Another day. Another splatter of blood. Another body torn apart by bullets. Another life snuffed out.
Lucien Veyra was tired of it, tired of all this bullshit.
Almost every day, some rat had the audacity to spy on the Lucero Mafia Group.
And almost every day, those rats were caught just as easily as this man, now kneeling with his head pressed against the floor beneath Lucien's boot.
"I-I'm sorry! Please, let me go! I have a wife and a child waiting for me!" the man sobbed.
Lucien rolled his eyes. He crouched, pressing the cold barrel of his pistol against the man's temple.
"Then don't get caught, dumbass."
One pull of the trigger. A spray of blood and brains painted the ground. The man's pleas ended in silence.
Lucien didn't waste mercy on fools who dared to cross him.
Especially those who whined about families they clearly valued less than money. If you truly loved your wife and child, you wouldn't risk your life for scraps.
He stepped away from the corpse and toward the sleek black sedan waiting for him. His stepbrother, Vincent, stood with a black umbrella in hand, shielding him from the drizzle like always.
Vincent opened the door and let Lucien inside first, sliding in after him.
"Brother, you don't have to cover me with an umbrella like that. You're not my servant," Lucien said as the car slipped into the night.
"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do," Vincent replied lazily, crossing his long legs.
"You're my right hand, Vincent. You have plenty to do."
"Yeah, but you're still my priority."
Lucien's gaze lingered on him. His stepbrother without any blood ties, just his father remarry and brought Vicent to their family.
At first, he hated him. But Vincent prove that he was useful to him even when his ego sometimes destroyed their plan.
Vincent was striking: coffee-dark hair, ocean-blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a perfectly sculpted nose.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a body that looked carved out of marble. Like Michelangelo's David… if David had a bigger cock.
Lucien knew. Vincent was an alpha, after all he could read alphas. Even their hands betrayed them—the thickness of their fingers, the length of their palms.
'Eighteen centimeters at least…'
Lucien thought, his eyes flicking to the bulge pressing against Vincent's tailored black trousers. Heat pooled low in his belly.
'And thick. Fuck, too thick.'
His mouth almost watered at the sight, but he shook his head quickly, forcing down the rush of arousal clawing at him.
No. Not now. Not here.
'It's my heat,' he realized, gritting his teeth. 'It must be close.'
Nobody in the world knew—not his men, not his rivals. Only his dead parents had known the truth.
That the most feared mafia boss in Astrix known as Silver Serpent was, in fact, an omega.
***
Vincent flicked open a lighter, holding the flame steady until the end of Lucien's cigarette glowed a burning orange.
Smoke curled upward as Lucien dragged it deep, exhaling slow.
The room was heavy with tension. Around the long table sat his Capos, his most trusted lieutenants, each ruling a piece of the Lucero empire.
"Servei, that Dominus dog keeps sniffing around our territory!" one of them spat.
The speaker was Velour, an aging man with round glasses perched on his nose.
His domain was the casinos and nightclubs, fronts for smuggling drugs and goods, including the infamous Lune Kiss aphrodisiac that the underground craved like gold.
Servei—the Silver Serpent. That was Lucien's alias, the mask he wore as Don.
"Dominus…" Lucien tapped his fingers against the polished table, his gaze sharp. "The group owned by Crimson Diablo?"
That name left a bitter taste on his tongue. His rival since the day he took the throne. His greatest irritation.
And his greatest temptation.
Crimson Diablo. The name fit him too well. Long red hair cascading over tattooed arms, hazel eyes like a predator sizing up prey.
Mikhail Reznik.
Even remembering him sent an unwanted shiver through Lucien. That man had the power to stir his buried omega instincts with nothing more than a look.
"Clean them out," Lucien ordered, turning his gaze to the far end of the table. "Hound, you know what to do."
The masked Capo inclined his head silently. Scars marred half his face, but he needed no words. He obeyed.
The meeting dragged on until dawn.
Hours later, Lucien still sat in the same chair, a warm wet towel pressed to his face.
The ashtray before him overflowed with the remains of three packs of cigarettes, smoked in just a few hours.
He was exhausted. Sick of this endless game of power.
His parents had forced him into this life, told him to bury who he really was. To lock away his omega self: the part of him that screamed for submission, for an alpha's claim.
This wasn't an omega's job. Where were all the alphas who should have taken this place? Why had he been the one forced into the role of Don?
What he wanted was simple. To be a housewife. To be loved, to belong to an alpha who would take him apart and put him back together.
To be fucked raw every day, without shame, without masks.
He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.
'Fuck. I just want to be fucked.'
It was 2025. The world had changed, alphas and omegas were closer to equality than ever.
Omegas could work, command, lead. They had movements, rights, voices. They no longer had to hide.
By all logic, Lucien could reveal himself. Step into the light as an omega Don.
He sighed bitterly. "Nope. That'd end in disaster."
Tossing the towel aside, he straightened in his chair just as the door opened.
Obscura, his head of media and information, entered. A man who always moved like a shadow. He set a flash drive on the table before Lucien.
"We found this on your brother's computer." His voice was flat, almost cold.
Lucien's eyes narrowed as he picked it up.
Obscura met his gaze. "He betrayed you."