Page 39 of The Omega Accountant

Consciousness returned slowly, fragments of reality assembling themselves like shattered glass behind closed eyelids.Coldmetal pressed against my back.Hemprope bit into my wrists, the fibers rough against abraded skin.Thelingering chemical taste of sedatives coated my tongue, bitter and medicinal.

My omega instincts, sharper than my drug-fogged mind, had already cataloged the essentials: multiple alpha scents permeating the space, the distinctive pine and bergamot undercurrent marking this asSouzaterritory.Silvia'sfaint cinnamon-clove scent, stale but present, suggesting she'd been here but no longer was.Themetallic undertone of guns, the acrid bite of cigarettes, the subtle sourness of fear—not my own, but embedded in the walls of what had clearly served as an interrogation room for years.

I kept my eyes closed, breathing evenly to maintain the illusion of unconsciousness while gathering whatever intelligenceIcould.Threedistinct heartbeats.Twoby the door—guards, their postures betrayed by the subtle creaking of tactical gear.Onecloser, seated perhaps six feet away—steady respiration, the subtle notes of expensive cologne beneath theSouzaterritorial markers.Leadership, then.

"I know you're awake,Mr.Bianchi," a voice stated, cultured and precise. "Thedrugs should have metabolized sufficiently by now.Yourrespiratory patterns changed approximately two minutes ago."

No point in pretending.Iopened my eyes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent light that seemed designed specifically for disorientation.Asmy vision adjusted, details emerged from the artificial brightness—a sparse, concrete room.Ametal table between me and the speaker.Acamera in the corner, its red light blinking with mechanical indifference.

EmilioSouzasat across from me, his small frame immaculately dressed in a tailored suit that cost more thanI'donce earned in months.Hissilver hair and refined features created an impression of benign elderliness that was immediately belied by the clinical assessment in his dark eyes.

"Where is my sister?"Iasked, voice rougher than intended from the lingering effects of whatever they'd used to sedate me.

"Safe,"Souzareplied with a dismissive wave. "Hercontinued comfort depends entirely on our productive conversation."

The calculated cruelty—the casual leveraging ofSilvia'ssafety against my cooperation—ignited something cold and focused within me.Notpanic or desperation, but a clarity that cut through lingering chemical fog like sunlight through mist.Iwould get her out of this.Whateverit took.

"What do you want?"Thequestion emerged steadier thanIfelt, my omega biology simultaneously registering threat from the alpha's presence while my mind calculated possibilities, exits, leverage.

"Information, to begin with."Souzaleaned forward slightly, hands clasped on the metal table between us. "Thefinancial data you've been analyzing withMatteo.Theevidence you've gathered against certain... mutual interests."

The question revealed more than he likely intended—confirmation that this was about the missing millions, about the connectionsI'duncovered betweenSouzaholdings andDonCorvino'smanipulation of family finances.Notjust omega being used as bait or biological leverage against a claimed alpha, but targeted extraction of specific intelligence.

A wave of nausea rolled through me suddenly, unexpected and intense.Iswallowed hard, fighting the sensation while trying to maintain my composure.Thedrugs,Iassumed—lingering side effects of whatever they'd used to render me unconscious.Butsomething felt different, more fundamental than simple chemical reaction.Mybody's scent had shifted subtly, a richnessIhadn't registered before threading through my usual honey-citrus notes despite the suppressantsI'dapplied beforeSilvia'sarrival.

Souza's nostrils flared slightly, his head tilting with sudden interest as he caught the change.Alphasenses, always more attuned to biological shifts than most omegas realized.Hisexpression remained neutral, but something in his eyes shifted—recalculation, reassessment of the asset before him.

I pushed the physical discomfort aside, focusing on the immediate threat. "Idon't have access to that data here,"Ireplied, testing boundaries while scanning the room for anything that might serve as advantage. "It'ssecured inMatteo'ssystems."

"But you have the information here,"Souzatapped his temple with one manicured finger. "Thatremarkable mind that identified financial patterns our best people spent months carefully constructing.Patternsno one else noticed."

The compliment, delivered with the same calculated precision as everything else about the man, confirmed whatI'dbegun to suspect.TheSouzasdidn't just want me as leverage againstMatteo.Theywanted whatIknew—the financial architectureI'ddecoded, the connectionsI'destablished between seemingly unrelated transactions.

I had value beyond my claiming bond.Knowledgethat threatened operations clearly more significant thanI'dinitially understood.

"IfIhad such information,"Isaid carefully, "sharing it would eliminate whatever value keeps me and my sister alive."

A smile touchedSouza'slips—appreciation for the gambit rather than offense at the implied refusal. "Clever," he acknowledged. "Butunnecessary.Wehave no intention of eliminating such a valuable asset.Quitethe contrary."

He removed a tablet from inside his jacket, sliding it across the table toward me.Thescreen displayed a complex financial structure—parallel to whatI'ddiscovered but with significant differences.ShellcompaniesIhadn't previously identified.Offshoreaccounts hidden beneath layers of encryptionIhadn't penetrated.

Another wave of nausea washed over me asIleaned forward to examine the data, this one stronger than before.Myvision blurred momentarily, a cold sweat breaking across my forehead.Somethingwas wrong—beyond the sedatives, beyond the stress of captivity.Mybody was trying to tell me something my mind hadn't yet processed.

"Suppressants are fragile technology,"Dr.Kellerhad warnedMatteoafter my heat had subsided."Especiallyin high-stress situations.Thechemical balance is easily disrupted when the body experiences extreme conditions."

The memory surfaced with sudden clarity—Matteostanding in the penthouse bathroom doorway, nostrils flaring as he'd caught my scent days after the heat had passed."Yourscent is... different.Richer."Theslight confusion in his expression."Theclaiming bond, perhaps."

Understanding bloomed with terrifying certainty, a truth my body had been trying to communicate through subtle shifts in scent, through waves of nausea, through the inexplicable exhaustionI'dattributed to stress.

The heat.Thesabotaged suppressants.Theclaiming.Theknotting.

Pregnancy.

The realization stole my breath more effectively than any physical blow could have.Notjust me at risk now, but something infinitely more vulnerable.Somethingthat changed everything about my situation, my options, my responsibilities.

"This isOperationMezzanotte,"Souzaexplained, misattributing my sudden pallor to the financial revelations before me rather than the biological one taking shape in my consciousness. "Thefinancial infrastructureVincenzoandIspent years constructing.Aparallel system designed to transferCorvinoassets to joint control once certain... impediments were removed."

I forced myself to focus, to process the information with the same analytical precisionI'dapplied to the original financial discrepancies.Notjust embezzlement or even alliance-building, but preparation for complete absorption ofCorvinoholdings through financial strangulation.Themissing millions hadn't been the goal—they were the test case, proof that the system worked before implementing it on the full scale ofCorvinooperations.

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