Chapter Text
Boston in February always carried the kind of cold that settled deep into your bones. It was one of the things Shane liked most about being here. The winters reminded him of home, of simpler times.
The wind clawed its way through the thin seams of his coat as he stepped out the back door of Rose’s Diner with a trash bag in one hand and a cigarette pinched between stiff fingers in the other. The snow soaking through the holes in his sneakers almost immediately. Drenching the one last good pair of socks he owned.
Just another reason to add to the very long list of why he now smokes.
Somewhere down the alley, a siren wailed. Closer to him, a man shouted in slurred English before dissolving into laughter.
Shane ignored it all.
So far it has been the shift from hell. From knot heads poking at him for fun, to the same old Karen’s complaining about the coffee beans being used. The last thing he wanted to do was go to his next job after this. But he had to, there was no other choice.
He dumped the trash bag into the overflowing dumpster and leaned against the brick wall for exactly thirty seconds of peace before his phone began buzzing in his pocket.
Unknown Number.
His stomach dropped, pure dread filling his chest. Not again.. he didn’t need this right now.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it. Pretending he hadn’t seen it. Pretending this wasn’t happening to him.
But the damn phone kept vibrating. Shane answered with hesitation. “Hello?”
“You think we stop callin’ because you ignore us?” The voice on the other end was low and sharp with a Boston accent thick enough to cut skin.
Shane closed his eyes. “I’m working,” he said quietly. “I told you, I’ll have something for you by Friday.”
“You said that last Friday.”
“I know.”
“You know what Nolan says?” the man continued. “He says maybe your pretty omega ass forgot who owes who.”
Shane’s grip tightened around the phone hard enough his knuckles ached. The debt wasn’t his. That was the worst part.
Cole had disappeared exactly six weeks ago after borrowing money from the wrong people for drugs he swore he’d quit. He’d emptied Shane’s account before vanishing from their apartment in the middle of the night, leaving behind nothing but a moldy hoodie and seventeen thousand dollars in debt owed to the West Night Kings.
And because Shane had been the boyfriend, because omegas were considered soft targets, oh and because people like Shane were easier to corner than men who ran— The Kings had decided the debt now belonged to him.
“Well, you can tell Nolan that I’m trying.”
A harsh laugh crackled through the line. “Maybe you should try harder. Heard that Rose Landry cut your shifts. You found yourself a little side hustle yet?”
Shane’s chest tightened. “How the-”
“We know a lotta things. Sort it out Hollander. Friday or you're done.”
The line clicked dead.
For several seconds, Shane stood motionless in the alley, breathing hard through the panic rising in his throat.
Then the diner door swung open. “Hey bud! The smoke breaks over, we’ve got a lot of work to do!” Rose called. “Unless you plan on bribing customers into paying tips with those puppy eyes of yours.”
Shane shoved the phone away and forced himself upright. “Coming.”
The red head smiled, moving out the way of the back door. “Only four more hours to go and you’re free to run for the hills.”
“I wish. I gotta go and work overnight at the gas station..”
Rose sighed. “I really am sorry Shane, if I could keep you all as full time I really would.”
“I know, it’s okay.” Shane assured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you in there.”
—
By the time midnight rolled around his feet were practically bleeding.
The gas smelled like old grease and burnt coffee, and Shane was fairly certain one of the booths had gained sentience sometime around ten o’clock. He moved through the final cleanup on autopilot, exhausted beyond thought.
“You look terrible,” Jackie informed him, counting bills at the register.
“Thanks.”
“You gettin’ sick?”
“No.”
“You sure? Your scent’s kinda weird.”
Shane stiffened instantly.
Being an omega meant living under constant scrutiny. Most suppressants kept his scent muted enough that strangers ignored him, but stress had a way of burning through medication faster than it should.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
Jackie narrowed her eyes but waved him off. “Go early and get some food before you pass out. Hayden will kill me if I let you go straight to the gas station in this state.”
Food. Right, he should probably go and eat something right about now. He glanced at the clock. He still had an hour before he had to switch with Josh. He could grab a little something.
Shane quickly grabbed his backpack. “Thanks Jackie, I owe you one,” and stepped back into the freezing night.
His apartment was two blocks away in a building that should’ve been condemned years ago. The radiator barely worked. The pipes screamed every morning. The guy upstairs hosted fights at two in the morning, and there was black mold creeping along the bathroom ceiling.
