Kidnapped by the Werewolf Mafioso

Chapter Three

GIANCARLO

She burns like a star going supernova in my bed.

I watch the thermometer climb past temperatures that would kill a human—107, 108, 109. Her skin blisters where the sheets touch, heals, blisters again in cycles that make my wolf pace. The bond between us pulses with her fever, shared agony that tastes like molten metal in my chest.

"She's fighting the claim." Isabella doesn't look up from her work, hands weaving healing magic over Akiko's convulsing form. "Seventeen years of suppressants created artificial barriers. The bond is burning through them like acid."

My cousin has been working for three hours. Three hours since we arrived at the penthouse and Akiko's body decided to remake itself from the inside out. The master suite reeks of jasmine and burning flesh, fox-fire crackling along her spine in patterns that sear afterimages.

"Tell me." I pour scotch with hands that don't shake. Control is everything, even when your mate is cooking herself alive.

Isabella pulls back sweat-soaked hair, revealing the extent of what we're dealing with. "Multiple fractures, recently healed. Surgical scars along her spine where they implanted suppressant pods. Wolfsbane scarring throughout her endocrine system. Evidence of long-term malnutrition despite enhanced metabolism." She pauses, professional mask slipping. "Gianni, they tortured her. This isn't just training damage."

The glass cracks in my hand. Scotch and blood mix, drip onto Italian marble that costs more than most people's houses.

"There's more." Isabella's voice drops. "Her reproductive system shows signs of experimental procedures. They were preparing her for breeding, but not naturally. Hormone manipulation, forced ovulation cycles. The kind of thing you'd do if you wanted to harvest eggs without touching the product."

Marco growls from his position by the window. My brother hasn't stopped pacing since we got back, his wolf responding to pack distress. "I'll kill him slow. Harrison Carver dies screaming."

"Get in line." I watch Akiko's chest rise and fall, too rapid, too shallow. The bond feeds me her pain in waves—not just physical but the psychic agony of a creature discovering its cage was bigger than it knew. "How long?"

"The fever? Could be days. Her body's trying to process seventeen years of suppression releasing at once." Isabella starts another healing pass. "The kitsune side is fighting the wolf side. The human side is fighting both. And your bite..." She trails off.

"What about my bite?"

"It's too strong. Most claiming bites create a tether. Yours created chains." She meets my eyes, steady despite the criticism. "You didn't just claim her, Gianni. You branded her at the cellular level. Her body's trying to accept or reject the integration."

The door opens. Rafael waddles in, seven months pregnant and still insisting on silk suits that showcase the bump. My youngest brother has our mother's delicate features and our father's stubborn streak. The vampire lord who married him indulges both.

"Dramatic entrance as always," Marco mutters.

"f**k off, I'm gestating." Rafael lowers himself onto the couch with a grace that belies his condition. "Dimitri sends his regards. And intelligence."

I leave Akiko's bedside reluctantly. The bond pulls tight, demanding proximity, but business is business. "Talk."

"The Angeloff contingent found your little display amusing. Dimitri's words, not mine." Rafael accepts the sparkling water Quinn materializes with. "They're more interested in what comes after. Harrison Carver owes them fifty million in defaulted loans. He offered his daughter as collateral, but when the trafficking ring grabbed her first..." He shrugs. "They want his territory once you're done playing with him."

"Playing." I taste the word, find it lacking. "I don't play with men who torture children."

"Semantics." Rafael's hand drifts to his swollen belly, protective gesture he probably doesn't realize he makes. "The point is, they won't interfere with your vengeance. But they want Boston's expansion rights to whatever's left of Covenant territory."

Smart. Let me do the wet work, then move in to claim profits. Typical vampire thinking—why bleed when others will bleed for you?

"What else?"

"The Liu Syndicate is in chaos. You killed the old dragon's favorite grandson. He's calling for your head, but the other families think he's being dramatic." Rafael smirks. "Apparently, vaporizing an elder with a void grenade counts as fair play if he attacked neutral ground first."

From the bed, Akiko whimpers. The sound cuts through conversation like a blade. I'm beside her before making the conscious decision to move, bond demanding contact. Her fever spikes higher—111 degrees. Impossible temperature that makes her skin luminous.

"Christ," Marco breathes. "She's actually glowing."

