Kidnapped by the Werewolf Mafioso

Chapter Fifteen

GIANCARLO

The world outside our bedroom has been patient long enough.

I wake to find Akiko sprawled across me, her weight negligible but her presence absolute. Five days—or is it six?—since we locked ourselves away to feed the bond's hunger. Her body has changed in ways that make my wolf sing possessive hymns. The bruises I refresh every few hours fade faster now. Her skin carries a subtle luminescence, as if she's swallowed moonlight and it's trying to escape through her pores.

My phone, abandoned on the nightstand, shows forty-seven missed calls. Territory doesn't pause for mate bonds, no matter how consuming.

"You're in a brooding mood." She shifts against me, teeth finding the mark she refreshed an hour ago. The casual violence of it sends heat straight through me, but I catch her wrist before we can fall back into that delicious abyss.

"The world needs attention."

"The world can burn." But she releases me, rolling onto her back with feline grace. In the pale morning light, I catalog the changes our joining has wrought. Her eyes hold more gold now, kitsune bleeding through. When she breathes, fox-fire dances along her skin in patterns that spell promises in languages I'm learning to read.

"Marco's been handling things." I reach for the phone, thumb sliding across the screen. "But there are decisions only I can—" The latest message stops me cold. "Fuck."

She's upright instantly, predator instincts engaged. "What?"

"Your father's here. In Chicago. Checked into the Fairmont with a full security detail." I scan the intelligence report Greg sent three hours ago. "Fifty men, all ex-military. And—" My blood chills. "Vivienne's with him."

The temperature drops twenty degrees. Noriko manifests fully, frost spreading across our destroyed sheets. The other yokai materialize in response to their mistress's distress—Rei and Yui perched on the headboard like gargoyles, Kazuki's mask showing a demon of vengeance.

"She's here." Akiko's voice carries winter's edge. "She actually came here."

"With an interesting shopping list." I pull up the attached surveillance. "She's been visiting specialty suppliers. Wolfsbane concentrate, blessed silver, and—" I pause at the last item. "Kitsune blood. She bought kitsune blood from a black market dealer in Chinatown."

"Whose?" The question cracks like a whip.

"Unknown. But the amount suggests—"

"She's trying to wake the ninth tail." Akiko's hand finds mine, grip tight enough to crack lesser bones. "If she has kitsune blood and knows the right rituals, she might be able to force it to manifest. To rip it out of me."

My wolf rises, hackles raised at the threat. "Over my dead body."

"That's probably part of her plan." She studies the intelligence with tactical focus. "Fifty men is overkill for retrieval. This is an invasion force."

The phone rings. Marco's name flashes on screen.

"We have a situation," my brother says without preamble. "Three alphas just requested formal audience. Roger Volkov from the Russian quarter, Henry Castellano's son from Boston, and Tyler Matsumoto representing the yakuza interests."

"When?"

"Tonight. They're calling it a 'discussion about territorial stability in light of recent disruptions.'" His tone suggests what he thinks of that framing. "Want me to tell them to f**k off?"

"No." I watch Akiko rise from bed, her movements liquid violence even in simple stretching. "Set it for nine. Full formal protocols."

"You sure? The last formal audience ended with seventeen dead."

"Different circumstances." Though not by much. "Send Quinn to gather intelligence on what they really want. And Marco? Double the security on all our businesses. If Harrison's making moves—"

"Already done. Also, Isabella says you need to eat actual food before you try to Alpha your way through a formal audience." He pauses. "How's the bond?"

I watch Akiko dress, each movement making me want to tear the clothes off again. "Stabilizing."

"That why you sound like you've been gargling gravel?"

"Goodbye, Marco."

His laughter follows me as I hang up. Akiko has moved to the window, studying the city below. Chicago sprawls in morning light, unaware that war drums beat in the shadows.

"They'll come for me soon." Not a question.

"Let them try." I join her, pulling her back against my chest. She fits perfectly, like she was carved from my missing pieces. "This is our territory. Our pack. They want you, they go through me."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She turns in my arms, eyes serious. "Vivienne doesn't just want me back. She wants what my mother hid. And she'll burn everything you've built to get it."