But it was his. At least it was for now, until his rent was due at least, then he was kind of fucked.
Shane shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking. That was when he noticed the car.
A black SUV parked across the street. The engine was still running and it sent his pulse into overdrive almost immediately.
He tried not to let his panic show.
“Get in.”
Shane stopped dead. The man inside wore a leather jacket and a grin full of broken teeth. Silver hair combed back to show off the scar across his tanned forehead.
Tommy.
He was one of the boss guys for the West Night Kings. He was also something out of Shane’s worst nightmare.
“I already told you-”
“Get. In.”
The cold seemed to sharpen around him. “I don’t have the money yet.”
Tommy sighed dramatically and climbed out of the SUV. He was bigger than Shane by at least fifty pounds, beta-built and broad shouldered.
“See, the thing is Shane, Nolan sent me. And unfortunately for you, he’s getting tired of excuses.”
Shane took a step backward. Tommy took one forward.
“Please,” Shane said. “I’m working double shifts here and at the gas station. I’m trying to find another job-”
“You think we care?”
The alley beside them was empty. There was no witnesses, no help, nobody to scream for.
Panic clawed up Shane’s throat as Tommy grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise. “Let go-”
“You owe us.”
“It’s not my debt!”
Tommy’s expression turned ugly. “Wrong answer.”
The first punch split Shane’s lip, his head snapping sideways as the pain exploded behind his eyes.
Before he had the chance to recover, Tommy shoved him toward the SUV.
“Move.”
Shane struggled instinctively, terror flooding his bloodstream so fast his scent burst into the air despite the suppressants.
Pure Omega fear, brutal and bitter in the cold night.
Tommy inhaled sharply, grin widening. “Oh, there it is.”
Humiliation burned hotter than pain. “Please-”
“You hear that guys? Poor omega pansy is begging.” Tommy beamed, turning towards the men who had stepped out onto the pavement.
When the fuck had so many of them turned up?
The omega couldn’t help but brace himself for the next hit. Just as they were about to take another dig at Shane’s despair, gunfire shattered the street light.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Tires screeched , some moving away, some slamming to a stop, some men shouted in Russian, some in english, Shane’s mind couldn’t help but blank out the rest. Chaos erupting in a matter of seconds.
Tommy swore violently and reached for a weapon just as another SUV came screaming around the corner.
The first bullet punched through Tommy’s shoulder, sending the man to the floor is shock. The second bullet shattered the windshield. That is when the realisation seemed to hit.
The kings were under attack.
Shane hit the pavement hard, hands over his ears as gunshots echoed through the narrow street. Someone screamed, the sound sending chills throughout his entire body as glass exploded nearby.
He smelled blood, gunpowder, smoke. The scents mixing together in a way that turned his stomach.
Alpha pheromones flooded the air so heavily it became difficult to breathe. And then there was nothing but silence. The kind of silence that sent a chill to your bones.
Shane lifted his head slowly. Bodies were littered across the street. Some of Tommy’s men fleeing whilst they still had the chance. Men in dark coats moved with terrifying efficiency through the aftermath, armed and calm in a way that suggested violence was routine.
It looked so organised and professional, it shouldn’t look that way. It was too abnormal to look that way, it shouldn’t look so easy for them.
One of them approached Shane. Tall. Broad shouldered. Black wool coat dusted with snow. His face was sharply beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel, cold blue eyes, pale skin, dark blonde hair swept back neatly despite the violence around him.
Power rolled off him in suffocating waves. He was an Alpha. And not just any Alpha by the look of things… no , he was THE alpha.
Every instinct Shane possessed screamed submission. Run. Hide. Kneel. The man crouched in front of him and stared..
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then the alpha reached out and brushed a bloodied thumb gently against Shane’s split lip. Something dangerous flickered across his expression.
Interest maybe?
“He did this to you?” His voice was smooth Russian velvet as he glanced towards Tommy’s withering form.
Shane swallowed hard. “N-no , I-I’m fine.”
The alpha’s eyes darkened slightly at the lie.
Behind him, another man approached quickly. Similar features. Older. Scar across his jaw. “Pakhan,” he said quietly in Russian before glancing toward Shane. “We should leave.”