He's right. Light pulses under her skin, following veins like fiber optic cables. Fox-fire mixed with something else, something older. Isabella works frantically, trying to stabilize vitals that shouldn't exist.

"There's something else," my cousin says. "Something hidden in her genetic structure. It's not active yet, but—"

Akiko's eyes snap open. Not human eyes—fox-gold with vertical pupils that reflect light like mirrors. She looks through me, past me, at something I can't see. Her mouth opens and words pour out in ancient Japanese, syllables that make reality hiccup.

Quinn goes very still. "That's... that's Old Nihon. Pre-Nippon dialect."

"You speak it?"

"Nobody speaks it. It's been dead for three thousand years." They lean closer, features shifting unconsciously. "She's talking about nine tails. About promises written in blood and time. About... oh." Their face pales. "About Tamamo-no-Mae."

The name means nothing to me but Rafael sucks in air. "The fox demon who brought down dynasties? That Tamamo-no-Mae?"

"Her ancestor, apparently." Quinn listens to more of Akiko's fevered rambling. "She's saying the ninth tail is hidden between heartbeats. That her mother died protecting it. That when she claims it, Chicago will burn like Kyoto did."

Wonderful. I've claimed a mate with apocalyptic heritage and delusions of grandeur.

Except the bond tells me it's not delusion. Through our connection, I feel the truth of her words. Power coiled in her DNA like a sleeping serpent, waiting for the right moment to wake. The ninth tail her mother died hiding, folded into quantum space where even torture couldn't reach.

"How do we help her?" The question comes out rougher than intended.

Isabella shakes her head. "We don't. This is her fight. All we can do is keep her body stable while her spirit decides whether to accept the bond or die rejecting it."

"She won't die." Not a hope—a statement of fact. My wolf won't allow it. The bond won't allow it. I won't allow it.

Marco's phone buzzes. He checks it, expression darkening. "Harrison's making moves. Covenant soldiers spotted at three of our border properties. He wants his daughter back."

"He wants his investment back." I trace the claiming bite on Akiko's neck, watch it heal and reopen as her body fights itself. "Different thing entirely."

"What's the play?" Marco's already reaching for weapons, eager for violence that makes sense.

"We wait." The words taste like ash but they're necessary. "Let him commit. Let him show the other families he's willing to break accords for personal vendettas. When he moves, we countermove. Hard."

"Boring," Marco complains.

"Necessary," Isabella corrects. "You can't run an offensive while your mate is burning through her transformation. The bond makes you vulnerable until it stabilizes."

She's right. I can feel it—the way Akiko's pain bleeds into my reflexes, slows my reaction time. A weakness I've never had before, tied to a woman who might die rejecting what I've forced on her.

"Dimitri also mentioned something interesting." Rafael shifts, trying to find comfort that doesn't exist at seven months. "The traffickers who grabbed her? They weren't random. Someone inside the Covenant sold her location. Someone who knew exactly when she'd be vulnerable."

"Names?"

"Working on it. But Dimitri thinks it's connected to someone high up. Maybe even Harrison's inner circle." Rafael watches my face. "Whoever it was had access to classified convent schedules. Knew exactly when the guards would be light."

"Sister Evangeline died defending her," I remember from the intelligence reports. "Took six bullets rather than give up her location."

"Fat lot of good it did." Marco kicks the wall, leaving a dent. "They still got her."

"Because someone gave them the blueprints." I file this for later investigation. Harrison's organization has a rot that goes deeper than just him. "When she wakes, she might know who."

The next hour passes in fever dreams and management. Marco coordinates security, preparing for Harrison's inevitable assault. Rafael shares more intelligence from his vampire network, painting a picture of supernatural Chicago reshuffling in the wake of tonight's m******e. Quinn shapeshifts between forms, testing the city's mood.

Through it all, I stay beside her. The bond demands it, but there's more. Fascination with this creature who bit me back, who killed even drugged, who carries apocalyptic power in her kitsune blood. Mine, my wolf insists. But owning Akiko might be like owning a nuclear weapon—powerful, dangerous, likely to destroy everything if mishandled.

"Temperature's dropping," Isabella announces. "109. Still critical but moving in the right direction."

