Beta's Mark: In the Eye of the Mafia

Lyra walked slowly through the moonlit halls of the ancient mansion, the click of her boots reverberating through the stone corridors. The sound seemed to echo back at her, amplifying her unease. She had never imagined she would be here tonight, yet here she was, caught between her past and her present, unsure of how she had reached this moment. She had debated for weeks whether she should attend her brother’s mating ceremony. They hadn’t seen each other in almost three years, and they had never been particularly close. But her brother’s voice on the phone, his excited words about the upcoming union, had drawn her in. He spoke of his mate—the woman he was about to bond with in a ritual designed to unite two powerful werewolf clans. She was the daughter of an Alpha from a rival pack, a woman who had been promised to him to bring peace between their families. It was all part of a plan Lyra didn’t fully understand, but she knew it wasn’t just about love. Still, it wasn’t the bride that made Lyra hesitate. It was the fact that her brother was about to mate with someone else—and she had something vital to reveal to him. Something she had kept hidden for more than two years. She had a son now. A strong, healthy two-year-old wolf who didn’t even know who his uncle was. The thought of telling him made her heart tighten, but tonight, there was no turning back. She had to tell him, even if it was the last thing she ever did. Lyra drew a deep breath and stepped into the large, candlelit chamber. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the flickering flames and the light from the full moon that streamed through the tall, arched windows. She could see her brother standing at the altar, his posture as regal as ever, his dark hair shining under the lights, hands gripping the edge of the stone podium as he waited for his bride. His expression was unreadable, but Lyra could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his muscles twitched like he was bracing himself for something. She wondered if he had any inkling that, in mere moments, his life was about to change forever. His arranged mate wasn’t just a symbol of political power—it was also the moment he would lose his heart to someone who wasn’t the woman he had always desired. Her gaze shifted to the man standing beside her brother: Viktor, his beta, the one chosen to serve as his closest ally during the ceremony. Lyra’s breath caught as memories surged within her. Three years ago, Viktor and she had spent one unforgettable night together. It had started as a friendly gathering—some drinks, playful teasing—but then, somewhere along the way, everything had shifted. The pull between them had been undeniable, and by the end of the evening, they had succumbed to the heat of the moment, giving in to a temptation neither had expected. It had been a night of passion, but also one of complications, and in the years that followed, Lyra had convinced herself that it had been nothing more than a mistake. At least, that was what she had told herself. But now, as she looked at him again, she couldn’t deny that the tension between them still simmered, thick and dangerous. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Lyra felt a ripple of panic. If he knew—if he recognized who she was, who her son was—everything would unravel. She quickly turned away, her eyes darting through the crowd in search of her father. She spotted him sitting near the front, his back straight and rigid, as always. Lyra ducked her head instinctively, hoping he hadn’t noticed her. The last time they had spoken, it had been after a bitter argument, one that had left their relationship fractured and distant. Seeing him here, surrounded by allies and enemies alike, only deepened her feeling of abandonment. Her father had always prioritized the pack’s interests over his own family’s well-being. He had never once asked about her life or her choices, and now, he seemed more interested in the power dynamics of the pack than in his own daughter. Before she could linger on those thoughts, a voice interrupted her. It was low, smooth, with a thick Russian accent. "You’re not from here," the man said, his eyes scanning her with sharp intensity. Lyra stiffened but kept her tone even. "No," she replied, her gaze flicking briefly to her brother and Viktor, who were talking quietly at the altar. "Just a guest." The man’s lips curled into a smile, but it was cold and unsettling. "I see," he said, his voice slow and deliberate. "Enjoy the ceremony, Miss." Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. She looked back at Viktor, who seemed to have sensed the same thing. Their eyes locked once more, a silent understanding passing between them. Then the man beside her shifted slightly, and she felt the weight of his gaze lingering on her, even as the music began to play, signaling the entrance of the bride. Lyra swallowed as the doors at the back of the hall creaked open. The bride, a tall, blonde woman in a flowing white gown, appeared. The crowd gasped, murmuring in awe, but Lyra’s attention was on her brother. For a brief second, she caught a flicker in his eyes—guilt, perhaps, or something else. It made her stomach churn. As the bride walked down the aisle, Lyra’s heart raced. She had to leave, had to get away before everything fell apart. She needed to find her son, who was waiting outside with the nanny. But before she could move, a sharp, crackling sound sliced through the air. The doors at the back slammed open, and a woman stepped into view, a silvered blade gleaming in her hand. A gasp ran through the crowd as she raised the weapon. The sharp, crackling sound was followed by a shot—a bolt aimed straight at her brother. He crumpled to the floor, a feral scream escaping his lips. Another shot rang out, this one hitting her father, who collapsed beside him. Chaos exploded. People screamed, rushing toward the exits in a panic. Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her instincts urging her to run. She stood, but a strong hand seized her arm. She turned, her heart racing as she saw the Russian man from earlier, his icy gaze locked onto hers. "You’re not going anywhere," he growled, his grip tightening. Lyra tried to pull free, but his hold was unyielding. She struggled, fear flooding her system. "Please, let me go!" she cried, her voice breaking. He didn’t answer, his hand shifting to her throat, pushing her roughly toward the wall. She fought back, but it was no use. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, she feared she would die here, alone and powerless. But just as it seemed hopeless, she heard a voice—Viktor. "Get down!" he shouted, his voice commanding. Before she could react, Viktor was there, his stance predatory, a silver blade in his hand. He lunged forward and slashed at the Russian, and with a swift motion, the man fell, releasing Lyra. Lyra sank to her knees, her body shaking as the adrenaline wore off. Viktor knelt beside her, his face unreadable, but his voice soft with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked. Lyra nodded, though her mind was still reeling. "I need to find my son," she whispered, the words barely audible. "Please… help me." Without hesitation, Viktor took her hand, helping her to her feet. "I’ll get you out of here," he said, his voice steady and resolute. Lyra glanced back at her brother, who lay motionless at the altar, and her father, who was still alive but gravely wounded. The chaos continued, but for the first time in years, Lyra didn’t feel so alone. There was so much more to face, so much more to explain, but for now, the only thing that mattered was getting out with her son. And maybe—just maybe—beginning a new chapter in her life, with Viktor by her side.