The buzzing of the electronic lock was the only alarm clock Killian received. It was 7:00 AM, and the sterile lights of the sub-level suite hummed to life, bright and unforgiving. Killian was already awake. He had spent the night pacing the small perimeter of the room, his wolf pacing alongside him, trapped in a cage of lead and regret. He had expected to feel a surge of rage at being awakened like a prisoner, but instead, there was only a cold, hollow anticipation. He wanted to see her. Even if it was across a table of steel and silence, he needed to breathe the same air as Alessandra.
The door swung open, and two guards stepped in. They weren't the standard mob muscle Killian was used to seeing in the city. These were Romano elites, men dressed in tactical charcoal suits, their eyes hidden behind dark lenses, and their movements synchronized. They didn't speak. They simply gestured for him to move.
Killian followed them through the winding corridors of the estate, noting the sheer scale of the security. Every corner had a biometric scanner; every hallway was monitored by cameras that tracked his heat signature. Alessandra hadn't just taken over her father's business; she had militarized it.
They reached the top floor, where the atmosphere shifted from the cold damp of the basement to the suffocating luxury of the Roman elite. The "War Room" was a masterpiece of glass and mahogany, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the Vatican and the ancient ruins beyond.
Alessandra was already there.
She was standing by the window, a cup of black coffee in her hand, watching the sunrise hit the city. She was dressed in a tailored white suit that made her look like a marble statue, beautiful, expensive, and completely untouchable. The morning light caught the sharp edges of her jawline, reminding Killian of the soft girl who used to hide her face in the crook of his neck. That girl was gone. In her place stood the Shadow Queen, a woman who had learned that the only way to survive a monster was to become one.
"Sit," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room. She didn't turn around. She didn't have to. She knew exactly where he was standing.
Killian walked to the long conference table. He moved to take the seat at the opposite end, the position of an equal, but one of the guards stepped into his path, his hand resting on the hilt of a silver-weighted baton. He pointed to the side chair, the one relegated to subordinates and bodyguards.
Killian's jaw tightened, his Alpha pride roaring in his ears. "I am the head of the Blackwood Pack, Alessandra. I don't sit on the sidelines."
"You were the head of the Blackwood Pack," she corrected, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were like flint, devoid of any warmth. "But in this room, you are a consultant. An asset. And assets sit where they are told."
Killian felt the familiar heat of his wolf rising, the urge to shift and show her exactly what an Alpha was capable of. But then he remembered the high-pitched frequency from the night before. He remembered the look in Leo's eyes. He forced the heat down, the effort making his muscles tremble as he pulled out the side chair and sat.
"Good," she murmured, walking toward the table. She slid a small, black velvet box across the polished wood. "Before the Valenti family arrives, we need to address your visibility. The Mafia world is built on perception, Killian. If they think I've brought an Alpha into my inner circle, they will panic. They will see it as an escalation of power, and they will strike."
"And if they think I'm your lapdog?" Killian asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Then they will feel safe. And safe men are easy to manipulate." She gestured to the box. "Open it."
Killian flipped the lid. Inside lay a heavy band of black leather. It was thick, reinforced with Kevlar, and featured a polished silver buckle that glinted under the LED lights. It wasn't a piece of jewelry. It was a collar.
Killian stared at it, his vision blurring with a sudden, violent red. The insult was total. To put a collar on a Shifter was the ultimate declaration of ownership. It was a brand of slavery.
"You can't be serious," he rasped, his hands curling into fists on the table. "You want to leash me? After everything you said about me treating you like a doll, you want to treat me like a beast?"
"I am protecting my interests," Lexa replied calmly, leaning against the table, her arms crossed. "The Valenti's are old-school. They believe Lycans are nothing more than attack dogs. If you wear that, you are my 'tamed security.' You are a curiosity, not a threat. It keeps the peace. It keeps the silver flowing to your pack."
"I will not wear it," Killian stood up, his chair screeching against the marble floor. "I have submitted to your house. I have moved into your basement. But I will not be branded like an animal, Alessandra. Not by you."
Lexa didn't move. She didn't even blink. "Then the deal is off. Vincenzo will escort you to the gates. I will cut off all silver shipments to the Blackwood territory by noon. Your rogues will have a field day with your borders by nightfall. And you?" she paused, her gaze dropping to the door where Leo usually entered. "You will never see your son again. I'll move him to our safe house in Sicily tonight. You'll never find him."
The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of five years of broken promises. Killian looked at the collar, then at the woman he had once sworn to protect. He realized then that she wasn't doing this just for the Valenti's. She was doing it for herself. She wanted to see him broken. She wanted to see the Alpha who had rejected her for her "weakness" forced to wear the mark of a servant.
She wanted her pound of flesh.
Killian reached out, his fingers brushing the cold leather. His wolf was screaming, a high-pitched howl of agony and betrayal that echoed in his soul. He picked up the collar, the silver buckle stinging his palms.
With a slow, agonizing movement, he brought the leather to his neck. He felt the cold weight of it settle against his throat. He buckled it tight, too tight, the silver pressing against his windpipe.
He looked up at her, his amber eyes glowing with a mixture of hatred and a desperate, agonizing love. "Is this what you wanted, Lexa? Do you feel powerful now?"
Lexa looked at him, her expression unreadable. For a split second, a flicker of something that looked like regret passed through her eyes, but it was gone before he could be sure. She straightened her suit jacket and checked her watch.
"I feel like a woman who is about to close a multi-million dollar deal," she said coldly. "The Valenti's are in the elevator. Sit down, Alpha. And try not to growl. It spoils the aesthetic."
Killian sat, the collar a burning ring of fire around his throat. He stared at the mahogany table, waiting for the men who would see him as a pet. He was the King of the North, the most feared predator in the Lycan world.
And he had just been leashed by the only woman who had ever owned his heart.