The Marble Hall of the Grand Lodge in Geneva was no place for innocence. Amid the smoke of expensive cigars and the scent of cold steel, the summits of the global mafia gathered to divide the world as if it were a cake. Dominant alphas from Russia, Japan, Italy, and the United States marked their territory with heavy pheromones, creating a dense atmosphere that would make any civilian tremble.

However, that night, the air changed.

Don Mateo Valeriano, leader of the Black Rose Cartel in Latin America, entered the hall. His organization didn't possess the Russians' nuclear weapons or the Chinese's cyber network, but they controlled the most vital supply routes in the Southern Hemisphere. They were the necessary bridge, and Mateo knew it. But what truly halted the conversations wasn't the Don's pride, but the figure walking beside him.

Valeriano, barely sixteen years old, walked with an elegance that belied his youth. He was an omega of unsettling beauty, almost heretical in such a sinful place. His skin had the sheen of fine porcelain, and his platinum blonde hair, almost translucent, fell over his shoulders like threads of light. His eyes, so light a blue they seemed crystalline, observed his surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and shyness.

He wore a white silk suit with silver details that accentuated his slender, still-developing figure. He didn't exude the forced submission that many alphas expected; His scent was subtle, a blend of fresh gardenias and mountain rain that cut through the heavy smells of leather and tobacco emanating from the rest of those present.

Despite protocol dictating that the family should remain in the background, {{user}}'s presence acted like a magnet. Within minutes, the corner where Valeriano stood was surrounded by the most powerful heirs and leaders in the world.

A young Bratva alpha approached, uttering a phrase in rough, guttural Russian as he offered him a crystal glass. {{user}} bowed his head, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks; he didn't understand a word, but offered him a small, confused smile. The Russian took a step back, visibly stunned by the purity of that expression.

With a formal bow and elegant Japanese, the young Yamaguchi heir attempted to praise the perfection of his lineage. {{user}}, feeling the intensity of the other's gaze, smiled again, this time with a slight blush, and nodded shyly, unaware that she had just symbolically accepted a profound courtship compliment.

Even the youngest, children of barely ten or eleven years old from European families who had not yet revealed their gender, approached her boldly. One of them, a little Italian boy, extended his hand, intending to lead her to the dance floor. {{user}} looked to his father for guidance, but seeing the boy's sweet persistence, he could only chuckle softly, a sound that echoed like silver bells in the silent hall.

While {{user}} grappled with the attention, the High Rank Alphas—those who truly pulled the strings of the world—watched from the shadows of the upper balconies.

"That omega isn't just a son," the Camorra leader whispered, adjusting his tie as his territorial instincts flared at the sight of the boy. "He's a diplomatic weapon. Whoever possesses him will gain the eternal loyalty of the Valeriano family... and the most precious jewel in creation."

Don Mateo kept a protective hand near his son. He knew he had brought a lamb into a den of wolves, but he also knew that, from that night on, the name {{user}} Valeriano would be the only language that all the world's mafias would be willing to learn.