Chapter 19
nineteen
. . .
Present Day
Rain lashed against the bulletproof windows of Stefano's office, matching the dark violence pulsing through his blood as he watched Leo through the surveillance feed.
The memory of his winter jasmine scent clung to his senses despite the physical distance, a ghost of pleasure that had haunted him since they'd first claimed their little prince in the forest a year ago.
On screen, Leo paced the cottage living room like a trapped animal, fingers raking through ash-blond hair that caught the afternoon light.
Three days since his father's funeral. Three days since the legal documents had transferred Leo from Kenji Yamamoto's protection to the Vitale Brotherhood's possession.
Three fucking days of watching their omega grieve for a father who'd never deserved him.
"The Nakamura shipment cleared customs," Matteo reported from across the office, amber eyes flicking between his phone and the business documents before him. "Product arrives at midnight. Distribution channels secured."
Stefano barely registered the information, attention fixed on Leo as he paused at the cottage window, forehead pressing against rain-streaked glass.
The oversized sweater slipped off one shoulder, revealing that perfect juncture where throat met collarbone—the exact spot where Stefano's teeth would mark him, where his claiming bite would finally end this torturous waiting.
His cock hardened instantly, primitive possession surging through him at the memory of their last visit—Leo pinned against the garden bench, struggling between them as Stefano's fingers invaded his mouth, forcing him to taste his own surrender.
The way Leo had fought even as his body betrayed him, winter jasmine scent spiking with arousal despite his futile resistance.
"Stefano." Marco's voice cut through his obsessive recollection as his brother entered without knocking, tablet in hand, expression dark with barely controlled violence. "You need to see this."
Marco's tablet displayed Leo from another angle—the camera hidden in the cottage bookshelf capturing their little prince curled into the armchair, face contorted with grief as silent tears tracked down flushed cheeks.
The sight ignited something primal in Stefano's chest, his vision edging crimson as his alpha nature howled against Leo's distress.
"Three more days," he growled, the promise more threat than statement. "Not one fucking day longer."
His mind flooded with images from their calculated cottage invasion—Leo's shock when they'd established themselves in the garden, the way his sharp tongue had faltered when Matteo had hung Leo's underwear on the laundry line with deliberate intimacy, the naked vulnerability in his eyes when Marco had bandaged his bleeding finger in the kitchen.
Six months of methodical infiltration, of breaking down Leo's defenses piece by piece until there was nowhere in his world that wasn't marked by their presence.
Nowhere to hide from the alphas who owned him.
"The suite is ready," Matteo confirmed, voice carrying that deadly quiet that made lesser men tremble. "Security protocols in place. Staff briefed on appropriate behaviors."
Appropriate behaviors. The euphemism nearly made Stefano laugh. What he meant was: any staff member who looked at Leo wrong, touched Leo without permission, or even breathed in Leo's direction without explicit authorization would be eliminated with extreme prejudice.
"Three years since Kenji approached us," Marco said, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain lashing against glass as thunder rolled in the distance. "A year since we broke him in the forest."
Stefano's cock pulsed at the memory—Leo half-drowned from the pond, clothes clinging to that lithe frame, fighting like a trapped animal when they'd overpowered him. That first spanking that had nearly shattered Stefano's control, the way Leo's hole had leaked slick despite the suppressants.
Every moment calculated to imprint their ownership on Leo's omega biology.
"Worth it," Stefano replied, voice rough with restraint as he adjusted himself beneath the desk. "Kenji Yamamoto knew what he was doing, keeping Leo isolated. He's an omega prime, even if he doesn't know it yet. Worth more than the entire fucking Yamamoto empire."
On screen, Leo curled tighter into himself, small frame shaking with suppressed sobs that echoed in the empty cottage.
No one to comfort him. No one to hold him.
No one but the three alphas who'd been systematically conditioning him to crave their touch, their approval, their discipline for the past year.