Pakhan.. Russian? Fuck, Pakhan … Pakhan meant boss.. the Alpha was the boss.. a Russian boss. Holy shit.
Shane’s stomach dropped in realisation. Everyone in Boston knew whispers about the Russian Bratva operating through the city.
About the Rozanovs.
Especially after Alexei Rozanov had died last year. The power vacuum afterward had filled the streets with nothing but blood and torture.
The alpha still hadn’t looked away from Shane. “What is your name?”
“…Shane.”
“Shane.” He repeated it carefully, like tasting something expensive. “Ilya Rozanov.”
The name hit like ice water.
Oh God. Oh God.
Ilya noticed the recognition instantly. A faint smile touched his mouth. “Do not look so frightened,” he murmured.
Easy for him to say.
Shane tried to stand, legs shaking violently. “I should go.”
Ilya rose smoothly beside him. “You belong to those men?”
“No!” God he sounded terrified.
Ilya tilted his head slightly. “Then why were they collecting debt from you?”
Shane froze.
The older Russian man standing besides them muttered something under his breath.
Ilya ignored him entirely. “Talk.”
Shane should’ve lied. Every instinct told him to run before he got swallowed whole by something far worse than the Kings. But exhaustion cracked something open inside him.
Maybe because Ilya had saved him. Maybe because he looked at Shane like he actually saw him. Or maybe because Shane was so, so tired.
So he told the truth. “M-my ex he-he is the one who owes them. He went on the run around six weeks ago. But you know how it is right? Debt is debt. It needs to be paid. T-they found our-my apartment and beat me so bad I could barely talk. They tried for days to get me to spill on where he was, but I had no idea. In the end Nolan came up with a different plan. W-why waste time trying to find him when they can punish him by going after me? Little do they know, Cole couldn’t care less. That asshole has been messed up in this shit for years now. He never learns, he always escapes, always leaves the defenceless omega to pick up the pieces. I’d heard the horror stories from so many people. But god- I was- I was just too stupid and naive to understand just how bad it would get. I-I was barely eighteen. F-fuck I really wish I’d turned around and walked the other way that day. I-I think it’s safe to say I’d be in a much better place than I am now..”
Ilya listened without interrupting once. When Shane finally fell silent, the Russian alpha studied him with unreadable intensity. “You would die paying another man’s debt,” he said softly.
Shane laughed bitterly. “Looks that way.”
Something shifted in Ilya’s expression then.
Not pity. Something heavier. Possessive. “You are an omega.”
Shane stiffened immediately. “I take suppressants.”
“I know.” Heat crept up Shane’s neck in a slow spread of redness. Most alphas either ignored omegas completely or treated them like prey. Ilya did neither. His attention felt precise. Intentional.
It was all kinds of terrifying.
The other Russian hovering stepped closer to the two of them. “Ilya-”
“Quiet, Sergei.” The command cracked through the street instantly.
Sergei shut up instantly, grey eyes going cold as he glared towards the street lamps.
Ilya’s gaze returned to Shane. “There may be a solution to your problem.”
Shane almost laughed. “Unless your solution is seventeen thousand dollars, I doubt it.”
Ilya stepped closer. Close enough Shane could smell him fully now—winter smoke, leather, expensive whiskey, and alpha dominance so rich it made Shane dizzy. “I can give you much more than that.”
Every nerve in Shane’s body tightened. “What do you want?”
At that, Ilya smiled faintly. Not kind. But it wasn’t exactly cruel either. It was more certain. Like he knew what he was about to say could fix everything. .
“I need an heir.”
The world around them seemed to still.
Shane stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”
“My family name controls significant territory in Boston,” Ilya said evenly. “There are people waiting for weakness. My brother’s death created instability. He had no child. People are waiting for the Rozanov’s to fall. I am last man standing, they say, is only a matter of time before I too am gone.”
Alexei, right — The dead brother Shane had heard about.
“You are healthy,” Ilya continued. “Unmated. Strong scent compatibility.”
Shane’s face went cold as realization dawned. “No.”
Ilya’s eyes sharpened. “No?” he repeated softly.
“You can’t just-” Shane took another shaky step back. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“No.” This time firmer.
Panic surged through Shane’s chest. Because part of him, some traitorous omega instinct buried deep inside— Had reacted to the offer.
Security and protection.
