Page 8 of The Omega Accountant

"Process of elimination,"Isaid finally. "Youweren't in the conversationIoverheard.Andyou have the authority to act without... excessive complications."

A lie by omission.Ididn't mention our hallway encounter, how the memory of his scent had lingered, howI'dseen him spare the young courier when his father would have destroyed him.Howsomething in me had recognized something in him—a complexity beyond the mafia heir facade.

"Excessive complications," he repeated, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Aninteresting euphemism for execution."

The word hung between us, stark and unembellished.Mythroat tightened. "AmIwrong?"

"No."Hegathered the papers, tapping them into a neat stack. "You'renot wrong.Butneither are you safe."

He rose suddenly, moving to a sideboard where crystal decanters caught the first gray light of dawn.Thesilence stretched as he poured amber liquid into two glasses, returning to place one before me.

"Drink."

I eyed the glass warily. "It's5:30 in the morning."

"And you've been awake all night, pursued by unknown entities, and now sit in the den of what you perceive as another predator."Hetook a measured sip from his own glass. "Circumstancesjustify exceptions."

Tentatively,Ilifted the glass, the liquor burning a clean path down my throat.Thewarmth spread, momentarily dulling the edge of exhaustion and fear.

Matteo resumed his seat, studying me with unsettling focus. "Myfather believes you took the money."

The statement landed like a physical blow. "What?"

"TheDonhas made his assessment.Heplans to make an example of you."Hisvoice remained neutral, as if discussing business rather than my likely execution. "Theevidence you've gathered won't matter.He'sdecided."

The room seemed suddenly airless, the walls pressing inward. "ButIdidn't?—"

"I know."Matteocut me off, the certainty in his tone stilling my protest. "Butwhat you did or didn't do is irrelevant to him.You'reconvenient.Expendable.Anomega in a position usually reserved for betas—already a point of contention."

My fingers tightened around the glass. "SoI'vebeen summoned to hear my death sentence?"

"No."Somethingshifted in his expression then, a hardening of resolve. "You'vebeen brought here soIcan claim you."

The words didn't register immediately, hanging in the air like smoke before meaning solidified.Whencomprehension dawned, it felt like the floor had vanished beneath me.

"Claim me,"Irepeated, the words foreign on my tongue. "Aswhat, exactly?"

"As mine."Thesimplicity of his answer belied its monumental implications. "Myomega.Undermy protection and authority.Beyondmy father's reach."

A hollow laugh escaped me, bordering on hysteria. "Youcan't be serious."

"Entirely."Hisgaze never wavered. "It'sthe only play that keeps you alive and gives us time to identify who's really behind the theft."

"Us."Iset the glass down carefully, afraid my shaking hands would betray me further. "Thereis no us,Mr.Corvino.I'man accountant who found a discrepancy.Nothingmore."

"You're an omega who uncovered a multi-million dollar theft within my family's organization, compromising enough people that someone has already tried to intimidate you into silence."Hisvoice hardened. "Andyou're experiencing suppressant failure while three unknown alphas marked territory outside your home.Thesituation has moved well beyond accounting, wouldn't you agree?"

Put so bluntly, my position seemed even more precarious.Theroom felt suddenly too warm, my skin too tight.Thelingering effects of pre-heat symptoms whispered beneath my skin, heightened by stress and proximity to an alpha whose scent called to something primitive within me.

"A claiming is permanent,"Imanaged finally, falling back on legalities when emotions threatened to overwhelm logic. "Legallybinding.Biologicallyirreversible."

"I'm aware of the implications."Heleaned forward, close enough that his scent enveloped me—sandalwood and cedar, tinged now with something warmer. "Butit doesn't have to be... conventional.Thisis about protection,Luca.Nothingmore."

His words hung in the air between us, a promise with hidden edges.Iknew enough about biology to understand the deception in his reassurance.Conventionalor not, a public claim would trigger biochemical changes—my scent permanently altered to carry his marker, my body's cyclic patterns recognizing his alpha presence, potential bonding hormones released during any intimate contact.Thechanges would begin immediately, subtle but inexorable.Therewas no such thing as a temporary claim in the biological sense, only varying degrees of completion.His"unconventional" offer merely suggested degrees of intimacy, not fundamental alterations to the claiming process itself.

Protection.Theword held weight in our world—currency more valuable than money, more binding than contracts.Butprotection came with prices, with expectations.Withownership.

"And what happens afterward?"Thequestion emerged smaller than intended. "Whenyou've found who took the money?Whenyou no longer need my evidence?Whathappens to your claimed omega then?"

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