Page 6 of The Omega Accountant

"Because whatever you found in those financial records,"Ianswered with equal directness, "Iwant to protect it.Andyou.TheSouzaswant to eliminate both."

His gaze held mine for a measured moment, assessment visible in eyes sharper than most would expect from his unassuming exterior.Thenhe nodded once, decision reached through necessity rather than trust.

"Let me get my coat."

When he returned moments later, messenger bag clutched protectively against his side,Imoved instinctively to position myself between him and potential threat vectors—the doorway, the darkened street beyond, the shadows whereSouzawatchers had stood minutes earlier.Myhand settled naturally at the small of his back as we exited the building, a gesture that combined guidance with possession, with declaration.

Before we stepped fully outside,Ipaused at the threshold, turning to face him.Underthe guise of straightening his collar—a simple, professional adjustment—my thumb brushed deliberately over the sensitive scent gland at his nape.Afleeting touch, almost casual, yet unmistakably territorial.Hispupils dilated in immediate response, body recognizing the alpha claim even if his mind didn't fully process it.Thesubtle press left invisible traces of my scent on his skin—a chemical warning to any alpha who might approach.Aprimitive declaration: this omega is protected.

The contact, even through layers of clothing, sent heat spiking through my palm.Theurge to slide my hand higher, to cup the vulnerable nape of his neck and leave my scent there where any rival alpha would detect it, crashed through me with visceral intensity.Iinhaled too deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs, and had to exhale slowly through clenched teeth to maintain control.Everyinstinct screamed to lower my mouth to the nape exposed beneath my touch, to seal this fragile truce with a bite that would silence rivals and doubts alike.Everyalpha instinct demandedIpress my face into the curve where his neck met shoulder, where his scent would be strongest, and mark him as claimed territory.

Mine to protect.Mineto defend.Mine.

He stiffened slightly beneath my touch but didn't pull away, practical enough to recognize the protection it offered as we moved through darkness toward the waiting car.Hisscent shifted subtly—anxiety tempered with grudging recognition of safer passage, of alpha shield against external threats.

The thoughts registered with unsettling intensity, alpha biology responding to perceived threat against what instinct had already categorized as territory—not just the omega himself but what he represented, what he had discovered, what he might mean to larger strategies still forming in my consciousness.

"Where are we going?" he asked asCarloopened the car door, his expression betraying nothing of the tension evident in his posture.

"Somewhere secure,"Ianswered, guiding him into the backseat before sliding in beside him. "SomewheretheSouzascan't reach you."

In the confined space of the backseat, his scent intensified—honey and citrus notes becoming more pronounced as his anxiety elevated his body temperature, compromising the effectiveness of the suppressants.Ishifted slightly, creating marginal distance asIdetected the faintest trace of omega slick emerging beneath the chemical barriers—a biological response he couldn't control andIcouldn't ignore.

Something wasn't right.Evenaccounting for stress, his suppressants shouldn't be failing this noticeably.Beneaththe citrus and anxiety lay the unmistakable warm undertones of pre-heat—subtle but present, like the first warning tremors before an earthquake.Eitherhis medication was substandard, or something more deliberate was at play.

Even under stress, a standard suppressant shouldn't fail this fast.Unlessthe dosage was off.Ortampered with.AsuspicionI'dhave to confirm later—when we were somewhere safe.

My pupils dilated in the dimness, vision sharpening with predatory focus that had nothing to do with external threats and everything to do with the omega now under my protection.Undermy influence.

As the car pulled away from the curb, distance growing between the omega accountant and the threats that had converged around him, something primitive and possessive settled in my chest—a certainty that transcended strategic calculation or tactical advantage.

WhateverLucaBianchihad discovered, whatever danger now circled him like wolves scenting vulnerability, he had become mine to protect through alpha imperative that recognized no authority beyond its own claiming instinct.Notmy father's orders.NotSouzaambition.Noteven the careful boundariesI'dmaintained between professional authority and personal entanglement.

Mine to defend.Mineto shelter.Mine.

The territorial claim had been staked—first againstSouzawatchers, now in the protective positioning that kept the omega accountant within the radius of my scent, my vigilance, my defense.Whathad begun as strategic interest had evolved into something more primal, more absolute in the span of a single night.

The implications would require analysis later.Fornow, the singular focus remained: secure what was mine against those who would take or harm it.

As simple and as complex as that.

3

LUCA

The private elevator ascended with unsettling smoothness, a glass and steel coffin carrying me toward judgment.Myreflection stared back at me from polished surfaces—dark circles beneath eyes that had seen no sleep, hair slightly disheveled despite my attempts to appear composed.Themanila folder clutched against my chest might as well have been a bomb, its contents just as destructive.

How had it come to this?Twelvehours ago,I'dbeen alone in my apartment, windows locked against watching eyes.NowIstood inMatteoCorvino'sprivate elevator, summoned without explanation in the gray hours before dawn, the memory of his hand at the small of my back like a brand against my skin.

The way he'd confronted those men outside my building—the naked aggression in his stance, the territorial flare of his scent marking the night air—played on endless loop behind my eyes.Notjust an alpha asserting dominance, but something more primal.Morepersonal.TellEmiliono one watches him.He'smine.Thewords hadn't been meant for me to hear, but they'd carried on the night air, settling into my bones with unsettling weight.

The elevator slowed, my stomach lurching with it.Myscent soured with anxiety, the citrus notes turning sharp despite the fresh patchI'dapplied.Thedoors parted silently, revealing a minimalist foyer of marble and brushed steel—the entrance toMatteoCorvino'sprivate penthouse.

Carlo stood waiting, expression unreadable. "Thisway."

I followed mutely, each step carrying me deeper into alpha territory.Thepenthouse sprawled in gleaming monochrome, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below, still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness.Thespace smelled of him—sandalwood and cedar, that dangerous metallic undertone—but subtly, as if he maintained control even over his own scent.

"Wait here."Carlogestured to a sitting area, then disappeared down a hallway.

---