Saving the Knotty Mafia Princess (Starbrook City Omegaverse #4)

Prologue

My heart pounds in my ears when I push the door open as hard as I can, nearly stumbling into the alleyway behind the hotel.

Too many scents.

Too many people.

Too many alphas.

Bracing my hands on my knees, I curse the gown that restrains my body like a python constricting its prey.

It’s scratchy and irritating—who the hell even designed this material? They must have hated omegas, that’s for damn sure.

My mother had all but ordered Freida to practically vacuum seal me inside the fucking thing. It’s pretty, sure, but can’t they make dresses that won’t make me feel like ripping off my own skin?

Happy fucking birthday to me.

My eyes squeeze shut tight at the memory of mere minutes ago, when my parents told me they expected me to find a pack to court at this farce of a party.

I’ve never gotten a damn birthday celebration in my entire life, but the second I present as an omega—three years late, by the way—I’m suddenly a prized jewel that needs to be shown off and coveted.

It doesn’t matter that two weeks ago, I was a beta and thought that I might have a chance to marry for love.

No, I’m just supposed to accept and embrace the fact that I’ll now be expected to pick a pack for an “advantageous match”.

More men to mate me with means more men under my father’s thumb.

More men to do his bidding and help keep the Messinas at the top of the drug trafficking system.

Shaky breaths leave me, each inhale pulling sharper at my lungs until I’m gasping. There’s not enough air. Not enough air in the world to help me not feel like I’m drowning—

“Oi! You alrigh’ there, Dove? You dun near gave me an ‘art attack.”

An accented voice has me nearly jumping out of my skin, and I straighten on instinct, my hand flying to my heart as I whip my head towards the owner of the voice.

I freeze.

Light blue eyes peer into mine, shining with concern. Shaggy, pale blonde hair dusts across ridiculously perfect lashes, and—

Tattoos. Lots, and lots of tattoos. His neck is the only part of him exposed but the skin I can see is covered with what looks like a tattoo of a butterfly.

A septum piercing.

And…his scent.

Some kind of tea with a bit of cream and sugar. The absence of alpha musk— a particular scent I never noticed before I presented that now makes me want to choke on my own tongue—tells me something very important.

He’s a beta.

And thank gods, because my father would skin me alive if he caught me in an alleyway with an alpha unattended.

Not that I won’t catch a punishment for leaving my own party the way I did, but it won’t be as bad.

I wait for the anxiety to take hold again. For the tightness in my chest that makes an appearance whenever I meet someone new.

But it doesn’t come.

“Dove?” His brows furrow with concern, making me realize I’ve just been staring at him like an idiot.

“I—” My voice cracks as I smooth my hands down my dress. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Thank fuck,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Would be a righ’ shame to get fired me first night on the job, lettin’ the birthday girl pass out in a back alley.”

My eyes go wide as I take in his attire for the first time. A standard black and white waitstaff uniform hugs his tall frame, and a lit cigarette dangles from his fingers.

Before I can think better of it, my nose wrinkles. “Those things will kill you.”

He grins, and my stupid heart flutters. “’Aven’t you ‘eard? We’re all dyin’ anyway, Dove. Might as well ‘ave fun while we’re doin’ it.”

“I suppose…” I take a step back until my back meets the brick wall of the building. “But I’ve seen the fallout of a lung cancer diagnosis firsthand. Doesn’t seem like much fun to me.”

Just like it always does, the memory of my grandfather holding my hand in his hospice bed as the last of his breath left his lungs makes my stomach sink even deeper.

The mystery beta frowns, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

Great. Now I’m even ruining the night of the waitstaff.

He joins me against the wall, keeping a few feet between us. “You don’t have to listen to me,” I offer weakly. “I just—”

“Nah, none o’ that, Dove.” There’s amusement in his voice that has me looking over at him. “I’m more worried ‘bout what drove you out ‘ere to begin with.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Why did you leave your own fully-ca’ered, open bar, omega designation-slash-birthday par’y?” His eyes sparkle with mirth. “Would you rather I call you ‘Wren Messina, only daugh’er of Francesco Messina, owner of Alessandro, Northern California’s most luxurious fashion ‘ouse?’”

So he knows exactly who this party is for.

I clear my throat. “You can keep calling me Dove…if you tell me what to call you.”

Without warning, he turns to me, holding his hand out. “The name’s Theodore Leopold Covington the Third, m’lady.” He winks as I reach out and take his hand. It’s a little rough and callused, but it’s nothing but gentle as it envelopes mine. “But you can call me Teddy—all me friends do.”

A shiver runs through me as a tear stings my eye. “I don’t have any friends.”

Well, besides Kimberly, our maid, but I know it’s one based on necessity—not real friendship. I’m not deluded enough to think the people my parents abuse under their employment actually want to be friends with me.