Two of the most important things. Things that would ensure his life was able to get back on track—and an alpha powerful enough that nobody would ever dare try to touch him again.
Ilya watched every emotion cross his face like he was reading scripture. “You would be compensated generously,” he said. “Protected. Your debts erased.”
“No.” He sounded weaker now, less adamant. God, Shane hated that it sounded weaker.
Ilya stepped close enough that Shane could feel the heat radiating off him in the freezing street. “You are afraid,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
Shane looked up into glacial blue eyes and realized the horrifying truth. “No,” he whispered.
That smile returned. Slow. Victorious. And somehow heartbreakingly lonely.
“Good,” Ilya said softly. “Because you should be more afraid of what and who will come for you when the Kings realise you survived tonight. Tommy Sarkens was not here to play beat the omega, he was here to kill.”
Shane’s blood ran cold at the words.
In the distance, police sirens wailed closer. Ilya reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a black business card embossed only with a silver R. “Think carefully before you refuse me, Shane Hollander.”
He slipped the card into Shane’s trembling hand. Their fingers brushed in a breath of trembling tension.
Electric.
Alpha and omega closing contact for the very first time. Something primal and ancient sparked between them so violently Shane nearly gasped.
Ilya noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes darkened instantly. Then Sergei was pulling open the SUV door, and the moment shattered.
Ilya stepped away reluctantly. “Three days,” he said. “After that, I cannot guarantee your safety.”
Then he disappeared back into the SUV. The convoy drove off seconds later, leaving Shane alone in the snow surrounded by blood, shell casings, and the echo of a proposition that felt less like salvation, and more like the beginning of something catastrophic.
——————————————————————-
Shane didn’t sleep for a single second the night after the shootout. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.
Boston blurred into a haze of exhaustion and fear, every hour stretched thin by anxiety so sharp it made his chest ache. He kept expecting the world to right itself somehow. To wake up and discover none of it had happened.
No Russian mafia boss. No proposition. No dead bodies in the snow. No debt hanging over his head like ticking time bomb.
But every time Shane closed his eyes, he saw Ilya Rozanov standing in the street beneath flashing gunfire, blue eyes fixed on him like fate itself had reached out a hand.
And worse, so much worse than the fear— Was the fact Shane kept touching the black card in his pocket like it burned.
Three days.
Ilya had given him three days.
Two had already passed. The card sat on the tiny kitchen table in Shane’s apartment beside an overdue electric bill and an empty ramen cup.
He stared at it whilst heavy rain fell and battered against the windows.
His suppressants weren’t working properly anymore. Stress did that sometimes. Too much cortisol, too much adrenaline. His scent kept fluctuating wildly, sweet omega notes bleeding through no matter how many patches he used.
It was humiliating. Not only that, but it was also dangerous. More dangerous than anything else he’d had to face. Shane dragged both hands through his hair and tried not to cry again.
The apartment smelled damp and cold. The radiator clanged uselessly in the corner. Upstairs, someone screamed obscenities through the floorboards.
His phone buzzed. Shane lunged for it desperately—
Unknown Number.
I wouldn’t be Cole, it was never Cole. He was never coming back, he was never coming to save Shane from this.
He answered carefully. “Hello?”
“You got that money yet, pretty boy?” Tommy’s voice sounded.
Shane’s stomach dropped so hard he nearly gagged.
Tommy had survived—Of course he survived.
Lucky son of a bitch.
“I told you, I’m trying-”
“Nolan says your little Russian friends caused us some real bad problems.”
Ice slid down Shane’s spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” The snarl on the other end made Shane flinch. “You think we don’t know Rozanov has took an interest in you?”
Shane’s blood went cold.
How? How could they possibly know that?
Tommy continued before Shane could speak. “You belong to us until the debt’s paid, omega. Don’t forget that.”
The line disconnected.
Shane stared at the phone in horror. They knew.
Fuck, they knew. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Panic hit him so violently he stumbled into the bathroom and threw up into the sink.
The gas station fired him the next morning. Because of course his luck would time it perfectly.
“Look, kid,” the manager muttered awkwardly, refusing to meet Shane’s eyes. “You’re a good worker, but… trouble follows you.”
Shane stood frozen behind the counter. “What?”
Rob the manager sighed. “Some guys came by asking questions yesterday . Rough-looking dudes. One had a weird scar on his face. Customers got nervous.”
