Page 88 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
“I’ll survive,” I managed, aiming for flippant but landing somewhere closer to breathless. “Though I might need a wheelchair if you keep this up. Maybe one of those little bells to ring for service.”
Mr. Enigma’s laugh was warm against my neck, his arms tightening around my waist. “Our resilient little mouse,” he murmured, affection evident in his voice. “So strong. So perfect for us.”
Perfect for them. The words echoed in my mind, stirring a longing I hadn’t known existed alongside a fear that ran bone-deep. Perfect for three alpha mafia lords who saw me as theirs. Perfect for men who had built empires on blood and fear. Perfectfor a life I couldn’t begin to imagine and wasn’t sure I would survive.
My body, sated and exhausted, melted into their collective embrace even as my mind recoiled from the implications of their possessive care. This was more than just sex, more than just biology or circumstance or necessity. This was something deeper, something that threatened to rewrite everything I thought I knew about myself. And that terrified me more than anything.
As my mind drifted toward exhaustion, Mr. Iceflare’s voice cut through the comfortable silence.
“Tomorrow night,” he said, his tone shifting from tender to commanding in an instant. His fingers traced idle patterns on my hip, the casual touch belying the weight of his words. “We’re leaving tomorrow tonight.”
I stiffened against him, suddenly alert. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said, little mouse.” His grip tightened fractionally, possessive rather than painful. “Our men have been in position for days. The compound’s security has weaknesses we’ve identified. Tomorrow night, we break out.”
Mr. Enigma’s chuckle vibrated against my back. “Did you think we’d just wait here forever for De Luca to use us as his breeding stock?”
“And you,” Mr. Storm added, his usually taciturn manner giving his words additional weight, “are coming with us.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “I— What? No, I need to?—”
“You’re coming with us, Ty,” Mr. Iceflare interrupted, his ice-blue eyes locking with mine, allowing no argument. “Where we go, you go.”
It wasn’t a request or even a command—it was a statement of fact, delivered with such absolute certainty that it left no room for debate.
“My father,” I protested weakly. “De Luca still has my father. I can’t just?—”
“We’ll find him,” Mr. Enigma promised, his lips brushing against my shoulder. “Once we’re free, we have resources De Luca can’t imagine. We’ll find your father and bring him to safety.”
I wanted to believe them. God, how I wanted to. But trusting these men—these dangerous, powerful alphas who’d claimed me so thoroughly—felt like jumping off a cliff with no guarantee of a soft landing.
“Get some rest,” Mr. Iceflare murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’ll need your strength for tonight.”
As they continued to whisper plans and reassurances, I closed my eyes, feigning agreement while my mind raced. They were breaking free tonight. And they expected me to go with them, to trust them with my life, my future, my father’s safety.
I had hours, not days, to decide my next move.
twenty-one
. . .
I woke up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar softness beneath me. Then reality crashed back harshly—I was in my own quarters, having escaped the alphas’ collective embrace just before dawn. The events of the previous night flashed through my mind in vivid, mortifying detail.
Their possessive touches. Their whispered claims of ownership. Their declaration that they were breaking free—and taking me with them.
“You’re coming with us, little mouse. Where we go, you go.”
A shiver ran through me at the memory of Mr. Iceflare’s absolute certainty. No question, no room for negotiation. Just the assumption that I would follow like an obedient pet, wagging my tail and grateful for the attention. Like hell.
I pushed myself off the bed, wincing as approximately seven hundred different muscles screamed in protest. My body felt thoroughly used, completely exhausted. I caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror on the wall and almost didn’t recognize the person staring back.
Bruises in the shape of fingerprints decorated my hips. Bite marks dotted my neck and shoulders, evidence of possession. My lips were swollen from their demanding kisses, and my hair was completely disheveled. I looked thoroughly claimed, thoroughly owned, and part of me, a traitorous, omega part I refused to acknowledge, preened at the sight.
“Snap out of it,” I said to my reflection. “Falling for dangerous alphas isn't a good look on anyone. Next you'll be picking out curtains and naming your future children.”
I needed to focus. The alphas were breaking free tonight. Which meant I had less than twelve hours to figure out my own escape plan. But first, I needed information—about guard rotations, about the compound layout, about any potential exits that might be overlooked in the chaos of three escaping mafia alphas.
A knock on my door interrupted my planning. Peters stood in the hallway, looking even more constipated than usual.
