Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Two years later
Alesso
Leaning back in my chair, I find myself thinking about the omegas I helped escape from Slick Dreams a few months ago. I have no idea what happened to them, but I find them in my thoughts often.
It was dumb to believe that sex without strings wouldn’t have repercussions. I don’t mean in the form of an STI or a kid, but more in the emptiness that is left behind. I want something more than empty, meaningless sex. If I allow myself to exist in this deluded state, I even want a pack.
Helping Makayla through her heat with four alphas that I didn’t know before walking through the door to find her in pain was eye opening. It made me want more, and the men around me worked so well in sync, you’d never know that we’d just met at that moment.
I even kind of miss the fuckers.
But that’s insane, and the universe is telling me that I’ve grown too lonely in my life. As a money launderer, I don’t have to see people outside of my communication through third parties and the dark web. It’s safer this way, though it doesn't fix my problems of my own company not being enough.
Glancing at my phone, I wonder if Oliver or Lucas feel the same way. Would it be odd if I called them, or would it just make me seem clingy?
What do you even say to someone that you once shared an omega with during her heat.
Hi, we once both had our dick in a girl’s mouth, want to hang out?
“Merde,” I groan. This is pathetic.
We all exchanged numbers before we walked off into the night a few months ago, but not one of us has used them.
My lips twitch in derision as I force myself to work instead, tossing my phone away as I move money for incredibly rich and crooked people.
I’m paid well for it, and as long as I don’t fuck anyone over, I don’t have any issues.
This doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but it gives me a fair measure of security.
As I scour the dark web while bored, I get a message that makes me frown. I don’t often have people reach out to me unless it’s for work.
Unknown:
I have a proposition for you. You’d need to travel for it and show your face.
Me:
No. If I don’t have more details, I won’t do that. My job depends on my anonymity, so I don’t understand what you want.
Unknown:
I’m less interested in your money laundering, and more interested in where you’ve been putting your cock lately.
My heart begins to race at that because it’s only been inside of one omega in months. How would this person know that? Logging out, I close my computer, my skin already coated in a cold sweat. I think it’s time for a little vacation. I need to get the fuck out of Chicago for awhile.
Standing, I pull off my clothes to shower, preferably under freezing cold water. I smell from the anxiety and unease coursing through my veins. I think a trip to Italy is in order. I can find new clients there, just in case I need to leave America for good.
It’s a good thing I speak the language, no? I may even find some companionship that doesn’t require meeting faceless people on the internet.
Three months later
Isolde
“I need a job done,” Nico Domino says, leaning back in his office chair. I’m dressed in leather from head to toe as I stand before him, heavily armed and covered in scent blockers.
It feels awful to be coated and hidden, but no one will hire an insane omega. It’s such a double fucking standard, one that makes my skin itch. Instead I curl my gloved hands into fists behind my back as I pretend not to hate one of the alphas I work for.
He doesn’t know that I have zero alliances, and I allow him to think that he has any kind of control over me. Alphas like him need that so they can pretend their dicks are bigger than they are. The truth is, I would have to be put down like an animal if he didn’t have this thin veil of control.
And so, here I am. Continuing to pretend. I’m packless after two damn years of traveling to complete hits, but since I’m living life as a beta, what else can I expect. An actual love connection?
That’s rich. I don’t know if that exists for an omega as broken as I am.
I’m considering lowering my dose of scent blockers to one where I can still smell an alpha’s scents. A very small part of me that believes in fate wants to see.
“Yes, Alpha,” I murmur, waiting for details.
“I’m currently in deep shit with someone, and it’s ruining my focus,” Nico says. “There is a hacker that’s been fucking with my business, and I need him scratched off the board along with his pack.”
“Pack?” I ask. “Aren’t hackers typically solitary creatures?”
“You’d think so, but Oliver Carew was recently caught on camera at a known sex club with several men that I believe to be his pack. We went to school together, which is the only reason I know his face. To the dark web, he’s faceless, nameless and a general snarky asshole,” Nico grumbles.
I’ve gotten very good at tracking people in the years that I’ve been out of the Jefferson City Auction. It’s all just delayed gratification until I can make people scream before they die.