Fucking Tommy.
“They threatened me? Threatened the station?”
“No,” the manager admitted quickly. “But I got two daughters. I’m not risking it.”
Shane’s throat tightened painfully. “Please, Rob,” he whispered. “I need this job.”
The older beta looked genuinely guilty. “I really am sorry kiddo.”
That was it.
No final paycheck beyond the few crumpled bills shoved into Shane’s hand, no formal warning.
Just gone.
By the time Shane stepped outside, the snow had started falling again. Though it wouldn’t stick, not after all of the rain. He stood on the sidewalk staring numbly at passing traffic while reality sank in.
His rent was due in five days, he no longer had a second job, his hours at Rose’s had been cut and the Kings debt collectors were circling him like sharks.
However somewhere in Boston, the answer to all of his problems — Ilya Rozanov, Pakhan to the Bratva, was waiting.
All he had to do was pick up the phone. Pick up the phone and end it all.
Shane started walking aimlessly because he didn’t know what else to do. He walked for nearly an hour through slushy streets and freezing wind until his feet went numb. At some point, he realized he was crying. Not quietly either. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably while strangers passed without looking twice.
Shane hated himself for it. Hated how weak he felt. Hated that part of him kept replaying Ilya’s words over and over.
‘Protected’
‘Your debts erased.’
‘Safe.’
No one had ever offered Shane safety before. Not really. Not his parents who’d given up on providing for him at nineteen after his first heat presented too violently. Not Cole, who promised forever before choosing drugs over him.
Not Boston.
But Ilya—God, Ilya looked at him like he was something worth keeping alive.
That terrified Shane more than the mafia connections ever could. Because it meant he really had no other choice, he had to make the call. He had to choose this in order to live.
—
Across the city, the Rozanov estate pulsed with tension.
The mansion in the outskirts had once belonged to an old banking family before the Bratva acquired it decades ago. Now it stood as a fortress wrapped in old money elegance and quiet violence.
The dining room smelled faintly of cigar smoke and whiskey. Men argued in Russian around the long oak table. Ilya sat at the head silently, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“He is omega with gang ties,” one man snapped. “This is reckless.”
“Everything is reckless now,” another countered. “Without an heir we look vulnerable.”
Ilya’s expression never changed.
At his right sat Svetlana Vetrova, Russian American, beautiful in a lethal sort of way. She wore black silk and diamonds with the ease of royalty. Her auburn red hair fell over one shoulder as she watched Ilya carefully.
Unlike the others, she wasn’t afraid of him. Mostly because of the fact that she’d known him since childhood.
“You’re distracted,” she said finally. The room around them quieted instantly.
Ilya glanced toward her lazily. “Am I?”
“Yes. You are not focusing on the main problem we have yet to face.”
One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “Ah, and what is this problem?”
Svetlana leaned back in her chair. “You attacked the Kings publicly. Half the city is talking about it.”
“They were encroaching on my territory.”
“You slaughtered nine men.”
“They shot first.”
A few quiet laughs circled the table, Svetlana remained unimpressed. “And now there is a bounty on your head bravo Ilya. Top work.”
That silenced everyone again.
Ilya’s gaze cooled slightly.
The bounty wasn’t news to him. After Alexei’s death, rival organizations had begun circling the Rozanov empire like starving wolves. The ambush Ilya orchestrated three nights ago had only escalated matters.
Svetlana studied him carefully. “You should be focused on stabilizing the Bratva,” she said. “Instead you’re obsessing over an omega.”
“I am not obsessing.”
“You scented him across a gunfight.”
A few men at the table exchanged wary looks.
Ilya’s expression hardened dangerously.
Svetlana sighed. “Da, I know this. Your men are not as good at keeping secrets as you like to believe.”
The alpha dominance in the room thickened sharply. Any other person would’ve backed down instantly.
Svetlana only rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Ilya. I am not criticizing you for wanting an heir. I’m criticizing you for becoming irrational.”
“I am perfectly rational.”
“You once brought home a stranger’s diner receipt because it smelled like them.”
Dead silence.
One of the men choked on vodka. Ilya looked murderous. Whilst Svetlana smiled sweetly into her wine glass.
“You are all dismissed,” Ilya said coldly.
The room emptied immediately.
Within moments only Svetlana and Ilya remained. She watched him quietly for a long moment after the doors shut. “You felt it,” she said softly.
