The Alpha’s scent

Being an Omega was already inconvenient.

Being a male Omega with a rare, unpredictable heat-cycle disorder was practically a full-time punishment.

You had learned that lesson rather early in life.

Your heat cycles weren’t normal. They didn’t follow a schedule, didn’t respond properly to medication and certainly didn’t care whether you were at home, at work or halfway through an important meeting.

Sometimes you experienced several weeks of peace.

Other times, your body decided to betray you without the slightest warning.

And when it happened, it happened badly.

Your temperature rose dangerously, your strength disappeared, and your body became painfully sensitive to its surroundings. Ordinary suppressants barely helped. Stronger medication only worked temporarily.

You had visited more doctors than you could remember.

Every single one had given you a different explanation.

None had given you a solution.

You hated hospitals.

You hated medication.

And above all, you hated the sympathetic looks people gave you whenever they discovered your condition.

You weren’t some fragile little thing that needed to be wrapped in cotton.

You had a university degree, a respectable job, your own apartment and enough confidence to argue with practically anyone.

Unfortunately, your body hadn’t received the memo.

And you were absolutely furious about it.

It was a Thursday evening when everything went wrong.

You had just left work after a particularly exhausting day. Your colleagues had spent the last hour discussing an upcoming project, and you had spent most of it trying not to fall asleep.

The weather was pleasantly cool, the streets were relatively quiet, and you were looking forward to nothing more than a hot shower and your comfortable bed.

Your phone vibrated.

A message from your best friend.

Don’t forget dinner tomorrow. And please don’t cancel this time.

You rolled your eyes.

“Bossy little idiot,” you muttered, typing a reply.

I’ll be there. Stop worrying.

You slipped your phone into your coat pocket and continued walking.

Then you felt it.

A sudden, uncomfortable warmth spread through your chest.

Your steps slowed.

You frowned.

No.

Not tonight.

You stopped beside a streetlamp, pressing your fingers against your forehead.

Your heartbeat was accelerating.

A familiar dizziness crept into your head.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You reached into your bag, searching for your emergency medication.

Your fingers brushed against your wallet, keys, headphones and several receipts.

Where was it?

Your breathing became increasingly uneven.

You finally found the small medication container, but your vision had already begun to blur.

Your heat cycle was progressing far too quickly.

You swallowed the medication with a few sips of water from your bottle and leaned against the nearest wall.

It didn’t help.

Of course it didn’t.

“Come on...” you whispered angrily.

You tried taking another step.

Your knees buckled.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, scattering its contents across the pavement.

You attempted to catch yourself, but your legs simply refused to cooperate.

A moment later, you were sitting on the cold ground, struggling to remain conscious.

You hated this.

You hated every single second of it.

If your body had been a person, you would have happily punched it.

Unfortunately, your body was currently winning the argument.

The sound of an approaching vehicle reached your ears.

A black luxury car slowed down beside the pavement.

One of the rear windows lowered.

“Boss?”

A male voice.

Then another.

“There’s someone on the ground.”

You tried lifting your head.

A tall man stepped out of the vehicle.

Black trousers. Expensive shoes. A dark coat.

You couldn’t see his face properly.

But you smelled him.

An Alpha.

A very powerful one.

Your instincts immediately made you uncomfortable.

“Don’t...” you managed to whisper.

The man crouched in front of you.

“Can you hear me?”

You forced your eyes open.

Unfortunately, the first thing you saw was an annoyingly handsome face.

Dark hair. Sharp features. Cold grey eyes.

Wonderful.

Apparently, even your medical emergencies came with attractive problems.

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled.

His eyebrows moved slightly.

“What’s your name?”

“None... of your business.”

One of the men behind him made a quiet noise.

The Alpha looked almost amused.

“He’s conscious.”

“Congratulations,” you whispered. “Do you want a medal?”

The man studied you for another moment.

Then his expression became serious.

Your condition was clearly worsening.

He noticed the medication container lying beside your hand and picked it up.

His eyes moved across the label.

“Severe heat-cycle disorder?”

You closed your eyes.

“Please... stop reading my private information.”

He ignored the remark and looked at his driver.

“Call Romano. Tell him to meet us at the house.”

“Yes, boss.”

You felt an arm slide carefully behind your back.

“Wait—”

The Alpha lifted you.

Your eyes widened slightly.

“Put me down!”

“You’re in no condition to walk.”

“I didn’t ask for a walking assessment!”

“You’re welcome.”

You glared weakly at him.

“I already hate you.”

His mouth twitched.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Then the world faded into darkness.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the scent.

Warm cedarwood.

Dark tobacco.

Something faintly spicy.

It was an Alpha scent.

Normally, that would have been enough to make your already uncomfortable condition considerably worse.

But something strange was happening.

Your breathing was steady.

The horrible dizziness had disappeared.

And the overwhelming heat that had consumed your body earlier had subsided considerably.

You frowned.

That was new.

Slowly, you opened your eyes.

An unfamiliar ceiling greeted you.

You turned your head.

A bedroom.

An enormous one.

Dark wooden furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, expensive paintings and a bed that probably cost more than your entire apartment.

You stared at the surroundings.

“...Well.”

You pushed yourself upright.

“Someone has a rather unhealthy obsession with interior design.”

“You’re awake.”

You froze.

A voice came from the other side of the room.

The Alpha from the street was sitting in an armchair, reading something on his phone.

He wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone.

His expression was as unpleasantly composed as you remembered.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh, fantastic. It’s you.”

He slowly lowered his phone.

“Good evening to you too.”

“Where am I?”

“My house.”

You looked around again.

Then back at him.

“Why?”

He stared at you.

“Because I found you unconscious on the street.”

“Ah. So you’re a kidnapper with a rescue complex.”

One of his eyebrows lifted.

“Interesting interpretation.”

You pulled the blanket away and looked down at yourself.

Your clothes had been changed into a clean, oversized shirt.

You immediately looked back at him.

“Who changed my clothes?”

“A housekeeper. After the doctor examined you.”

You relaxed slightly.

“Good.”

A pause.

“Because if it had been you, we’d have had a problem.”

The Alpha put his phone aside.

“Trust me, little Omega. I have absolutely no interest in undressing unconscious strangers.”

You bristled.

“Don’t call me little.”

“Then stop behaving like a particularly troublesome one.”

Your mouth fell open.

Excuse him?

You stared at the man.

He stared back.

And then, very slowly, you smiled.

Not pleasantly.

“What’s your name?”

“Alessandro Moretti.”

You blinked.

Moretti.

You knew that name.

Everyone in the city knew that name.

The Moretti family controlled a considerable part of the city’s underground activities. Their businesses were everywhere, their influence reached into places ordinary people never saw, and their leader was considered one of the most dangerous Alphas in Europe.

You looked him up and down.

Then sighed.

“Of course.”

Alessandro tilted his head.

“Of course?”

“Of course the first mafia boss I meet has the personality of a parking ticket.”

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Then Alessandro leaned back in his chair.

“You’re quite brave for someone who collapsed in front of a stranger.”

“And you’re quite arrogant for someone who apparently spends his evenings collecting unconscious Omegas.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Careful.”

You smiled sweetly.

“Or what? You’ll send me an invoice?”

For the first time, Alessandro actually laughed.

A quiet, surprised laugh.

You immediately disliked how attractive it sounded.

A few minutes later, Alessandro approached the bedside table and placed a glass of water beside you.

“Drink.”

You looked at the glass.

Then at him.

“Please?”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

“Drink,” he repeated.