20. The Arrangement Countdown
20
THE ARRANGEMENT COUNTDOWN
~DAMON~
T he morning air carries hints of approaching autumn as I take another slow drag from my cigar, savoring the rich tobacco while surveying the forest that surrounds our mansion.
The property stretches for acres in every direction, providing both privacy and protection – two commodities I've learned to value above most others in my line of work.
Relief flows through me as I consider Kamari's current state – safe, well-fed, and most importantly, in good spirits despite everything she's endured.
The way she's already integrating with the pack exceeds my most optimistic expectations. There's an ease to her interactions with each of us that speaks of natural compatibility rather than forced adaptation.
My attention drifts back to the glass doors leading to our living space, drawn by movement within.
Kamari stands before the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that spans the wall just outside the balcony, her expression a delightful mixture of awe and excitement. Even from here, I can read the bibliophile's dilemma in her posture – that familiar tension of someone trying to decide which literary treasure to claim first.
The collection represents years of careful curation. First editions, rare prints, books signed by authors long dead – each volume selected not just for its monetary value but for the knowledge or beauty it contains.
Seeing her appreciation for them, watching how reverently she traces the spines with gentle fingers, makes something warm settle in my chest.
A smirk tugs at my lips as Rhett moves behind her, wrapping one arm over her shoulders with casual possessiveness.
He whispers something in her ear that makes her freeze mid-motion, her entire body going still as her eyes widen comically. When she turns to stare at Kieran with those massive brown eyes, I can only imagine what revelation Rhett just shared.
That Kieran is a bestselling author in dark romance.
Though Kieran's back is turned to the glass, his body language speaks volumes as he raises his hands in mock innocence.
The gesture only seems to incite Kamari further as she points an accusing finger his way, her other hand propped on her hip in a pose that somehow manages to be both adorable and commanding.
Kieran's shoulders shake with obvious laughter, the unusual display of mirth drawing my full attention.
Our financial genius usually maintains careful control over his expressions, years of high-stakes negotiations teaching him to keep his true feelings hidden. But there's nothing guarded about his reaction now – his entire body radiates genuine amusement as Kamari storms over to poke his chest with righteous indignation.
Rhett's laughter carries through the glass, the sound rich and unrestrained.
The scene strikes me as significant – not just for its lighthearted nature, but for what it reveals about our changing dynamic. Rhett and Kieran have always gotten along despite their dramatically different personalities, but this is the first time I've seen them truly in harmony.
Where Kieran represents careful calculation and refined taste, Rhett embodies wild passion and raw talent.
One moves through the world like a perfectly crafted blade, the other like an unleashed force of nature. Their friendship has always fascinated me – the street racer and the financial genius finding common ground despite their opposing approaches to life.
But watching them now, with Kamari acting as a bridge between their worlds, I see something deeper emerging.
She doesn't just accept their differences – she celebrates them and responds to each of them authentically while somehow maintaining her own distinct personality.
Her presence seems to amplify their natural compatibility while smoothing any potential friction.
The way she switches between playful defiance with Rhett and intellectual sparring with Kieran speaks to her adaptability. But it's more than a simple adjustment – she genuinely appears to thrive on their contrasting energies. Like she's been searching for exactly this kind of balance without realizing it.
My eyes track her movements as she continues to scold Kieran, her finger jabbing his chest while her other hand gestures animatedly.
Even in borrowed clothes, with her hair falling in natural waves instead of careful styling, she carries herself with an innate grace that draws the eye. There's no artifice in her actions, no calculated performance meant to manipulate or seduce.
This is Kamari in her natural state – passionate, expressive, and unafraid to challenge Alphas who could easily overpower her.
The sight stirs something primal in my chest, making my inner Alpha rumble with approval.
This is what we've been missing, what our pack needed without realizing it – not just an Omega to complete us, but this specific Omega with her perfect blend of strength and softness.
Watching her interact with them reminds me of a conductor leading an orchestra – each player maintaining their individual importance while contributing to something greater. She doesn't diminish their unique qualities but somehow enhances them, drawing out aspects of their personalities I've never seen so clearly displayed.
The morning sun streaming through the glass catches her hair, creating a halo effect that seems oddly appropriate.
She looks like something out of a Renaissance painting – all graceful lines and passionate energy, perfectly framed by the masculine power of the Alphas who flank her. The contrast should be jarring but instead feels natural like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
Our pack has always been unconventional.
A criminal mastermind, a financial genius, a detective, and a professional racer – we shouldn't work together at all. The potential conflicts of interest alone should have torn us apart years ago. But somehow we've not only survived but thrived, each of us filling roles the others need.
But watching Kamari with them now, I realize we've been incomplete without knowing it.
Like a painting missing its central figure, a story lacking its heart. She doesn't just fit into our existing dynamic – she enhances it, and brings out colors and depths that were always present but never fully realized.
The way Rhett's wildness seems more focused in her presence versus how Kieran's careful control softens without weakening.
These subtle changes speak to something profound happening – not just the addition of an Omega to our pack, but the discovery of someone who genuinely completes us.