“Sounds like his dick is going to get him killed,” I muse.
“Quite possibly,” Nico grunts, handing me a folder.
Inside, there’s information on Oliver Carew, Alesso Daventi, and Lucas Reid.
The photos all show that they’re alphas used to getting their way, and they’re all gorgeous.
I shouldn’t even be noticing this. I haven’t had sex in two years, which means that I tend to spend a decent amount of money on The Naughty Tote’s website.
A release without a forced heat, lies, or an alpha’s pheromones are all I can stomach lately. I’ve seriously thought about having sex with a female alpha just to see if it’ll make a difference, but I think I’m broken beyond repair after the not so tender care my handlers spoiled me with.
“I’ll take care of it, Alpha,” I promise. It’s not up to me to ask questions. Nico Domino doesn’t tend to place a hit on people unless they’ve done something to piss him off.
It works well, because I get to do my thing and my blood lust is quenched for a time. I’m beginning to think that all alphas are terrible humans. Just because Nico isn’t amongst the worst of them, doesn’t mean he’s an upstanding alpha.
He is sending me to kill people, after all.
The world doesn’t exist in shades of black and white, not for me.
“Thank you. See that you do,” he says. “And Isolde?”
It’s still jarring to hear my real name. I use it for work because it’s a calling card of sorts. If I’m coming for you, it’s because you aren’t going to survive me.
“Yes?”
“Alesso is currently in Italy. You’re going to need to make sure that you take your passport with you,” he says.
My face doesn’t show how much I dislike flying, I simply nod. My fake papers are under my name with a fake surname, another layer of protection that’s necessary when I travel.
Ugh. Fucking Italy. I hate Europe.
“Do you have a preference for who I need to take care of first?” I ask.
“I don’t,” Nico says, shrugging. “I have to get going, this organization isn’t going to lead itself.”
Heavy is the mantle of the king, huh? Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? I feel bad for the omega that is going to marry him. I overheard that the wedding will be held in Savannah, but not much else.
While I know that arranged marriages happen, they’re too close to being bought and sold for my conscience, and Nico told me that the marriage is wanted on both sides.
I’m not sure if I trust that. I may stick my nose where it doesn’t belong after this job if I have time.
“Of course,” I say, taking my folder and leaving. I pass his pack as I go, and they all avoid my gaze as I walk.
At least it’s nice to have some sort of reputation. However, if they think I’m a leashed dog, they’re wrong. I’m willing to work within my preview for Nico Domino because I choose to. I have contracts with eight other mafia bosses across the country and three in Canada.
A dog, I am not, unless it’s a rabid one.
Snapping my teeth at one of them, I smirk as he jumps.
“Isolde, that’s not nice,” Nico chuckles as his butler opens the door.
“I’m not paid to be nice, Mr. Domino,” I grunt, inclining my head at the butler before I walk to my car.
I find that renting works best for me, I simply use my fake name for anything I need. Even then, the only thing that’s not forged is the name Isolde. It’s easier for me to keep track of when I’m predominantly in the States.
Isolde Roman. I don’t remember my real last name, not anymore, and it’s frowned on in society not to have one. It’s been lost in the past along with so many other things.
Sighing, I drive to a diner to catch a bite to eat, do some research, and see who my first mark will be from these three alphas.
Finding a corner where they’re less likely to bother me, I place the folder on the table and pull out my computer.
A lot of hitmen either have coding skills or people they can reach out to when needed.
Since I’m a loner, I taught myself how to find the information I need.
All of my forged paperwork was bought through the dark web, and I found someone willing to teach me how to code.
It doesn’t mean I didn’t pay out the nose for the privilege, but it just fueled my desire to learn as quickly as possible. To this day, I have no idea who my teacher was. Everything was done with voice changers and masks in a private classroom on the internet.
Regardless, I learned what I needed to and then we cut ties. A curious part of myself wonders who that hacker was, but I understand the need for anonymity.
A group of bikers come in just as I order a glass of orange juice and an omelet because I’m starving, and I pretend to not see them as I go through my Alpha hit list. Maybe I can leave Alesso for last and hope that he’ll return to the States if I start killing his pack.
It’s worth a shot.