"Then we burn her first."

The simplicity of it makes her smile, sharp and beautiful. "You make it sound easy."

"Violence usually is. It's the aftermath that gets complicated." I trace the marks on her throat, feeling her pulse jump. "But we have advantages she doesn't expect. Your yokai. Our bond. The pack she doesn't know has already chosen you."

"They have?"

"Eddie calls you lupa. The were-raccoons updated all security protocols to include your biometrics. Even the ghost children ask when you'll tell them more stories." I tilt her chin up. "You fed a wife-beater to nightmares. That kind of justice resonates with our people."

She kisses me, fierce and claiming. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"Food," she says firmly. "Then war councils. Then we deal with my father and his French bitch."

We make it to the kitchen, barely. Isabella waits with what appears to be half a restaurant's worth of breakfast, her expression suggesting she'll force-feed us if necessary.

"Finally." She gestures to chairs. "Sit. Eat. Try to remember you have bodies that need more than s*x and violence to function."

"We've been eating," Akiko protests, but sits obediently.

"Each other doesn't count as nutrition." Isabella sets plates before us with medical authority. "Your body is still adapting to the bond. You need protein, carbohydrates, actual vitamins."

I inhale eggs that taste like heaven after days of surviving on passion alone. Beside me, Akiko devours bacon with single-minded focus that makes me want to feed her by hand. Everything about her makes me want—to provide, protect, possess.

The bond has only intensified those urges.

"Roger Volkov is your cousin," Isabella says as we eat, shifting to business. "Third or fourth, through your mother's line. He might be testing whether blood ties matter more than territory."

"They don't."

"I know that. But Russian politics love their blood feuds." She refills Akiko's coffee, movements maternal. "Henry's boy is probably here about his father's death. Wants to ensure Boston's interests remain protected."

"And Tyler?"

"The yakuza want what they've always wanted—a foothold in Chicago's supernatural trade." She pauses. "They also have historical claims on kitsune bloodlines. Might be testing whether you'll honor those claims over your mate bond."

"I'll honor nothing but her choices." The words come out growled. My wolf paces beneath my skin, already preparing for challenges.

"Easy, Alpha." Akiko's hand finds mine under the table. Through the bond, she sends calm like cool water over burning coals. "Save the territorial display for tonight."

Quinn materializes in their preferred form, all dangerous androgyny. "Interesting intelligence. Roger's traveling with his sister Vera—she's a blood witch. Henry brought two of his father's old enforcers. And Tyler..." They pause for effect. "Tyler brought three kitsune. Not full nine-tails, but powerful enough."

Akiko goes still. "Kitsune work with yakuza?"

"These do. Debt-bound from what I can tell. Their ancestors owed, so they pay." Quinn helps themselves to coffee. "They're not here for you, exactly. More like... insurance. Making sure you're actually what everyone says."

"And what does everyone say?"

"That Chicago's Dark Angel mated the last true nine-tail descendant. That she commands yokai. That she's either salvation or damnation for the supernatural community, depending who you ask."

The yokai, who've been unusually quiet, suddenly manifest fully. Tetsu sets his briefcase on the table with ceremonial gravity.

"Akiko-sama." His formal tone makes everyone attention. "If kitsune come to test you, you must be prepared. The blood recognizes blood. They will know what you carry."

From his briefcase, he withdraws something impossible—a mask that shifts between fox and woman, ancient wood that smells of summers before Chicago existed.

"This belonged to your grandmother's grandmother. Hidden in spaces between moments, waiting." He offers it with both hands. "Wear this tonight. Let them see you are not just blood but inheritance."

Akiko accepts the mask with hands that tremble slightly. Power radiates from the wood, making the air taste of copper and moonlight.

"Dramatic," Marco says from the doorway. "We doing the full show then?"

"Appears so." I study my brother, noting the new scar across his knuckles. "Trouble?"

"Handled. Some of Harrison's scouts testing our borders. They learned." He grins, all wolf. "Also, your mate's teaching methods have spread. Three more abusers got fed to various supernatural residents last night. The building's turning into its own justice system."

"Good." Akiko's approval radiates through the bond. "Pack protects pack."