“Can’t say that anymore.” He smiles gently, his free hand wiping a tear from my eye. “I’m your friend now.”

I almost laugh. It’s so ridiculous. My parents will never let me be friends with someone like Teddy, alpha or beta. It doesn’t matter that I’m twenty-one now, my decisions never have, and never will be my own.

But…I can pretend for a little bit, right?

The gin burns as it coats my throat, and I do my best to suppress the cough that wants to expel from my chest.

I can’t be looking like a naive idiot in front of my new friend.

“Easy there,” Teddy’s hand runs over my exposed back in a soothing gesture. Goosebumps break out on my skin, making me feel exactly like the damn virgin that I am.

“I’m okay,” I choke out, my eyes watering. “I just…” wincing, I hand him back the flask, “I’ve never had gin before.”

Or any hard liquor, but it seems that I’m all about making poor decisions tonight. Which is precisely why Teddy and I are currently hiding in the back of the coat check room, sitting on the floor, sharing a flask of stolen gin.

When I hadn’t wanted to go back to the party, Teddy told me he knew the perfect place to hide. And so far, we haven’t had any surprise visitors.

He gives me a feral grin. “I’m ‘fraid I migh’ be a bad influence on you, Dove.”

My jaw drops, the gin going to my head as warmth spreads through my chest. “Excuse you. I’ll have you know that I drink plenty. I just haven’t had...gin. Specifically.”

“Oh really?” He arches a brow. “Enligh’en me then, won’t you? Wot’s your favorite cocktail?”

My cheeks heat. Teddy just said “cock”. Kind of.

“Um…” Suddenly my mind goes blank. A cocktail? Like…a mixed drink?

I can only think of one, and it’s slightly worse than Teddy saying a word that starts with “cock”.

“It’s…Sex on the Beach.” I put my shoulders back.

He leans back, tilting his head at me. His eyes, holding just a hint of mischief, look me up and down. “Wot’s your favorite part o’ the drink? The caramel drizzle?”

My head moves before my mind catches up. “Yup.”

“Dove.” That smirk is back.

I flutter my lashes. “Yes, Theodore?”

His brows furrow. “Teddy.”

“No, I’m Wren.” I put my hand on his chest, trying not to think about how firm it is under his suit. “You’re Teddy.”

He chuckles, grabbing my hand and holding it face up. “You’re Dove. I’m Teddy. And there’s no caramel drizzle in a Sex on the Beach.”

Fuck.

Of course. I can’t even pretend to have experience drinking. He probably thinks I’m some kind of idiot now.

Face flaming, I try to pull my hand back, but he catches it.

“I know you don’ know much ’bout me, Dove,” Teddy says, his voice gentle, “but you never ‘ave to lie to me. You are who you are, and nobody has any right to judge that.”

My eyes are fixed on where his hand holds mine. “What if…” I huff a breath, knowing I’m going to sound so stupid in just a second. “What if you’re not who you are? I mean…what if who you are isn’t who you’re supposed to be? Like…what if people…what if people are keeping you from being…yourself?”

When I look into Teddy’s eyes, his electric blues are fixed on me. Nose ring, neck tattoos…Teddy is clearly someone who knows a thing or two about being himself.

His tone doesn’t match the softness of his features. “Fuck ‘em.”

A shocked laugh leaves me. “What?”

“Fuck ‘em.” He shrugs. “Don’t let ‘em clip your wings, Dove. You deserve to be flyin’ ‘igh, above all this bullshite.”

“You don’t know me.” I shake my head, moving to stand.

It’s a little difficult with my dress in the way, but I manage.

“You don’t know my parents. I’m not…” I sigh, my hands falling to my sides lamely, “I’m not allowed.

You say don’t let them clip my wings, but I don’t think you realize just how literal it is.

I’m under watch twenty-four seven. I’m not allowed to go out except with a chaperone, or drink anything besides wine with dinner.

” I’m probably going to go without food the rest of the weekend for disappearing like this.

I don’t mention that part to Teddy though, because the last thing I want is his pity.

Something like anger screws up Teddy’s expression as he stands, brushing off his pants. It quickly disappears, a look of determination taking over. “Well then, I s’pose we’ll hafta change that.”

I scoff. “If it were that easy, I would have done it a long time ago.”

His charming grin is back. “You ‘aven’t had my ‘elp yet, Dove.”

Crossing my arms, I look up at him. “What can you do?”

“Nah, Dove. It’s not ‘bout wot I can do, but wot we can do. Tell me. If you wasn’t a full time mafia-princess-captive, wot would you be doing with your life?”

My bottom lip tugs under my top teeth as I consider it.

“I can paint.” My voice is quiet. Unsure. I’m not supposed to talk about my painting.

“Can you pretend to be interested in knot-’eaded alphas long enough to break out of your tower?”

I frown. “How long will that be?”

He grins. “Guess that depends on how good your pain’ings are.”