Ilya didn’t answer. That alone was enough.
Svetlana’s expression lost some of its teasing edge. “Alpha instincts make fools of powerful men.”
“He needs protection.”
“He is also vulnerable leverage.”
Ilya’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
“Do you?” she asked quietly. “Because once you bring him into this life, he belongs to it forever. He will be in danger for the rest of his life, as will your child!”
Something dark flickered behind Ilya’s eyes. “I would rather burn Boston to the ground than let harm come to him because of me. If he chooses this I will stop at nothing to ensure he and my child are safe.”
Svetlana stared at him carefully then leaned back with a tired sigh. “Well,” she muttered. “That’s mildly comforting I suppose.”
A faint huff of amusement escaped him despite himself.
The silence within the room was broken by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. It was a number he didn’t recognise.
Ilya went still instantly.
Svetlana noticed. “So dramatic,” she murmured.
Ilya ignored her and answered the call. Silence greeted him first. Then shaky breathing.
“...M-mr Rozanov?”
Every muscle in his body tightened at the sound of Shane’s voice. “Yes.”
Another pause.
Ilya could practically hear Shane’s nerves through the phone.
“T-this is Shane Hollander. I-I was just calling to ask.. is your offer still open?”
The world seemed to narrow sharply into that single question.
Svetlana sat up slightly across the table, watching him.
Ilya rose from his chair slowly. “Da, yes it is,” he said quietly. “I stated three days, Mr Hollander…”
Shane inhaled shakily. “I’ll do it.”
For the first time in months since Alexei’s death. Since the betrayal and blood and endless war— Ilya felt something inside his chest loosen.
Not victory. Something far more dangerous.
Relief.
“Tell me where you are,” he said softly.
Shane hesitated. “Why?”
“Because from this moment onward,” Ilya said, voice turning cold with certainty, “you do not spend another night unprotected. You are mine now Shane Hollander.”
Outside, snow fell over Boston in thick white drops.
And somewhere deep beneath Shane’s fear, beneath all the panic and exhaustion, a tiny fragile part of him realized he had just handed his life over to the most dangerous man in the city.
And that Ilya Rozanov sounded pleased about it.
———————————————————————
The headquarters of the Rozanov Bratva did not look like the center of a criminal empire. That kind of unsettled Shane more than if it had.
There were no armed guards standing outside with rifles, no flickering neon signs or obvious violence.
The building in downtown Boston looked almost painfully ordinary from the street, glass, steel, expensive architecture polished to corporate perfection.
Respectable.
That was somehow worse. It basically solidified the fact that these people blended in, dangerously and intentionally.
Shane stood across the street clutching the strap of his backpack hard enough his fingers hurt. His scent patches and suppressants sat untouched in his apartment bathroom.
The first missed dose already had his body feeling wrong. Too warm, too sensitive. Every alpha scent on the street made him tense instinctively.
And underneath all of it lingered the memory of Ilya’s voice on the phone. ‘You do not spend another night unprotected. You are mine now Shane Hollander. ‘ The words should’ve frightened him. Instead they’d followed him into sleep.
A black sedan waited by the curb. Sergei , Shane was assuming, stepped out the moment he spotted him. The older alpha wore another immaculate dark coat, broad shoulders dusted with snow. “Mr. Hollander.”
Shane nearly jumped. “H-Hi, you’re Sergei?”
“Da, this is me.” Sergei eyed him carefully. “You look unwell.”
Right, yeah that’ll be because Shane hadn’t slept. Because he’d cried so hard that morning he’d nearly thrown up. Because every instinct inside him screamed that walking into mafia headquarters to sign away his body was a catastrophic mistake.
“I’m fine.”
Sergei gave him a look that clearly said liar but opened the car door anyway. The ride was deathly silent. Shane spent the entire drive staring at his reflection in the tinted window.
Twenty-four years old with grease-burn scars on his hands from the diner and dark circles hanging beneath warm brown eyes.
An Omega.
Desperate enough to sell himself for safety.
His chest physically hurt just thinking about himself too hard.
The sedan disappeared into a private underground garage beneath the building. Security swept over them instantly.
Not in an obvious way like they showed in the movies. No this was subtle. Men with earpieces, hidden weapons and watchful eyes. Every single one of them smelled like an alpha.