"Isolation was protection," Matteo said, moving to pour three fingers of bourbon from the crystal decanter. "Kenji had enemies who would have used Leo against him."
"And now those enemies are ours," Marco added, turning back from the window, expression hardened into the cold mask that had earned him the nickname 'Smiling Death' among their rivals. "Along with every other fucking thing Kenji owned."
Including Leo. Especially Leo. Their perfect, sharp-tongued little prince who still thought he could escape them even after they'd broken him with pleasure in that tent.
Even after they'd blackmailed him with the video of his surrender, forcing him to meet them in the forest at night.
Even after they'd spanked him until he begged to come, until he'd sobbed "Daddy" while Marco took his cock down his throat and Matteo devoured his desperate kisses.
"The extraction is planned for Friday," Stefano said, forcing control into his voice as he watched Leo disappear from the living room camera's view. "I want all business cleared by then. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will interfere with bringing him home."
"The Corsini delegation is scheduled for Friday morning," Matteo reminded him, ever the practical one. "Can't be postponed again without creating tension."
Stefano's jaw ticked with irritation, the reminder of obligations that stood between him and claiming what belonged to him grating like sandpaper against raw nerves. "Move it to early morning. We extract Leo at noon. I want him in our bed by nightfall."
"Three more days," Marco repeated, the words carrying all the strain of prolonged denial. "Feels like a fucking eternity."
On the tablet, Stefano switched to the bedroom camera, watching as Leo entered the spartan room that had been his prison for eight years.
The night had deepened, shadows filling the corners of the cottage as their little prince moved around his bedroom, unaware of the predatory gazes tracking his every motion.
Business reports lay abandoned on Stefano's desk, the Nakamura shipment temporarily forgotten as Leo began his evening routine.
The same ritual they'd observed every night for months—an unconscious pattern Leo had developed without realizing it was just another form of conditioning.
Another way his body acknowledged the alphas who'd claimed it, even when his mind continued its futile resistance.
"He's getting ready to shower," Marco said. "Just like last night. And the night before."
Stefano remembered the deliberate "accident" they'd engineered at the pond—Leo's first full exposure to them, the moment they'd established physical dominance over his body.
How beautifully he'd responded to Stefano's spanking afterward, to Marco's praise, to Matteo's quiet observation that cataloged every unconscious response for future exploitation.
Leo moved to the attached bathroom, the 4K camera capturing his reflection as he stripped off his sweater with slow, absent motions.
The lean lines of his torso came into view—the subtle definition of his chest, the narrow waist, the smooth skin that would soon bear their claiming bites.
Every inch of that perfect body had been mapped during their cottage visits—each touch reclaiming territory, reminding Leo's body who owned it even as his mind continued its pointless rebellion.
"Perfection," Stefano murmured, watching as Leo unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down slender hips.
Leo stepped into the shower, turning his face up to meet the spray with closed eyes.
Water cascaded over his ash-blond hair, plastering it to his skull before streaming down the graceful curve of his neck, across the delicate jut of collarbones, following the subtle contours of his chest. The cameras captured every detail in merciless clarity—droplets clinging to long eyelashes, the pink flush spreading across pale skin as steam rose around him, the way his throat worked as he swallowed back what might have been another sob.
"Fuck," Marco breathed, shifting closer to the screen as Leo's hands finally lifted, fingers threading through wet hair in a motion that raised his arms, elongating his torso and highlighting the subtle curves that marked him as omega prime.
Stefano's cock throbbed painfully as Leo's palms flattened against his own chest, trailing downward with absent sensuality.
Those slender fingers traced patterns through the soap on his skin, circling a nipple without seeming to realize it—the same nipple Matteo had bitten during their discipline, the one that had made Leo arch and cry out when they'd pushed him into subspace with overwhelming sensation.
"He has no idea what he does to us," Stefano growled, the words scraping his throat as Leo's hands moved lower, sliding over narrow hips, down the outside of slender thighs, before traveling back up the inside with a casual intimacy that sent another surge of heat through Stefano's blood.