"About that." Marco pulls up a chair, steals bacon from my plate. "The pack wants to meet you. Officially. Not just the building residents but the whole territory. Word's spread about what you did to Dylan. They're curious."

"Curious or concerned?"

"Both. You're powerful, unknown, and mated to their Alpha." He shrugs. "Some want to challenge you. Others want to worship at your feet. Most just want to see if you're real."

"I'm real."

"Prove it tonight." He stands, energy crackling. "Wear something that shows you're not hiding. Let them see the marks. Let them smell the bond. Make it clear you're not just Gianni's omega but something altogether more dangerous."

She smiles, sharp as her karambits. "I can do that."

The day passes in preparation. I handle business that's accumulated—territory disputes, supply chain issues, the mundane machinery of empire that doesn't pause for mate bonds. But my attention splits constantly to Akiko, who moves through our space like she's always belonged here.

She spars with Eddie in the gym, their dance lethal poetry. Studies maps with the were-raccoons, learning Chicago's supernatural geography with tactical precision. Sits with Lola Maria, absorbing stories of pack history between lessons on Filipino knife work.

By evening, she's transformed from my bed-mussed mate to something that stops breath. The dress Isabella procured hits mid-thigh, black silk that shows every mark I've left on her. The fox mask rests on her head like a crown. When she moves, power ripples around her in visible waves.

"Ready?" I offer my arm.

"No." But she takes it anyway. "Let's go make enemies."

The formal audience chamber occupies the building's heart—a space that exists between floors, accessible only to those I allow. Tonight it holds three alphas and their retinues, all pretending they're not here to size up the woman who's disrupted Chicago's careful balance.

Roger Volkov stands as we enter, a courtesy that surprises. He's got our mother's cheekbones and our grandfather's cruel mouth, silver-white hair marking him as pure Siberian stock.

"Cousin." He inclines his head precisely. "Your mate does you credit."

"She does herself credit."

Vera, his blood witch sister, studies Akiko with hungry eyes. "The stories don't exaggerate. She carries old power."

"Older than you know," Akiko says mildly. The yokai shimmer around her, visible to those with eyes to see. Roger's pupils dilate—he sees them clearly.

Henry Castellano's son proves less diplomatic. Built like his father but lacking the old man's wisdom, he radiates young alpha arrogance.

"So this is what started a war." He looks Akiko up and down dismissively. "Pretty enough, I suppose. Worth the bodies?"

"Would you like to find out?" Her tone stays pleasant but frost spreads from where she stands. "I haven't fed my yokai today. They're hungry."

Young Castellano steps back involuntarily. Point made.

Tyler Matsumoto watches it all with calculating eyes. The three kitsune behind him—all female, all bound with debt-chains visible to supernatural sight—whisper among themselves in archaic Japanese.

"Tamamo-no-Mae's line." He doesn't make it a question. "We thought it ended with your mother."

"My mother hid what couldn't be killed." Akiko touches the mask on her head. "As kitsune do."

"The yakuza have claims—"

"Had claims." I interrupt smoothly. "Past tense. Whatever debts you think her bloodline owes, they ended when I claimed her."

"That's not how debt works."

"It's how it works in Chicago." I let winter creep into my voice. "My territory. My mate. My rules."

The formal dance continues—veiled threats, careful negotiations, testing boundaries. But through it all, I watch how Akiko navigates these waters. She's learned to be a weapon, yes. But tonight she learns to be a queen.

When the audiences end, when the alphas leave with their answers and new questions, she sags against me.

"Politics exhaust me more than fighting."

"Welcome to leadership." I pull her close, breathing in her scent—jasmine and power and mine. "You did well. Roger's considering alliance rather than challenge. Henry's boy will think twice before testing you. And Tyler..."

"Tyler's going to be a problem."

"Probably. But that's tomorrow's issue."

"No." She pulls back, eyes serious. "That's tonight's issue. Because my father's not waiting. Vivienne's not waiting. And I'm tired of being reactive."

The hunger in her eyes has nothing to do with s*x and everything to do with violence.

"What do you want to do?"

Her smile shows teeth. "Hunt."