God he hoped there was at least one other male omega in this place. He needed somebody who could relate. Well… as much as an omega from the Bratva could relate.
Shane felt exposed walking through the lobby. Small and anxious. Like he was prey in the devils land.
His scent spiked immediately.
Sergei noticed. “Relax,” he said gruffly as they entered a private elevator. “No one here will touch you.”
Easy for him to say.
The elevator climbed in tense silence before opening onto the top floor. Shane stepped out into another world. Dark wood floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Boston. Low golden lighting. Expensive art.
Everything smelled faintly of whiskey, leather, and alpha dominance. And at the center of it all— Ilya Rozanov.
He stood beside the windows in a charcoal suit that looked worth more than Shane’s yearly rent. One hand rested loosely in his pocket as he spoke quietly with a woman who had more beauty than Shane thought was humanly possible.
He turned the second Shane entered and the shift in the room was immediate.
Shane felt it physically. Ilya’s attention landed on him with such crushing intensity. Predatory and possessive.
Shane’s pulse stumbled.
Ilya approached slowly, gaze sweeping over him in a way that made heat curl low in Shane’s stomach despite the panic consuming him. “You did not take your suppressants.”
He noticed it that quickly?
Shane swallowed. “N-no I erm- no I didn’t.”
“Good.”
The beautiful woman appeared beside them, dark green eyes sharp and assessing. Unlike the men downstairs, she didn’t make Shane feel hunted. Just studied. “You look terrified,” she informed him bluntly.
Shane blinked at her. “I-”
“He always looks terrified around me,” Ilya said calmly.
“That’s because you stare at him like you want to put him in a cage.”
A flicker of amusement crossed Ilya’s face.
Shane had absolutely no idea how to respond to any of that.
She extended a hand instead. “Svetlana Vetrova.”
He shook it automatically. “S-Shane, Shane Hollander.”
“Good. Now come sit down before you faint.”
Shane flushed furiously.
Ilya’s mouth twitched.
Humiliation simmered hot beneath Shane’s skin as they moved toward the long conference table nearby. Documents waited neatly arranged beside crystal glasses of water.
Contracts.
Suddenly Shane couldn’t breathe properly.
Ilya noticed instantly. “Sit.”
The command came softer than Shane expected. Though it was still alpha enough that his body obeyed before his brain caught up.
Lowkey mortifying.
Svetlana sat across from him while Sergei took position near the wall, silent and imposing. There were a few other serious men sat around — Lawyers Shane assumed.
Ilya settled beside Shane. A little too close for comfort in Shane’s opinion, but he didn’t seem to care about that. The air filled slowly with traces of his scent, smoke and winter and something devastatingly masculine.
Shane’s omega instincts reacted immediately. His heart hammered against his chest, practically pounding outwards into the restraints of his T-shirt.
Svetlana opened the file in front of her. “This agreement outlines the terms of your arrangement with Mr. Rozanov.” Her tone became coolly professional. “You will act as surrogate for a single pregnancy carrying the biological heir of the Rozanov family. The goal is to achieve a pregnancy within ten months. This will give you time to adjust and lessens the pressure on your body.”
Every word landed like stone.
Shane just sat and stared fixedly at the papers.
Svetlana continued. “All medical care, housing, expenses, and protection will be provided by the Bratva throughout the duration of the pregnancy.”
Protection.
The word snagged painfully in his chest.
“In return,” she said carefully, “you relinquish all legal parental rights following birth.”
Shane’s stomach twisted violently. The room suddenly felt too warm. Too small.
Svetlana’s eyes flicked toward him briefly before continuing. “You will not be expected to parent the child or maintain involvement post-pregnancy unless otherwise requested by Mr. Rozanov.”
Unless otherwise requested. Not by Shane, by Ilya— by the baby’s father.
Their only father.
Something inside him cracked quietly.
Shane had known this already. Of course he had. That was the entire arrangement. Surrogacy. A business transaction. Yet hearing it spoken aloud made something deep and instinctive recoil in agony.
Omega biology was cruel like that. Built to bond and nurture. The thought of carrying a pup only to hand them away afterward made nausea rise in his throat.
But seventeen thousand dollars … that and protection from the disaster that was his life.
Shane forced himself to stay still.
