"Friday," Stefano said again, the word carrying all the weight of absolute certainty. "By Friday night, he'll be in our bed where he belongs. Claimed. Controlled. Protected."
"And if he fights?" Marco asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer—hoped for it, even.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Stefano's face, cobalt eyes never leaving the screen where Leo had finally succumbed to exhaustion, tears still damp on his flushed cheeks. "Then we remind him exactly whom he belongs to," he promised. "As many times as necessary."
"The Nakamura shipment takes priority tonight," Stefano ordered, finally forcing his attention back to business matters. "I want the product distributed within twenty-four hours. Clean channels only."
"Understood," Matteo replied, pulling out his phone to relay the orders. "Anything else?"
Stefano cast one last look at the tablet where Leo slept curled in a protective ball, vulnerable and alone in ways that made Stefano's alpha nature rage against further delay. "Increase surveillance tonight," he decided. "Full monitoring. I want to know if he so much as shifts in his sleep."
Marco and Matteo nodded, understanding exactly what went unsaid—three more days of discipline and restraint, and then Leo would discover exactly what it meant to belong to the Vitale Brotherhood. Three more days, and those broken whispers of "never enough" would be replaced by screams of completion as they showed him what his body was made for—who his body was made for.
twenty
. . .
The Corsini delegation commanded the far side of the Vitale boardroom with an aura of contained power. Antonio Corsini—broad-shouldered, with the calculating precision of a natural predator in his steel-gray eyes—leaned forward with the casual confidence of a man who controlled four city districts and had personally eliminated three rival families.
Stefano studied him with the detached assessment of one apex predator evaluating another. The Corsini family's rise had been meteoric and bloody—exactly the kind of expansion that warranted both respect and caution. In another life, under different circumstances, they might have been allies instead of circling each other for territorial dominance.
"Twenty percent of the western territories seems reasonable compensation," Antonio stated, voice carrying the quiet authority of a man accustomed to having his commands obeyed. His tailored Brioni suit accentuated powerful shoulders and a physique maintained through more than just expensive gym sessions. The scars on his knuckles spoke of a leader whostill occasionally handled problems personally. "Given the… adjustments your expansion has required in our operations."
Marco chuckled softly beside Stefano, the sound containing no warmth as he leaned forward to refill his espresso with deliberate slowness. The movement caused Antonio's personal guard—a massive beta with eyes that had witnessed more death than most career soldiers—to shift almost imperceptibly, hand moving closer to what was undoubtedly a custom weapon beneath his jacket.
"Adjustments," Marco repeated, tasting the word like fine wine before discarding it. "Is that what we're calling territorial incursion now? Fascinating how language evolves in our profession."
Matteo remained silent at Stefano's left, his amber eyes cataloging every micro-expression that crossed the Corsinis' faces. His stillness was more threatening than Marco's theatrical display—a predator so confident in his position that movement was unnecessary.
Stefano allowed silence to stretch, watching Antonio absorb it without visible discomfort. The man's composure was impressive—one of many reasons the Corsini family had survived where others had fallen. This meeting was merely a formality—a gesture of respect to old alliances before boundaries were re-established. His mind drifted briefly to the extraction scheduled for tomorrow, to Leo's sleep-flushed face on the surveillance feed last night, to the plans already in motion to bring the omega to where he belonged.
"The western territories," Stefano finally said, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had made hardened criminals prostrate themselves before him, "are not negotiable. Neither is your continued operation within our sphere of influence, should you persist in overstepping boundaries that were made abundantly clear."
Antonio's mouth curved in what might have been amusement or annoyance—the two often indistinguishable in men of their position. "Clarity is subjective in our business, Vitale. Today's boundary becomes tomorrow's opportunity."
The tension in the room crystallized into something dangerous and electric, alpha pheromones thickening the air as both men assessed each other's resolve. In another context, this would be foreplay—dominant alphas establishing hierarchy before claiming territory. The sexual undertone wasn't lost on anyone present, least of all Stefano's brothers, who shifted subtly in their seats.
Before Stefano could respond, his phone vibrated with a pattern that made his spine straighten imperceptibly. Three short pulses, one long—the emergency signal from Leo's security detail.
Without breaking eye contact with Antonio, he removed his phone, glancing down with calculated casualness that belied the surge of alpha rage at the text message glowing on the screen.
IMMEDIATE: Hostile forces approaching cottage. Multiple armed targets. Security team engaging. Extraction protocol initiated.
Beneath the table, Stefano's hand clenched into a fist hard enough for tendons to stand out like steel cables under his skin. The meeting, the Corsini delegation, the territorial disputes—everything disappeared beneath the roaring in his blood, the primal howl of an alpha whose territory had been violated, whose mate was threatened.
"Gentlemen." Stefano stood, buttoning his suit jacket with the deliberate calm of a predator preparing to strike. "We'll have to continue this discussion another time. Something requiring my immediate attention has arisen."
Antonio's eyes narrowed fractionally, his expression betraying nothing but his body language shifting to something more alert, more dangerous. "We've barely begun?—"
"And yet we're finished." Stefano's tone dropped to that register that had made men soil themselves in terror. "My consigliere will see you out."
He strode from the room without another glance, Marco and Matteo falling into step beside him with practiced synchronicity. The moment the boardroom door closed behind them, Stefano's mask of civility dropped, replaced by lethal focus.
"Giovanni!" His command echoed down the marble hallway, summoning the head of security who appeared within seconds, tablet already extended.
"Live feed from the cottage perimeter," Giovanni reported, face grim as Stefano took the tablet. "Our team reports fifteen-plus hostiles, professional grade. Military or private contractors."
The screen showed thermal imagery of figures moving through the woods surrounding Leo's cottage, their tactical formation speaking of professional training. Stefano's jaw clenched hard enough for a muscle to tick beneath the skin as a section of footage showed a security guard's body dragged into the underbrush.
