Page 10 of The Omega Accountant

"If this is about protection, then let it protect us both."Ifound courage in desperation, in the absurdity of our situation. "Youclaim me,Iclaim you.Equal.Notownership."

A startled laugh escaped him—the first truly unguarded reactionI'dwitnessed. "That'snot how it works, little accountant."

"Why not?"Ipressed, emboldened by his surprise. "Ifwe're inventing solutions, why not invent one that doesn't make me property?"

Something shifted in his expression—respect, perhaps, or amusement at my audacity. "Youcontinue to surprise me,LucaBianchi."

"Is that a yes or a no?"Imet his gaze directly, a dangerous challenge from omega to alpha.

Matteo stepped closer, erasing the careful distance between us until barely inches remained.Hishand rose, hesitated, then settled against the side of my neck where my pulse raced beneath thin skin.Thetouch burned, electric and foreign and somehow inevitable.

"Neither," he said softly. "It'sa negotiation.Onewe'll continue after you've slept andI'vearranged our public announcement."

His thumb brushed once, deliberately, across my scent gland, sending a shiver of awareness through my entire body.Nota claim—not yet—but a promise.Awarning.Aquestion yet to be fully answered.

"ThenI'llpin this on you,"Imanaged, voice steadier thanIfelt with his hand still warm against my neck.

The corner of his mouth curved upward—not quite a smile, but close. "Iexpect nothing less."

His hand fell away, leaving my skin cooling in its absence.Matteostepped back, restoring professional distance between us. "Carlowill show you to a room.Sleep.We'llcontinue when you're rested."

The abrupt shift from intimate negotiation to practical directive left me disoriented.Inodded mutely, suddenly aware of the bone-deep exhaustion weighing on me, the emotional toll of the past twenty-four hours.

As if summoned by thought alone,Carloappeared in the doorway. "Sir?"

"Mr.Bianchineeds rest,"Matteosaid, his tone reverting to the controlled cadence of the underboss. "Theblue room.Postguards.Noone enters without my authorization."

"Understood."Carlonodded toward a hallway. "Thisway,Mr.Bianchi."

I moved to follow, then paused, turning back toMatteo. "Theevidence?—"

"Is safe with me."Hehad already gathered the scattered papers, restoring them to the folder. "Asare you.Fornow."

The qualification hung between us—a reminder that nothing was settled, nothing certain.Inodded once, acceptance without agreement, and followedCarlofrom the room, the phantom sensation ofMatteo'sthumb against my scent gland lingering like a promise waiting to be kept or broken.

The weight of his declaration from the previous night followed me—He'smine—not just posturing forSouzaenforcers,Irealized, but declaration of intent.Thefirst public claim that would soon become private possession, teeth against vulnerable skin, biochemistry altered beyond reversal.

Mine, his alpha instinct had already decided.

The negotiation my mind demanded would be fought on territory already conceded by my biology, my body's treacherous response to his presence speaking a language more ancient than words.Theonly question remaining was whether choice could be preserved within constraint, whether partnership could be forged from possession.

WhetherMatteoCorvino'sclaim—mine to protect—might become something other than the ownership my life had been constructed to avoid.

The blue bedroom door closed behind me with quiet finality, lock engaging with mechanical precision.Notimprisonment,Matteowould insist.Protection.

The distinction felt increasingly irrelevant asIsank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion claiming conscious thought while my neck still burned with the memory of alpha touch, of promise not yet fulfilled but already imprinted on skin, on scent, on future narrowed to the single word that had followed me from street to penthouse to locked bedroom.

Mine.

4

MATTEO

The family estate loomed against the twilight sky, no longer a childhood home but a battlefield where blood ties became chains.Iadjusted my cufflinks—platinum, understated, lethal in their elegance—and feltLuca'spresence beside me in the car, a quiet counterpoint to the storm gathering in my chest.

"We don't have to do this," he said, voice barely disturbing the air between us.

I didn't look at him.Couldn't.Hisscent had strengthened in the hours since he'd slept, the honey-citrus notes richer, more complex.Thefresh suppressant patch he'd applied held, but couldn't mask the deepening undertones of pre-heat simmering beneath the chemical veil.Whatwould happen whenIclaimed him publicly was already unfolding in my mind like a military operation: each reaction cataloged, each consequence mapped.

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