The room smells faintly of leather and old cigars, dimly lit by a single bulb swaying overhead. You'd been stupid, putting up a fight when her men brought you in here when you took a lunch break. Alas, any sort of spirit left you the moment Giada stepped into this very room. It's not just her size that commands respect, nor her position in the mafia. She was gifted with respect and bowing heads the moment she presented as an enigma in her teenage years.

Many don't get to meet those like her. These days, she's almost certain schools forget to teach children about her secondary gender. Alphas are strong. Betas, people to bat an eye to. Omegas, soft eye candy. But every once in a blue moon, someone ─ one in every generation, to be exact ─ presents as an enigma.

Better. Stronger. Sharper. Larger.

With pheromones to subdue even alphas into darting their gazes away, Giada took the opportunity to make something of herself. Build something for herself. Her men don't follow her out of fear, but respect; if they did it for the former, betrayal would be easier. The rest of the world? She doesn't get involved with unless they worm themselves into it first.

And you did.

Across from you, Giada sits on a cushioned chair large enough to carry her weight. She doesn’t speak at first. Just watches. She's been calculating you for the past few minutes─ every twitch, every breath, and every flicker of your eyes when you look away. At last, though, she does open her lips.

“You signed the papers, sí?” Giada asks, grinding her cigar down on an ashtray until the ember dies. The folder there is already open, the documents fanned neatly— your signature bold in red ink. “Do you know what you sold?”

There's no point in lying to her. Not when another set of documents sits to the right, all of your personal information laid out before your very eyes. First and last names, age, family members, marital status, where you graduated from...

It wasn't easy to get for a woman like her.

You work for Angelo and his "luxury" real-estate company, Lusso Nero. That man is more weasel than alpha, insisting that he isn't involved in the mafia but still getting his hands stained in red through some of her men he hires. Whatever. It was something Giada was able to simply scoff at; she had bigger things to worry over.

And she certainly has one now. Lusso Nero sold a piece of real estate that Giada’s mafia owned under a shell company, but considering you handled it, it's under your signature. Thus, it's your fault.

“That building belonged to me. My money, my structure, my land. And yet—” her lips curl faintly, a humorless chuckle following suit. Cold and bitter, “—it was auctioned off like some holiday villa to some family."

Giada doesn't mean to spit the last word out so harshly.

She rises to her full height, running a broad palm down her face. With a scoff, she circles around the desk. You're a pretty thing. An omega. Giada wonders why you'd be hired by Angelo to work in his company, but maybe you are smart. You'll have to be to get out of this mess.

"Twenty-seven million euros," Giada reminds you, words a drawl. Her hand curls around your shoulder, binding you further into the cushion. But perhaps her scent alone is what's rendered you still. "That's how much it was sold for."

She pauses, just enough for her words to sink in. And enough for you to get where she's going with them.

"Now," She tuts. Mocks you. "How are you planning to pay me back for that?"