Claimed by My Mafia Alpha King Chapter 9

Nicolas’s POV

"You shouldn’t have done that."

Roman’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Sharp. Disapproving.

He stood on the other side of the room, his posture rigid with tension. His gaze flickered toward the bed where she lay—though he couldn’t actually see her through the heavy curtains. I’d had soone cover her with blankets before he arrived.

"Marking her publicly like that," Roman continued, his tone carefully neutral. "In front of so many witnesses. It wasn’t wise."

I didn’t look at him. Just kept my attention on the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the lamplight as I swirled it slowly.

The scent of her still clung to my clothes. Vanilla and sothing sweeter. Sothing that made my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.

Mine, he kept saying. Ours now. Protect.

"What would you have preferred?" I asked, my tone deliberately lazy. Bored, even.

I took a drink. Let the burn slide down my throat.

"Should I have fucked her right there on stage instead? Given them all a real show?"

The words ca out crude. Intentionally so.

I tilted my head, giving my beta a sideways look through half-lidded eyes. Watched his reaction.

Roman’s jaw tightened. A muscle ticked near his temple—the only sign of his irritation. But he didn’t respond. Didn’t take the bait.

Smart man. He’d learned over the years when to push and when to stay silent.

This was definitely a stay-silent mont.

"They say I’ve ruled this city with blood on my hands," I continued, turning back to my drink. Set the glass down on the side table with deliberate care. "That I’ve killed my own family for power. That the Moon Goddess cursed for my sins—said I’d never have a mate."

I shrugged, the movent casual. Almost careless.

"Now she’s given one." I picked up the glass again, studied the way the light played through the crystal. "Don’t you think those idiots in that auction house deserved to see it with their own eyes? To witness the Moon Goddess proving them all wrong?"

Roman didn’t argue. He never did. Not when I’d already made up my mind about sothing.

He’d been my beta long enough to know better.

The silence stretched between us. Comfortable for . Less so for him, judging by the way his fingers drumd once against his thigh before he caught himself.

"What’s her na?" I asked, breaking the quiet.

I realized I’d marked her, claid her, carried her out of that hellhole—and I didn’t even know her na.

Roman pulled out his phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen. Always prepared. Always three steps ahead.

"Irina," he said after a mont. "Daughter of Mikhail, beta of the Iron Thorn pack."

Irina.

I tested the na silently, feeling how it fit in my mouth. On my tongue.

My mate’s na.

"Continue," I prompted when he fell silent.

Roman’s shoulders tensed—barely noticeable, but I’d known him too long to miss it. That tiny shift ant he had information I wouldn’t like.

"She was..." He paused, clearly choosing his words with care. "She was cast out by her family. Just arrived at the underground trading post today."

"Cast out," I repeated the words slowly, tasting them. Let out a low laugh—dark and humorless. "Abandoned by her own blood."

I glanced toward the bed again. Couldn’t see her past the heavy velvet curtains, but I could feel her presence. The bond humd between us, faint but undeniable. Like a string pulled taut, connecting us.

Mine.

"No wonder the Moon Goddess matched us together," I said quietly, more to myself than to Roman.

Two people abandoned by their families. Two people everyone else had given up on.

Perfect pair, really.

"But, my lord..."

Roman’s tone made turn back to face him fully. That careful, cautious note ant he was about to say sothing he thought would piss off.

"Speak." I made it an order.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"She’s an oga now," he finally said, the words coming out asured. Controlled. "Sold as a sex slave. This doesn’t match your status. She can’t fulfill the duties of a luna. The pack won’t accept—"

A laugh burst from my throat before he could finish. Short. Sharp. Bitter.

"I don’t give a fuck about status." I picked up the glass again, drained the rest of the whiskey in one swallow. The burn felt good. Grounding. "And I certainly don’t give a fuck what the pack thinks."

I set the glass down harder than necessary. It cracked against the wooden table.

"I’m the king here," I continued, my voice dropping lower. Darker. "If I say she’s luna, she’s luna. Anyone who disagrees can take it up with personally."

The threat hung in the air between us.

Roman nodded once. But he didn’t look relieved. If anything, he looked more tense.

"There are... rumors," he said, his voice taking on that careful tone he only used when delivering particularly bad news. "Actually, more than rumors. Multiple sources. They’re speaking with certainty."

Sothing cold settled in my gut.

"About what?"

Roman drew in a slow breath. Let it out. His fingers tightened around his phone.

"She was originally..." Another pause. Longer this ti. "She was Maxim’s mate."

Everything went still.

The air. My breath. My heartbeat.

Even my wolf went quiet—a predatory kind of quiet. The kind that ca right before violence.

"Explain," I said. My voice ca out flat. Empty.

Roman’s face remained carefully neutral, but I saw the slight tension in his shoulders. The way his weight shifted almost imperceptibly toward the door.

He knew he was walking a razor’s edge right now.

"The reports say she and Maxim were involved," he continued, each word asured and deliberate. "Intimately. Multiple tis. Before she was sent to the trading post."

The glass in my hand cracked.

Not shattered. Not yet. Just a thin line running through the crystal, spreading like a spiderweb. Whiskey began to seep through the fracture, dripping onto my fingers.

I didn’t feel it.

"Say that again," I ordered, my voice deadly quiet.

Roman’s throat worked as he swallowed. But he held my gaze—one of the few n brave enough or stupid enough to do so when I looked like this.

"The reports say she and Maxim had sexual relations. Repeatedly. That she was..." He paused, searching for the right words. "That she belonged to him. His personal toy."

The crack in the glass widened. More whiskey leaked out, pooling on the table.

My wolf snarled inside my head. Not at Roman. At the words. At the implication.

Mine, he growled. She’s OURS. Not his. OURS.

"Maxim rejected her," I said, forcing the words out evenly. "I saw his face when I marked her. That wasn’t the look of a man who’d willingly let go of a toy."

"He did reject her," Roman confird quickly. "Publicly. Yesterday, according to our sources. But before that..."

He trailed off, clearly reluctant to continue.

I set the glass down with exaggerated care. Watched whiskey continue to leak from the crack, spreading across the dark wood.

"Before that, what?"

Roman straightened his shoulders. Preparing himself.

"The rumors say she was his mistress for the past year. That she..." He hesitated, then pushed forward. "That she pursued him. Threw herself at him repeatedly, despite him being in a relationship with her stepsister."

The air in the room grew heavy. Oppressive.

I felt my eyes begin to shift. Felt the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision.

"When her stepsister left the pack," Roman continued, his voice steady despite the danger radiating from , "Maxim finally gave in to her advances. Used her. Then rejected her when she beca... inconvenient."

Silence crashed down.

I turned slowly to look at the bed. At the heavy curtains hiding her from view.

The blankets rose and fell with her breathing. Steady. Deep. Still unconscious.

She looked so small from here. So fragile. So innocent.

But was she?

My eyes went black.