Svetlana studied him carefully. “Mr. Hollander,” she said more gently now, “are you comfortable with these terms?”
The question hung heavily in the room. Shane looked down at the contract. His vision blurred slightly. No. No, he wasn’t comfortable with this. Not even remotely. He was terrified and already heartbroken over a child that didn’t even exist yet.
But what was the alternative? The Kings? Homelessness? Death in some alley because his ex-boyfriend ran away and left him alone?
Slowly, Shane nodded. “Y-Yes.”
Ilya’s gaze settled on him instantly. His gaze was piercing and intense. For one horrifying moment Shane thought he might somehow see the lie buried beneath that answer. But Ilya simply leaned back slightly, though his eyes remained locked on Shane.
“Good.”
The ache in the omega’s chest worsened. Good.. he didn’t care how Shane felt , why would he? Shane was just another employee.
Svetlana slid the papers toward him along with a fountain pen. “Read carefully before signing.”
Shane tried. He really did. But the words blurred together eventually into legal terminology and clinical descriptions of heats, conception, medical obligations. His hands shook harder with every page. Then he reached the final signature line.
Shane Hollander _____________
One signature and everything would change.
His body.
His future.
His freedom.
Maybe even his heart.
He glanced sideways before he could stop himself. Ilya was already watching him. Still as composed and confident as the night Shane has met him. Like all of this was inevitable. Like it didn’t change anything for him. His life would remain the same.
Their eyes locked.
Something warm and frightening flickered briefly behind the alpha’s icy calm. Not triumph but something softer.
That almost made it worse.
Shane looked away quickly and signed the papers. The pen scratched loudly against paper. And then — that was that. It was final. His chest caved inward the second it was done.
Svetlana collected the contract quietly. Sergei moved forward to witness-sign without comment. Then Ilya took the pen last. His signature flowed elegantly across the page in dark black ink.
Ilya Rozanov _____________
Power made tangible.
When he finished, he looked toward Shane again. “Your next heat?”
Shane swallowed hard. “R-right , it’s er- it’s due in about ten days.”
“You will spend it with me Da? I will send Sergei to help you collect belongings. Is easier if you move to my home today.”
Even though it was phrased as one, Shane knew it wasn’t a question. He only nodded along weakly.
“I have arranged medical staff,” Ilya continued. “You were going to be asked to stop suppressants entirely effective immediately. But you are smart, you thought ahead. I like it.”
Shane blushed, looking away from the alpha to pick at the stray pulls on his jeans.
“I will try to make sure is as comfortable as it can be for you Hollander I assure you.”
Raw heats were brutal. Especially after long suppressant use. Especially with an alpha like Ilya nearby. Shane was already dreading every second of it.
Svetlana closed the file. The sound cutting their conversation short.
“Is done, we are finished here.”
That was it. No ceremony. No dramatic declarations. Just a few signatures and silence and the horrifying realization that Shane had sold the most intimate parts of himself to a mafia king.
Ilya stood first. Shane rose shakily after him.For a moment neither moved. Then Ilya extended his hand. The gesture felt strangely formal after everything they’d just agreed to.
Shane stared at it briefly before placing his smaller hand into Ilya’s.
Instant warmth engulfed him. Alpha and Omega. . The bondless connection between them still sparked violently every time they touched.
Ilya’s fingers tightened slightly around his hand. Not enough to trap.
But enough for Shane to feel what he was saying. “You are under my protection now,” he said quietly.
The words should not have affected Shane as deeply as they did. But suddenly his throat hurt.
He pulled his hand away too quickly. “I-I should really get going. L-lots of packing to do.”
A shadow crossed Ilya’s expression briefly. “Sergei will drive you. Make sure you allow him to help you. Is what he is there for.”
Shane nodded mutely and turned before anyone could see the tears threatening again. He made it through the elevator. Through the lobby. Through the garage. He even made it out onto the snowy Boston sidewalk before finally breaking.
The second the black sedan rounded the corner , Shane stumbled into a narrow alley beside a hidden pharmacy and pressed both hands over his mouth.
A broken sound escaped him. Then another. And another. Until he was crying so hard he could barely breathe.
Because he had just signed away his child before they even existed. Because some awful traitorous part of him already wanted Ilya’s approval.
Because for the first time in years— Someone powerful had chosen him. And Shane didn’t know whether that would save him—
Or destroy him completely.