightly. "Honeyand citrus, with something underneath like warm rain on stone."

Heat bloomed across my face at the intimate assessment. "That'sbiology, not knowledge."

"Perhaps."Hiseyes darkened. "Butit's still truth."

Silence stretched between us, taut with unspoken implications.Outside, the sun breached the horizon fully, bathing the penthouse in golden light that felt incongruous with the weight of our conversation.

"IfIrefuse?"Thequestion barely rose above a whisper.

Matteo's expression hardened. "Thenthey'll pin this on you.Theevidence against you is already being manufactured.You'llbe eliminated—quietly, cleanly—and the real thieves will continue operating within our organization."

The brutal assessment stripped away any illusionsImight have harbored about my position.I'dwalked into something much larger than missing money—a power struggle within theCorvinofamily, with me as collateral damage.

"And ifIagree?"Myvoice strengthened slightly, resolve forming from desperation. "Whatdoes that entail exactly?"

"A public claim.Mymark.Livinghere, under my protection."Hegestured to the expansive penthouse. "Yourlife continues, but with my name attached to it.Myscent on your skin."

The clinical description couldn't disguise the intimacy of what he proposed.Aclaim meant teeth against my throat, his scent permanently altering my own, his presence a constant shadow even when absent.Itmeant belonging in ways that transcended contracts or vows.

"This is insane."Istood abruptly, needing distance, movement.Thefolder fell forgotten to the floor, papers scattering like fallen leaves. "Youcan't just... claim a person because it's convenient."

Matteo remained seated, watching my agitation with unnerving calm. "Convenientwould be letting my father have you.Convenientwould be finding another way to track the missing money.This?"Hegestured between us. "Thisis anything but convenient,Luca."

I paced toward the windows, staring out at a city carrying on in ignorance of the impossible choice confronting me.Deathor claiming.Executionor possession.Neitheroption left room for the lifeI'dcarefully constructed—invisible, independent, free within the confines of a dangerous world.

Behind me,IheardMatteorise, his footsteps measuring the distance between us until he stood close enough that his scent enveloped me, his heat radiated against my back.Nottouching, but present in a way that made every nerve ending aware.

"I know whatI'masking," he said quietly, his voice closer to my ear than expected. "Iknow what it costs you."

I turned to face him, closer than wisdom allowed.Thisnear,Icould see flecks of amber in his dark eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the slight softening of his mouth that belied his ruthless reputation.

"Then why ask it?"Thequestion emerged raw, honest.

"Because the alternative is unacceptable."Thesimple declaration carried weight beyond its words, something fierce underlining his tone.

The memory of the previous night flashed through my mind—Matteopushing aSouzaenforcer against the wall, his voice cold with promise as he declared,He'smine.Notcalculation but instinct.Notstrategy but claim.

I searched his face for deceit, for calculation, for the coldness that defined his reputation.Instead,Ifound intensity and something else—something that looked unsettlingly like protectiveness, like possession not yet claimed but already acknowledged.

"Then let me claim you."Thewords hung between us, a challenge more than acquiescence.

His eyebrows rose fractionally. "Idon't understand."

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