Page 82 of The Don’s Omega

I’m horrified by Marcello’s cruelty. I should say something, but I’m frozen in place. I can’t believe this is the same man who tenderly held me in his arms last night. The same man who was almost in tears from guilt over his brother’s death. That man was warm and vulnerable. This man is cruel and horrible as he torments a broken, disabled, begging man.

As the man continues to plead for his life, Marcello stands over him with a face like a statue, giving him nothing. Not a flicker of empathy. Not a breath of pity. Marcello is looking down at the sniveling man like he’s something he scraped off his shoe.

Carlo’s eyes lift suddenly and find me through the tiny gap in the door.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds my gaze for a second, and something flickers across his face. He pushes off the bookshelf and crosses the room, pushing the study door shut in my face. The latch clicks. Behind the heavy door, the voices drop to a muffle I can’t make out anymore.

I stand in the corridor with my heart pounding and my mouth dry. I don’t go to breakfast. I don’t think I could eat. Instead, I text Dante and tell him I want to go visit my brother at the hospital ASAP. He responds immediately and I go outside to the car.

As we drive away from the estate, I’m struggling with what I feel for Marcello. That cruel version I just witnessed is as real as the gentle version I spent the night with. It’s important I remember that.

Last night had me feeling things for Marcello I never expected to feel. But the last thing in the world I need to do is fall in love with an alpha like Marcello. Just because he’s capable of kindness doesn’t mean he’s not still a cold-hearted monster.

After all, mob bosses aren’t chosen for their sweet nature.

Chapter Eleven

Marcello

Elio has withdrawn from me.

There’s a chilly, quiet undercurrent between us. He doesn’t snap or confront me aggressively, that might be easier to deal with. Instead, he’s simply retreated behind some invisible line I can’t seem to cross. Polite answers. Cool smiles. His body angled away from mine whenever we share the same space. He’s completely different from how he was the night we shared our stories with each other.

I thought we’d grown closer that night. I thought something had changed between us. Perhaps it did, and I ruined it by vanishing into my work? I can admit, I’ve been distracted. Consumed by finding a thief within my organization. Someone is stealing from me, and that can’t continue. I look weak if I can’t stop them taking from me. If I look weak, that encourages others to try and take things. Maybe even my life or the lives of those I protect.

The theft is happening at one of my casinos in the Heights. It’s been bleeding money for weeks. I’ve been there past midnight five nights running trying to find the leak. Each morning I’ve left before Elio wakes and returned home after he’s asleep. That might be why he’s feeling neglected.

But it couldn’t be helped. I have to find the thief. Obviously, this asshole thought I wouldn’t notice the theft, but they’re dead wrong. It’s taking longer than I’d like to catch them, but I’ll get them. I’m good at hunting down people who steal from me. I’m good at making them pay for taking my money.

What I’m not good at, apparently, is keeping the omega sitting beside me happy.

Even though I’ve made time for him this evening, Elio is sulky. He’s looking out the window of the SUV we’re riding in together, one elbow on the door and his chin propped on his fist. He’s watching the city slide past with a stony expression. He’s only three feet away, but it feels like thirty. He’s hugging the door like he thinks I have leprosy.

I didn’t ignore him on purpose, he should know that. There are things I have to take care of. I’m running a goddamned empire, and he should understand there will be times I can’t be as attentive. But even if all of that is true, it bothers me that he’s giving me the cold shoulder. I hate it when he ignores me or is unhappy with me.

I clear my throat. “The place we’re going is called Cabrera’s,” I say. “It’s a bistro near the waterfront. I bought the building two years ago and the restaurant came with it. It should be making money hand over fist, but instead it’s been losing money.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He doesn’t turn from the window.

I ignore his disinterested tone. “The food’s good so I don’t think that’s the reason people don’t come back.” I watch the side of his face. “I thought you might see something wrong with the place that I don’t pick up on.”

That gets me a glance, finally. “You want my opinion on the operation?”

“Yes. We talked about you helping me with consulting, remember?”

“I remember.” He goes back to the window, but something in his shoulders has changed. He’s a little less rigid. “Sure. I’m happy to help.”

It’s not much, but it’s the most interest he’s shown in anything I’ve said during the entire ride, so I’ll take it.

Anthony pulls up to the restaurant, and Elio and I get out of the SUV.

Cabrera’s sits at the end of the south jetty with water on three sides. It’s a low building of weathered cedar and glass. Boats bob at their moorings off the pier, and past the railing the harbor opens wide, the lights of the far shore appearing as dusk falls.

It’s Friday night and from outside, the restaurant looks half empty. That makes no sense because the view is amazing and there’s plenty of walk-by traffic. People should be fighting for tables and willing to wait an hour to eat.

“Great location but it doesn’t look very busy,” Elio says softly, echoing my thoughts.

“No, it doesn’t.”