Page 28 of The Omega Accountant

The mirror revealed a stranger—or perhaps the truest version of myselfI'dever confronted.Mydark curls stood in wild disarray, my skin marked with evidence of possession—not just the claiming bite at my neck, but smaller claims pressed into flesh across collarbones, shoulders, hips.Myeyes held a new awareness, pupils still slightly dilated from the lingering effects of heat.

I looked claimed.Marked.Bonded.

And beneath it all, strangely at peace.

The expected shame, the rebellion against biological imperative that had defined my relationship with my omega nature for years—it hovered at the edges of consciousness but couldn't take hold.Somethingfundamental had shifted within me, beyond the biochemical changes of claiming.SomeacceptanceIhadn't anticipated, born not from surrender to biology but from the unexpected dignityMatteohad preserved within it.

Movement caught my attention—a tray placed neatly on the counter that hadn't been there the night before.Freshfruit arranged in careful patterns, a carafe of water beaded with condensation, packets of electrolyte powder, and what appeared to be omega-specific nutritional supplements designed for post-heat recovery.Besideit all, a folded note in unfamiliar handwriting:Byorder ofMr.Corvino.Delivered6AM.Forwhen you wake.

The evidence of care—practical, unsentimental, precisely what my body needed—triggered an unexpected tightness in my throat.Thiswasn'tCarlo'sdoing or some standard protocol.Thesewere specific itemsMatteohimself must have requested, anticipating exactly whatI'dneed upon waking.Howmany alphas would think to provide such necessities?Howmany would consider an omega's physical needs beyond the satisfaction of heat?Thetray spoke of planning, of consideration that extended beyond possession to genuine care.

I sipped water gratefully, my body responding to needsIhadn't fully registered until they were met.Thefruit tasted impossibly sweet against my tongue, natural sugars replenishing depleted energy reserves.AsIate, awareness of my surroundings expanded beyond immediate physical sensation.

The bathroom showed evidence of hasty cleaning—damp towels neatly folded, glass shards from the sabotaged suppressant vials completely removed, surfaces wiped clean of the evidence of my vulnerability.Someone—likely staff rather thanMatteohimself—had restored order whileIslept, removing all traces of the violation that had preceded the claiming.

The memory of those shattered vials triggered a colder awareness.Someonehad entered this room whileIslept.Someonehad deliberately destroyed the protection between my biology and vulnerability.TheSouzas,Matteohad said, believing forced heat would drive him to claim without consent, to take advantage of biological vulnerability.

They had miscalculated.

"Luca."

The voice from the doorway startled me from reflection.Matteostood there, shirtless and watchful, his dark eyes assessing my condition with careful attention.Thewound at his side had been rebandaged sometime during the night, the evidence of violence a stark reminder of the dangers surrounding us both.Hisscent reached me before he moved closer—sandalwood and cedar now carrying subtle notes of honey that hadn't existed before the claiming.Myscent, integrated with his on a molecular level.

"You should have woken me," he said, voice roughened from sleep yet controlled in that way that seemed integral to his nature.

"You needed rest."Ireached for one of the robes hanging nearby, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a wayIhadn't been moments before.Heat-haze had temporarily receded, leaving self-consciousness in its wake.

Matteo's eyes tracked the movement, something possessive flaring briefly before being mastered. "Howare you feeling?"Thequestion contained layers—concern for my physical condition, yes, but also uncertainty about the emotional aftermath of what had transpired between us.

"Better."Icinched the robe around my waist, the soft fabric a temporary barrier between vulnerability and exposure. "Thefever's decreased."

"Temporarily," he confirmed, maintaining his position at the threshold rather than approaching further.Givingspace.Choice. "Itwill return in cycles for another day or so, but with decreasing intensity."

The clinical assessment contained no presumption, no assumption that he would be the one to see me through those remaining cycles.Again, that preservation of choice within biological constraint thatIhadn't expected from an alpha—especially not one born to mafia authority.

"Thank you,"Isaid, the words emerging beforeI'dfully formed the thought behind them. "For..."Igestured vaguely, uncertain how to articulate gratitude for something so complex, so fundamental.

"Don't thank me for basic decency,Luca."Hisresponse held no pride, no expectation of praise for restraint that should have been standard rather than exceptional. "Ishould apologize for not stopping them.Fornot preventing this."

The shift in responsibility—from my gratitude for his restraint to his apology for the violation that had preceded it—realigned something fundamental between us.Notpossession but partnership.Notsurrender but alliance.

"You couldn't have known,"Ioffered, moving toward him with careful steps. "Noneof us anticipated they would go this far."

His expression darkened, something dangerous flashing briefly before being contained. "Ishould have.TheSouzasare known for biological manipulation.They'veused heat-triggering agents before against rivals' families."

The casual reference to mafia tacticsI'dnever considered sent a chill through me despite the lingering warmth of heat.TheworldI'dentered through missing millions and paper claims contained dangers beyond physical violence—biological warfare targeting the most vulnerable aspects of secondary gender.

"Carlo is interrogating the delivery service that brought the suppressants,"Matteocontinued, his voice dropping to something colder, more calculated. "Whenwe find who tampered with them?—"

"You'll kill them,"Ifinished, not a question but an acknowledgment of the reality we inhabited.

His gaze met mine directly, no pretense, no softening of what he was willing to do. "Yes."

The simplicity of his confirmation should have horrified me.Instead,Ifound myself nodding slightly, accepting the reality of our world—of his world, which had become mine through claiming and consequence.Violenceas currency, as response, as the language of power and protection.

"You're not disturbed by that," he observed, something like surprise registering beneath his controlled exterior.

I considered the question, examining my own response with the analytical precisionI'donce reserved for financial discrepancies. "Ishould be,"Iadmitted, echoing wordsI'dspoken to him nights before, when he'd returned bloodied from defending territory that included me. "ButIunderstand necessity in waysIdidn't before."

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