Page 77 of The Mafia's Omega Queen

“How are you feeling this morning, sweets?”

“Mmmm,” I sashay the few steps between us and plaster my wet body against his front, “much better now that you’re here, mate,” I purr, clutching his dark blue button-up in my fists and pulling his lips down to mine.

He drops the towel at my feet, wrapping his arms around my waist, his large hands gripping my asscheeks and squeezing me closer to his body. Even though I was just knotted out of my mind for the last week, there’s just something about my men that can get me ready to go all over again.

“As much as I can get on board with this idea,” Vinny remarks dryly from the doorway, “your father is getting impatient.”

A gasp breaks from my lips as I whirl around, my naked body on full display for his heated hazel orbs. Shit, Dad’s here? What the fuck!

Please, please, please, don’t tell me he’s been here the entire time. I thought I was imagining his voice when the guys got me out of the house of death.

But holy shit. Dad’s here! I’m so excited to see him!

Not even bothering with drying off, I toss on the red leggings and matching sports bra that Arden brought in, covering it with Hunter’s black t-shirt at the bottom of the pile. The collar hangs off my shoulder, and I tie a knot in the back to keep from swimming in it. My wet hair gets tossed up in a messy bun; there’s no time to even think of drying it.

Stopping to pop a quick kiss on Vinny’s cheek, I murmur, “I love you,” but don’t wait for his reply as I run for the open door.

Vinny yells, “I love you, too, princess,” as I dash out of the nest, my bare feet slapping the floor as I fly through the house, my only intent on finding my dad.

A familiar, deep-belly laugh echoes down the hall from the living room, and I skid to a stop at the entryway, setting my eyes on the man himself. “Dad.”

His head whips toward my direction, along with Mom’s, Byron’s, and Gavin’s. He jumps up and strides across the room, all businessman pretenses gone, and pulls me into his arms, clutching me like he thought he lost me.

Silly man. You would think by now he would know that I’m a lot harder to kill than I look.

He pulls back with a knowing look, eyeing the visible bite marks on my shoulder, but wisely doesn’t comment on them. He clutches my hand tightly and walks me back over to the rest of the group, only releasing me into the arms of my mom. She holds me close, whispering how much she loves me and how glad she is that I’m safe, then lets me go. A smile lights up Gavin’s face as I plop into his lap, Vinny, Arden, and a still sleepy-looking Hunter joining us a few moments later.

“So, what’s been going on? When did you guys get here?” Andre wanders in as I ask, a silver tray in his hands with numerous glasses of amber liquid and one wine glass filled to the brim with a deep red.

He hands me a glass, and I eye it distastefully, remembering the last time we all sat here with the same glasses in our hands. “I poured these myself, and it’s whiskey, not scotch,” Andre says, obviously picking up on the slight panic at the events of the last time we drank.

“Thank you,” I murmur quietly, the small rush of anxiety retreating.

Dad takes a sip of the whiskey, his lips smacking together as he eyes the glass appreciatively. “We’ve been here for a little over a week now.”

“Here? Like, here, here?” I screech, my hand tightening around my cup.

“Andre, the dear, put us up in a suite on the other side of the house, away from your nest, darling. It’s okay. We know what happens and how you can’t prevent something like that.” Of course, Mom has to try and downplay the fact that they’ve been here for a week while I’ve been out of my mind and knotted silly.

I grumble under my breath but decide to let it go, hoping it’s something they won’t bring up again.

“So while you were indisposed of,” Or not, “we’ve been handling the aftermath. Putting the lower families in line who were in league with Kilroy.” I flinch at his name. Fuck, I’m so glad that fucker is dead.

Shifting on Gavin’s lap, I turn more toward Dad. “When you say handling… please tell me you mean…” I trail off, and from the glint in his eye, he knows exactly what I mean.

“Those back home have been tearing them limb from limb in our name. We are retaining control of all their assets and their companies.” Yeah, that’s what I thought. “The assets are being distributed accordingly to the higher families, though we keep a large percentage of what's accrued.”

As is what always happens when taking out another family. Though we don’t touch women and children unless, of course, those women are the type like I am. Which in this business is extremely rare. But it’s an unspoken rule that they flee, never to be heard from again. If they try to come after us after the fact, then it’s open season.

Rules in the mafia world are a fickle, fickle thing. If we just took them all out at once, then we wouldn’t have to worry about the blowback later on. But it’s just never been our thing to take out children. I personally would never be able to live with myself after if I had to go around popping off the kids of mafia families. But there are those that don’t give a shit who they take out if it means destroying an entire line. Hence why it’s a fickle do or don’t type of situation.

Each family sets their own rules, and it’s up to you when joining if you want to support those or not. If not, then you better get away as fast as humanly possible, lest find yourself at the opposite end of the gun.

“Well, shit, Dad. Did you leave anything for me to do?” Snickering at the shocked look on his face, I murmur, “Maybe I wanted to have a bit of fun playing with them too.” My mouth pops out in a pout, Dad sputtering his apologies as my lips twitch, fighting back a smile.

Finally, he pins me with a glare when I lose the battle and start cracking up, everyone else in the room joining me. If I were anyone else, I’d probably be scared to death of said glare, but seriously, Dad is like a giant puppy dog. My eyes flash to Hunter. He’s like a giant puppy dog, too. A murderous, flame-throwing, blowing shit up puppy dog. Who am I kidding? I have my very own hellhound named Hunter. And he loves belly scratches, too.

“Very funny, sweetheart.”

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