Page 24 of The Omega Accountant

From beyond the door came a cry that pierced through all defenses—raw, desperate, my name embedded within the sound. "Matteo!"

The single word, fragmented and pleading, shattered something inside me.Nota capitulation to base instinct, but a recognition of something deeper—responsibility that transcended legal claims or biological imperatives.IftheSouzashad orchestrated this, if my enemies had violated the sanctuary of my territory to force biological vulnerability upon what was mine...

I would not allow them to win.Notthrough his suffering.Notthrough my surrender to what they had calculatedIwould do.

Carlo returned with supplies balanced on a tray—towels, ice, bottled water, medications.Hisexpression registered surprise as he took in my position, still outside the door rather than within.

"Sir," he began carefully, "these won't be enough."

"I know,"Iacknowledged, taking the tray from his hands. "Clearthe floor.Noone within hearing distance.Noone."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Andyour father's men stationed in the lobby?"

"Tell themI'llkill anyone who approaches this floor."Thewords emerged with calm certainty rather than heat.Notthreat but promise, delivered with the cold precision that had earned me my reputation within the family.

Carlo nodded once, then hesitated. "Matteo."Therare use of my first name underscored the gravity of what he left unspoken. "Thereare other options.Claimingdoesn't have to mean?—"

"Go,"Icut him off, unwilling to hear alternatives that tempted compromise where none was acceptable. "Now."

He retreated silently, leaving me alone with the tray and the torment emanating from behind the door.Anothercry penetrated the wood, the sound transforming into a sob that compressed my chest like a physical weight.Myhand settled on the doorknob, hesitating there as competing imperatives waged war within me.

Protect.Possess.Help.Claim.Honor.Take.Respect.Need.

The decision crystallized not from instinct but from its opposite—from the rational understanding that inaction had become its own form of harm.Enteringthat room risked one kind of violation.Remainingoutside while he suffered guaranteed another.

I closed my eyes, gathering the tattered remains of my control around me like armor.ThenIopened the door.

The wave of pheromones that greeted me nearly drove me to my knees—heat scent undiluted by barriers, by distance, by anything but the suppressants that had failed hours ago.Asweetness so thick it coated my tongue, left an almost painful ache at the back of my throat.Thebright notes had darkened to something intoxicating—no longer just citrus but something fermented, dangerous, impossible to resist.Hisunique rain-scent had intensified to the humid heaviness before a storm breaks, electric and charged with potential.

Luca lay curled on the floor whereI'dleft him, his slim body twisted in a position of such vulnerability that something protective and fierce roared to life within me.Sweatdampened his dark curls, plastering them against his forehead.Hiswhite shirt clung to his skin, translucent with perspiration, while tremors wracked his frame in waves that corresponded to the pulses of scent filling the room.

He sensed my presence immediately, his head lifting with effort, eyes seeking mine through the darkness.Thoseeyes—usually sharp with intelligence behind wire-rimmed glasses—now glazed with fever and need, pupils blown so wide barely a ring of brown remained visible.

"M-Matteo," he managed, my name fractured by a shudder that coursed through him. "Youshouldn't...be here."

I set the tray on the nearest surface, movements deliberately slow and controlled. "Ibrought water.Coldtowels."

A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound breaking into something closer to a sob. "Won'thelp."

"I know."Iremained by the door, maintaining distance that cost more willpower than any negotiation, any battle, any test of strengthI'dever faced. "Butit's whatIcan offer."

His gaze held mine, clarity momentarily surfacing through the haze of heat. "Why?"

The simple question penetrated deeper than it should have, forcing examination of motivationsI'dkept carefully unanalyzed.Whyindeed?Whyresist what biology demanded, what legality permitted, what my enemies had calculatedIwould take?

"Because you asked me not to touch you,"Ianswered finally, the truth stark and simple between us. "Becausechoice matters,Luca.Evennow."

Something shifted in his expression then—surprise, perhaps, or recognition.Whateverit was flickered briefly before another wave of heat claimed him, his body curling tighter as a moan escaped through clenched teeth.

I moved toward him then, not to claim but to aid, kneeling beside his huddled form with careful distance maintained between us.Theproximity tested every ounce of my control, his scent enveloping me completely now, calling to something primal and possessive that cared nothing for consent or choice.

Mine, it insisted with renewed fervor.Suffering.Fix.Claim.Mine.

I dampened a towel with ice water, the cold against my heated skin providing momentary clarity. "MayI?"Iasked, the towel hovering near his forehead.

He nodded once, the small movement clearly requiring effort.Ipressed the cool cloth against his skin, watching as his eyes fluttered closed at the minimal relief it provided.Anothertowel followed, this one draped across the back of his neck where heat radiated most intensely.Myfingers skirted the edges of his suppressant patch, now completely ineffective but still adhered to skin that burned with fever.

"Water,"Iurged, supporting his shoulders as he struggled to sit upright.Thecontact sent electricity through my palm despite the barrier of his sweat-soaked shirt, my scent responding automatically to his proximity.Sandalwoodand cedar sharpened with protective intent, with possessive awareness, with the rising tide of rut triggered by his condition.

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