Page 3 of The Omega Accountant

The honey-citrus cloud in my kitchen only made it worse, triggering an unwanted cascade of sensory memory.SuddenlyIwas back in that hallway, enveloped in sandalwood, cedar, the faint metallic trace of gun oil.Mybody responded to the phantom scent as ifMatteowere actually present—the memory of him overlaying my own scent like an invisible claimIcouldn't scrub away.Myomega hindbrain whispered treacherous thoughts: how our scents had mingled so perfectly in that brief moment, how the metallic note in his scent could sharpen the sweetness in mine.

I moved quickly to my bathroom medicine cabinet, already knowing whatI'dfind.Empty.Mybackup supply had been depleted after last month's audit stress had triggered similar symptoms.TheCorvino-approved pharmacy that supplied omega employees with regulated suppressants wouldn't open until 8AM, and my prescription required in-person verification—another way the family maintained control over their omega staff.

Of all the nights for my suppressants to falter, it had to be this one.

I bit back a bitter laugh.Thiswas the reality of being an omega—even my own body would betray me whenImost needed control.TomorrowI'dfaceMatteoCorvino, an alpha powerful enough to make lesser men kneel with just his presence, andI'dbe fighting my biology every step of the way.

In the worldIinhabited, silence was not the absence of sound, but a language all its own—dense with implications, heavy with potential violence.Andtonight, that silence spoke volumes about my precarious position, caught between loyalty to numbers that couldn't lie and men who wouldn't hesitate to kill for them, all while my treacherous omega nature threatened to unravel what little protectionIhad built for myself.

2

MATTEO

The family estate loomed against the twilight sky like a monument to power—cold, imposing, impenetrable.Justlike my father wanted it.

I stood at the threshold of my father's study, the scent of aged leather and cigar smoke hanging in the air between us.DonCorvinosat behind his mahogany desk, the embodiment of old-world alpha authority.Hissilver hair caught the lamplight, creating a halo effect that belied the ruthlessness beneath.

"You're late," he said without looking up from the papers before him.

I didn't offer an explanation.Explanationswere for those who required approval. "Youcalled.Icame."

His eyes finally rose to meet mine.Thesame dark brown as my own, yet infinitely colder. "Sit."

I complied, occupying the chair across from him with deliberate ease, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.Theposture of a man unconcerned.Alie we both recognized.

"TheSouzaalliance," my father began, placing his fountain pen precisely parallel to the edge of his desk. "It'stime to finalize terms."

The muscles along my spine tensed imperceptibly.Thisconversation had been inevitable sinceEmilioSouza'sdaughter had come of age three months ago.Analpha-alpha union between the families would create a powerful bloodline, a merger of territories that would reshape the city's underworld.Strategic.Profitable.Expected.

"No,"Isaid.

The word hung between us, simple and irrevocable.

My father's scent shifted, pine and amber sharpening with sudden anger, though his expression remained unchanged. "Itwasn't a request,Matteo."

"I'm aware."

"You're thirty-two.It'stime you produced an heir."

"I'll produce an heir whenIchoose, with whomIchoose."Iheld his gaze without flinching, two alphas engaged in a silent battle of wills. "Butit won't be withSofiaSouza."

My father's fingers curled against the polished wood, the only visible sign of his mounting rage. "Youwould reject the most advantageous match in the city?Forwhat?Someomega whore you've been hiding?"

"There's no one,"Ireplied, the truth cooling my words. "Isimply won't be a pawn in your political game."

"Everything is a political game."Hestood, a gesture meant to emphasize his dominance, though we both knewI'doutgrown that particular intimidation tactic years ago. "TheSouzagirl comes with territory east of the river.Herbloodline is pure alpha for four generations.Thematch is perfect."

"The match is convenient for you."Iremained seated, a small defiance. "Andirrelevant to me."

His palm struck the desk, papers scattering. "Youare my son.Myheir.Youwill do asIcommand."

"I am your son,"Iagreed, standing now to meet him eye to eye. "AndIwill lead this family when the time comes.ButIwill not breed on command like some stud animal."

The tension between us thickened, two alpha scents clashing in the confined space.Thestudy had witnessed this scene countless times—father and son, locked in the eternal struggle of succession.Eachtime, the power balanced shifted incrementally in my direction.Weboth felt it.

A knock at the door interrupted the standoff.Vincenzo, my father's consigliere, entered without waiting for permission—a liberty granted only to him.

"Pardon the interruption,DonCorvino."Vincenzo'seyes flickered between us, reading the situation with the precision of a man who had survived decades in our world. "There'sa situation requiring immediate attention."

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