Small mercy. I watch color return to Akiko's skin, blisters fading to scars to nothing. Her breathing evens out. The fox-fire dims from bonfire to candleflame.

"She's accepting it," Quinn observes. "The bond. Her body's stopping the rejection."

"Or giving up," Marco counters.

"No." I feel it through our connection—not surrender but strategic retreat. She's too exhausted to keep fighting, but this isn't over. My little mate has decided to live long enough to make me regret claiming her.

Perfect.

"I need to get back before Dimitri sends a search party." Rafael stands with effort. "He gets possessive when I'm gone too long. Something about pregnancy hormones making me a target."

"He's not wrong." I help my brother to the door, noting how his scent has changed. Richer, deeper, broadcasting fertility to every supernatural in sensing distance. "Take two guards."

"I'm taking six. I'm not stupid." He pauses at the door. "Gianni? What you did tonight—starting a war over a girl you'd never met? That was either brilliant or insane."

"Both," I admit.

"Good. Sanity's overrated in this family." He waddles out, leaving cologne and vampire markers in his wake.

Isabella starts packing her supplies. "She'll sleep for days now. The worst is over, but when she wakes..." She trails off.

"She'll try to kill me."

"Probably. The bond's one-sided until she accepts it. Right now, you can feel her but she's getting nothing back. It'll make her..." Isabella searches for words. "Unstable. Violent. Possibly homicidal."

"So business as usual for a Morelli, then."

My cousin doesn't laugh. "This is serious, Gianni. You've bound yourself to someone with no pack instincts, no understanding of mate bonds, and enough suppressed trauma to fuel a revenge m******e. When she wakes up—"

"When she wakes up, we'll handle it." I dismiss her concerns with confidence I don't feel. "She's strong. She'll adapt."

"Or she'll tear your throat out trying to break free." Isabella heads for the door. "I'll be back in six hours to check her vitals. Try not to let her kill you before then."

Alone except for Quinn lurking in shadows, I study my mate properly. Even unconscious, she radiates lethal potential. Scars tell stories of systematic abuse disguised as training. Her hands, relaxed in sleep, still curl like claws. Ready to fight, to kill, to survive whatever comes next.

"You're staring," Quinn observes.

"Thinking."

"About?"

"About what kind of man sells his six-year-old daughter to nuns who carve suppressant channels into children's spines." I trace a particularly vicious scar along Akiko's shoulder. "About what kind of mother dies hiding power instead of using it. About what kind of mate I've actually claimed."

"The dangerous kind, clearly."

That's an understatement. But as I watch her breathe, feel her heartbeat echo through the bond, I can't bring myself to regret it. Chicago's always been a city of monsters. Maybe it's time we had a queen to match.

Her temperature drops another degree. 108. Still burning but no longer immolating. Progress measured in decimals while her body rewrites itself to accommodate what I've done.

"Capo?" Quinn materializes beside me. "We have movement. Harrison's soldiers just hit the Southside warehouse. They're looking for something."

"Let them look." I don't take my eyes off Akiko. "Make sure they find what we want them to find. The false trail leading to the docks. When they're fully committed, close the trap."

"And Harrison himself?"

"He's mine." The words come out more growl than speech. "He dies when she's awake to watch."

Quinn melts back into shadows, leaving me alone with my mate and the mess I've made. The bond pulses between us—raw nerve begging for reciprocation she can't give yet. Maybe won't ever give, if Isabella's right about her lack of pack instincts.

Outside, Chicago's night sounds filter through bulletproof glass—sirens and screams and the distant roar of something that might be dragon or might be L-train. This city eats its weak, rewards its strong, and crowns its survivors in blood and broken glass.

Akiko whimpers in her sleep, fox-fire dancing along her skin in patterns that spell warnings in languages I don't speak. Whatever she's becoming, it's going to reshape more than just our bond. The power hiding in her blood could crack Chicago like an egg if unleashed carelessly.

I settle in to wait, one hand resting on her fevered skin. Let Harrison come. Let the Liu Syndicate rage. Let every enemy think they've found weakness in my claiming of this broken, burning girl.

They'll learn what I already know—sometimes the most dangerous weapons come wrapped in virgin white and baptized in their own blood. And sometimes, if you're very lucky or very stupid, you get to be the one who lights the fuse.