CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA

The banging on my door wasn't normal. It was 11:47 PM. Rent was two weeks late. My phone had been ringing all day from numbers I didn't recognize. And my father — my useless, gambling-addicted father — had disappeared again. I knew deep in my gut that whoever was on the other side of that cheap wood wasn't the landlord. Bang. Bang. Bang. "Aria Russo. Open the door. Now." The voice was low, cold, the kind of voice that didn't ask twice. I pulled my oversized sweater tighter around me and cracked the door. And I forgot how to breathe. Three men stood in the hallway of my crappy Brooklyn apartment building. The two behind were mountains in black suits, faces like stone. But the man in front... he wasn't a man. He was a nightmare dressed in a three-piece suit. Tall, black hair slightly messy like he had just run his hands through it. Eyes the color of storm clouds, grey and merciless. His suit probably cost more than my entire building, but it couldn't hide the power underneath. Broad shoulders, a jaw that could cut glass, and a thin white scar running through his left eyebrow. He looked at me like he already owned me. "You're smaller than I expected," he said, his eyes dragging down my body and back up. Not lewd. Possessive. Like he was inspecting something he had purchased. "Who the hell are you?" My voice shook, and I hated it. "Lorenzo Kane." He said his name like it was supposed to mean something. It did. Even I, who lived under a rock studying art, knew that name. Kane Industries. Billionaire. The man who owned half of Manhattan. And according to rumors that people whispered and then quickly forgot... the man who owned the other half after dark. "What do you want?" I tried to slam the door. His hand shot out, one palm flat against the wood. The door didn't move. I pushed with all my weight and he didn't even flinch. "Your father, Marco Russo, owes me fifty million dollars. He put you up as collateral." The world tilted. "What? That's insane! My father doesn't have fifty million —" "He lost it. At my table. And then he signed this." He pulled a folded paper from his inside pocket and held it up. I saw my father's messy signature at the bottom. And above it, in typed letters: In lieu of payment, I offer my daughter, Aria Russo. My knees went weak. "He can't — he can't do that! I'm not property!" "He can. And he did." Lorenzo's eyes narrowed. For a second, I swear they flashed gold. I must have imagined it. "He has 24 hours to pay or you come with me. That was 23 hours and 59 minutes ago." The two men behind him stepped forward. "No!" I stumbled back into my apartment, grabbing my phone. "I'm calling the police!" "Call them," he said calmly, stepping into my tiny apartment. He didn't belong here. He made the peeling walls and the stained carpet look even more pathetic. "Tell them Marco Russo's daughter doesn't want to pay her father's debt to Lorenzo Kane. See how fast they come." He was right. Everyone knew the cops in this part of Brooklyn were on his payroll. "What do you even want with me?" I whispered. Tears were burning my eyes but I refused to let them fall. He walked closer, slowly, every step deliberate. He smelled like expensive cologne and something wild, like a forest after rain, like smoke. My ridiculous artist brain was making things up. He stopped inches from me. He was so tall I had to look up. He reached out and I flinched, but he only tucked a strand of dark hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm, rough. "I want a wife, Aria." I choked. "A what?" "A wife. A Luna. My family is old-fashioned. My board is old-fashioned. They want to see me settled. And you..." His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and a shiver that had nothing to do with fear shot down my spine. "You smell... right." "What does that even mean?" "You'll learn." He dropped his hand. "You have two choices. You can pack a bag and come with me now, live in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, wear diamonds, never worry about rent again. Be my wife on paper." "And the second choice?" He smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. "I take you anyway." The air left my lungs. He turned to his men. "Five minutes." He walked to my window and looked out, giving me privacy but not freedom. The two guards stood at the door like statues. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. This was kidnapping. This was insane. This couldn't be happening. But the paper, my father's signature, fifty million dollars, the way Lorenzo Kane looked at me — like a starving man looking at his last meal. I stared at him and my mind raced through every escape plan I could think of, but there was nowhere to run. My window was four floors up, my fire escape was rusted shut last winter, and these men were twice my size. My father had sold me like I was nothing, like I was one of his poker chips, and the most dangerous man in New York was now standing in my kitchen claiming I was his. I wanted to scream, to fight, to scratch his perfect face, but his presence was crushing, filling every inch of my tiny apartment with heat and power and something ancient that made my skin prickle and my heart beat like a trapped bird. I hated him for making me feel this way. I knew staying meant danger, leaving meant surrender, and either choice would destroy the fragile life I had built alone in this city. I grabbed my old duffel bag with numb hands and shoved in jeans, t-shirts, my sketchbook. That's all I had. At four minutes, Lorenzo turned. "Time." "I'm not your wife," I spat as I dragged the bag. "Not yet." He took the bag from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. The touch sent an electric shock through me. "But you will be. Tonight, we sign the marriage contract. And tonight, Aria..." He leaned down, his mouth inches from my ear, his voice a low growl that made my entire body goosebump. "Tonight, you will learn what it means to be claimed by an Alpha." He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the apartment, out of my old life, and into his darkness.