Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
The path curved deeper into the garden, taking us farther from the warm glow of the cottage windows.
Out here, with only the small solar lights and the silver wash of moonlight, the world narrowed to just us—alpha and omega moving through shadows and fragrant flowering bushes that rose well above our heads in some places.
Perfect. Alone in a secluded garden with an alpha who'd already demonstrated his complete disregard for personal boundaries and basic human decency.
Might as well hang a neon sign over my head flashing Terrible Decision-Making in Progress.
If poor life choices were an Olympic sport, I'd be standing on the podium right now, gold medal gleaming while the disappointment anthem played.
"Don't play dumb," I said, finally pulling myself together enough to confront him.
"I know exactly what's happening here. Charming Uncle Jiro with gardening tips, fixing things around the property, helping with laundry?
You're systematically inserting yourselves into every aspect of my life, gaining the trust of the only people I care about.
It's Manipulation 101. The basic primer they hand out at How to Be a Creepy Alpha orientation day, complete with PowerPoint and role-playing exercises. "
Rather than deny it, Stefano's smile widened. "Perceptive."
The casual admission caught me off guard.
"You're not even going to pretend otherwise?
No 'we're just doing our jobs' bullshit?
Not even a half-hearted 'you're being paranoid'?
Your villain monologue needs work. There's supposed to be at least five minutes of smug denial before the shocking revelation. "
He stopped at a small clearing where the path widened around an ornamental cherry tree, its branches casting dappled shadows across the stone bench beneath it. The spot was completely hidden from the house by a wall of flowering bushes, creating a private pocket in the otherwise open garden.
I'd walked right into a literal trap. One carefully designed for maximum privacy and minimum chance of rescue.
Aunt Akiko's innocent garden suddenly felt like the opening scene of a horror movie—beautiful victim lured to secluded location, monster waiting patiently.
Next thing I knew, I'd be running through the trees in slow motion while dramatic music swelled in the background.
"Would you believe me if I did?" he asked, stepping closer and deliberately invading the three-foot bubble I'd demanded.
"No," I admitted, backing up until my legs hit the bench. "But most people at least try to maintain the pretense of decency. Make an effort not to come across as completely psychotic. Little things like that. Social niceties that separate us from feral animals and politicians."
"I'm not most people," he replied, following my retreat with predatory focus.
"And I see no point in lying to you. Yes, we are deliberately becoming indispensable to your aunt and uncle.
Yes, we are systematically inserting ourselves into every aspect of your life.
" His voice dropped lower, taking on that dangerous edge that made my skin prickle with awareness.
"Because you belong to us, Leo. And we're done allowing distance to maintain the illusion that you don't."
The blatant claim sent heat rushing through me, equal parts outrage and something far more disturbing.
My traitorous biology—that forever-reliable source of betrayal—responded with a subtle quickening of pulse that I was certain his alpha senses could detect.
Like having an internal double agent reporting directly to the enemy.
"I don't belong to anyone," I shot back, lifting my chin defiantly.
"Especially not three hired hands my father employed to babysit me.
What's next, the gardener claiming ownership rights?
Maybe the mailman? The guy who reads the electric meter?
I don't come with a transfer of title just because you've spent a few nights in a tent outside my fence. "
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "Is that what you think we are? Hired hands?"
"What else would you be?" I challenged, latching on to his reaction.
If there was one thing I'd learned in my years of isolation, it was how to spot weak points and jab at them mercilessly.
"You work for my father. You're security personnel.
Employees. Subordinates. Not exactly equals to the Yamamoto heir.
Maybe an employee-of-the-month plaque if you meet your omega-stalking quota. "
His laugh was low and cold, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the evening breeze and everything to do with the predator currently backing me into a corner.
"Such arrogance. You think your father's name gives you power?
" He took another step closer, forcing me to sit on the bench as he loomed over me.
"Tell me, little prince, if you don't belong to us, then who do you belong to?
Some yakuza boss your father plans to marry you off to?
Some alpha who's never even touched you? "
The mention of being married off hit closer to home than I wanted to admit.
It was a fear I'd carried since presentation—that all this isolation was just preparation for being handed over to the highest bidder, a political alliance sealed with an omega offering.
My father's disappointing son finally made useful as a bargaining chip.
"Better than belonging to three alphas who have to resort to coercion and manipulation," I spat, even as my heart raced at his proximity.
"At least a yakuza boss would have enough status to claim me properly.
Not skulk around pretending to be security while fondling my underwear and terrorizing elderly gardeners with tomato knowledge. "
In a move so fast I barely registered it happening, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my throat with precise pressure—not enough to cut off air, but enough to make his point unmistakably clear.
His thumb pressed against my racing pulse, feeling the physical evidence of my body's response to his dominance.
My brain immediately began calculating exit strategies, all of which looked increasingly unlikely with his hand around my throat and my ass firmly planted on the bench. The alpha wall of muscle blocking any escape route wasn't helping matters either.
"Let me make something very clear," he said, voice dropping to that alpha register that bypassed my rational brain entirely and went straight to parts of me that had no business responding to threats.
"If your father tried to give you to someone else, I would kill them.
Slowly. Painfully. I would dismantle their entire organization, destroy everything they've built, and leave them breathing just long enough to understand why before I ended them. "
The casual violence in his tone should have terrified me.
Instead, some primitive part of my brain translated the threat into he would destroy worlds to claim me and responded with a rush of slick between my thighs.
The triple suppressants might as well have been sugar pills for all the good they were doing.
Great. Now my body was getting turned on by death threats.
Another delightful side effect of omega biology they never covered in health class.
"Warning: May experience sexual arousal when alpha threatens murder on your behalf.
Consult your physician if homicidal protection persists for more than four hours. "
"You wouldn't dare," I whispered, voice embarrassingly breathy with his hand still wrapped around my throat. "My father would never allow his security staff to—"
"You think we're just security?" he cut in, thumb stroking along my jawline with incongruous gentleness even as his grip maintained its dominance.
"You think we couldn't reach anyone your father tried to give you to?
There are no borders we can't cross, no organizations we can't infiltrate, no protection that would keep them safe from us. "
"You're insane," I breathed, though the conviction in his voice made something in my chest tighten. "Security guards don't talk like this. They don't threaten to kill people. They don't act like they have the authority to—"
"I have exactly the authority I take," he interrupted, crouching down so our faces were level, his hand still wrapped around my throat. "And I'm taking you."
His mouth crashed against mine, cutting off my retort with bruising force.
The first touch of his lips sent a shock wave through my system—electric and immediate.
This wasn't gentle or hesitant; this was possession.
His lips crushed mine with ruthless precision, demanding rather than requesting, claiming rather than asking.
My hands flew up to his shoulders, intending to push him away, but the moment my fingers made contact with the solid muscle beneath his shirt, they curled into the fabric instead. Pulling him closer. Betraying me completely.
The taste of him flooded my senses—winter pine and raw power, masculine and overwhelming.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and when I gasped in shock, he took immediate advantage.
The hot, wet slide of his tongue against mine made my mind go blank, every rational thought dissolving into pure sensation.
His hand slid from my throat to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair to angle my face exactly how he wanted. The control in the gesture should have infuriated me, but my traitorous body interpreted it as safe and protected and right.