"What are you thinking about that has you smiling like a proud father?"
My smirk only grows wider as I glance sideways at Ezekiel, catching the knowing look in his dark eyes before returning my attention to the scene unfolding inside.
Kamari has risen up on her tiptoes, straining to reach a book on the top shelf – a rather futile endeavor given her petite stature.
Her profile presents an absolutely adorable picture: lips pursed in concentration, brow furrowed slightly as she stretches upward.
Even from here, I can sense her mounting frustration while Kieran gestures toward Rhett, who's obviously the tallest of the three and most capable of retrieving her desired tome.
The urge to go inside and help tugs at me – Ezekiel and I being the tallest of our pack could easily solve her dilemma. But like my detective companion, I remain rooted in place, understanding the value of letting them bond without our interference.
These small moments of interaction, of natural problem-solving and cooperation, are crucial to building pack dynamics.
"Isn't this the first time we've actually all gotten along with an Omega so naturally?" I finally answer Ezekiel's question, voicing the observation that's been playing at the edges of my thoughts.
He considers this for a moment, his detective's mind clearly reviewing our previous attempts at pack expansion.
"Obviously," he agrees with a slight shake of his head. "Which Omega has ever compared with our dynamic? They either complain about how weird the combination of our professions is, or they couldn't handle our fake profiles of careers."
The reminder draws a deeper smirk from me as I recall some of our more creative attempts at finding compatible matches.
"The plumber profile was particularly entertaining."
Those had been interesting times – me, one of the most powerful men in the criminal underworld, presenting myself as a simple tradesman. I'd even used different surnames deliberately, wanting to avoid any connection to my true identity.
The resulting meet-and-greets had provided endless entertainment, though ultimately proving futile in our search for the right Omega.
Through the glass, I watch as Rhett finally moves to help Kamari, though not in the way any of us might expect.
Instead of simply reaching up to grab the book, he wraps his hands around her waist and lifts her bodily toward the shelf. Her squeak of surprise carries faintly through the glass, followed by Kieran's rich laughter.
The scene perfectly encapsulates why she's different from all those previous candidates.
Where others might have been offended by such casual manhandling or tried to maintain rigid propriety, Kamari adapts instantly. She takes advantage of her new elevation to snag not just one book but three, tucking them against her chest like precious treasures before Rhett lowers her back to earth.
"Remember the hedge fund manager?" Ezekiel's voice carries notes of both amusement and exasperation. "The one who spent the entire interview trying to convince Kieran she could double his portfolio returns?"
I nod, recalling that particular disaster.
"She didn't even make it past the first meeting. Kieran said anyone that confident about guaranteed returns was either delusional or running a Ponzi scheme."
The memory draws a quiet chuckle from both of us.
We'd gone through so many potential candidates over the years, each one falling short in different ways. Some couldn't handle the idea of sharing Alphas. Others became obsessed with our wealth and status, seeing us as tickets to easy living rather than potential mates.
"Or that racing enthusiast," Ezekiel continues, warming to the topic. "The one who wouldn't stop talking about her extensive knowledge of Formula One statistics?"
"Rhett's face when she got every single one of his race times wrong," I recall, shaking my head. "But insisted she was right because she'd 'read it on a fan forum somewhere.'"
Inside, Kamari has settled onto one of the plush reading chairs, her newly acquired books spread across her lap.
Rhett perches on the chair's arm while Kieran takes the seat opposite, both of them seemingly content just to be in her presence while she explores her literary treasures.
"She's not pretending," Ezekiel observes quietly, echoing my own thoughts. "Everything about her reactions is genuine…from her excitement about the books to her comfort with our touch."
He's right.
There's no calculation in how Kamari interacts with us, no careful manipulation or planned responses. She reacts instinctively, and authentically, whether she's moaning over breakfast or arguing about literature.
Even her moments of uncertainty feel real rather than performed.
"The last one," I muse, taking another drag from my cigar, "the socialite who claimed she could 'rehabilitate' my public image. Said she had connections with all the right people to make my 'unfortunate criminal associations' disappear."
Ezekiel snorts, the sound carrying genuine derision.
"As if your carefully cultivated reputation was something that needed fixing." His eyes narrow slightly as he watches Kamari gesture animatedly about something in one of her books, drawing both Rhett and Kieran into what appears to be an intense discussion. "Kamari doesn't try to fix any of us. She just...accepts."
Another plus in my books.
The observation strikes home with particular force.
Where previous candidates tried to change us – to make the criminal legitimate, to tame the racer, to soften the financial shark, to corrupt the detective – Kamari seems to appreciate each of us exactly as we are.
She doesn't see our unusual combination of professions and personalities as something to be corrected or hidden.
Instead, she appears genuinely fascinated by how we work together, and how our different skills and backgrounds create something unique. I’m positive any more questions about our work would come from real interest rather than social maneuvering.
Her reactions to our touch stem from genuine attraction rather than calculated seduction.
The buzz of my phone interrupts our observations.
Taking a final drag from my cigar, I offer the remainder to Ezekiel, who accepts it with practiced ease.
The caller ID displays one of my most reliable contacts in government relations – someone who rarely calls unless something requires immediate attention.
"Castellano," I answer, keeping my tone neutral despite the tension already building in my chest.
"Mr. Castellano, I apologize for the delay in processing," my contact begins, his voice carrying that particular note of stress I've learned to recognize as preceding bad news. "We've run into a... dilemma while filing the final portions of the contract confirming Kamari Prava Ahvi as your pack's claimed Omega."
Something cold settles in my stomach at his careful phrasing.
"Elaborate."
"Someone else has already submitted a claim stating she is their Omega," he explains, papers rustling in the background. "They've provided documentation showing an arrangement was previously in place, though it appears the actual marriage ceremony wasn't completed. However," more papers shuffle, "they've submitted evidence suggesting the Omega is simply on a 'break' from the pack and intends to return."
My frown deepens as I process this information.
"Return for what, exactly?"
"There's apparently some ceremony scheduled in three days," he continues. "They're presenting it as the formal completion of their original arrangement. All the paperwork appears to be in order, including signatures from community leaders and religious authorities."
"What ceremony?" The words come out sharper than intended, making Ezekiel's attention focus fully on me.
"From what we can gather, it's a sacred binding ritual specific to their cultural traditions," my contact explains. "The documentation is extensive, with historical precedents cited and multiple witnesses prepared to testify about its significance. But what's particularly interesting," his voice takes on a careful edge, "is that their primary financial sponsor appears to be the Omega's father."
I remain silent, processing the implications.
Her father – the same man who tried to sell her like property, who allowed her to be traumatized and abused – is now using tradition and religion to force her to return.
The calculation of it, the careful manipulation of cultural customs to serve his purposes, makes my blood boil.
Ezekiel's hand brushes my cheek, drawing my attention momentarily from the phone.
Our eyes meet in silent communication, his touch carrying reassurance and support. Whatever we're facing, we'll handle it together as a pack. The gesture helps center me and reminds me that we have resources and power of our own to wield.
"Continue," I instruct my contact, who's been rambling about procedural details while I processed the larger implications.
"The ceremony is set for sunset three days from now," he explains. "They're pushing for expedited processing of all documentation, citing religious necessity and cultural preservation. Several prominent community leaders have already signed statements supporting their claim."
My mind races through possibilities, calculating moves and countermoves.
"What would we need to do to ensure our claim takes precedence?"
"Well," papers shuffle again, "the most straightforward solution would be immediate marriage. If you could formalize your claim before the ceremony?—"
"Done," I cut him off. "We'll marry her immediately if that's what's required. Whatever recommendations you have, whatever strings need pulling…make it happen. I'll handle any other concerns."
"Sir," his voice carries hesitation, "there's the matter of where the Omega will reside for the next three days. Today won't count against the traditional waiting period, but the next two days..."
"She stays with us," I state firmly, leaving no room for argument. "And we'll retrieve her belongings from the Safe Haven immediately." The last thing we need is for them to use her possessions as leverage. "I assume they might try to claim personal items as proof of her intended return?"
"It's...been mentioned in some of the supplementary documentation," he admits. "There are references to family heirlooms and traditional garments that they claim hold spiritual significance."
"Of course there are," I mutter, remembering how they used every possible tool to control her before. "Have the paperwork for our claim ready within the hour. I'll send a team to collect her belongings and secure any evidence we might need to counter their cultural claims."
In fact, we’ll go ourselves.
The sound of laughter from inside draws my attention back to Kamari, who appears to be reading something amusing to Rhett and Kieran.
She looks so natural there, so perfectly at home among our pack. The idea of anyone trying to drag her back to a life of submission and abuse makes my inner Alpha snarl with rage.
"Sir?" My contact's voice pulls me back to the conversation. "There's one more thing. They've submitted statements from multiple pack members describing their...connection to the Omega. Their intention seems to be proving emotional and spiritual bonds that transcend legal documentation."
The implication – that they're trying to paint this as a love match rather than an arranged marriage – would be laughable if it weren't so infuriating.
"Let me be very clear," I keep my voice level through sheer force of will. "Kamari Prava Ahvi is our Omega. Not by arrangement or cultural obligation, but by mutual choice. Anyone who tries to interfere with that will learn exactly why crossing our pack is considered suicide in certain circles."
"Understood," he replies quickly, recognizing the threat beneath my controlled tone. "I'll expedite everything on our end. But sir...they're likely to challenge any claim we file. The cultural angle gives them significant leverage in certain courts."
"Then we'll meet them on every battlefield they choose," I state with quiet certainty. "Legal, cultural, spiritual – whatever ground they want to fight on, we'll be there. And we'll win."
There’s not an ounce of doubt in my mind because no one ever wins against me when I want something.
And I want our mia principessa.
The conviction in my voice seems to reassure him.
"I'll have preliminary paperwork to you within the hour. But sir...be careful. The father's influence appears to extend into some surprisingly dark corners."
Two can play that game.
"Good," I allow a hint of predatory satisfaction to color my tone. "That will make it so much more satisfying when we destroy him completely."
Three days. Let the real games begin.