Alessandro stood near the window of the bedroom, adjusting the cuffs of his own midnight-black tuxedo jacket, the fabric cut sharp enough to slice through any room he walked into. He’d been ready for twenty minutes, but he hadn’t minded waiting—not when he knew what was coming.

Then Sage stepped out of the bathroom, and every rational thought in Alessandro’s head simply stopped.

Alessandro’s mouth went dry. He forgot how to breathe for a second.

Sage spun once, quick and eager, grin bright and unguarded, and asked, “How do I look?”

Alessandro closed the distance in three slow strides, stopping just short of touching him, letting his gaze drag deliberately from the polished shoes up every perfect inch to the proud tilt of Sage’s chin. He didn’t try to hide the hunger in it—he wanted Sage to feel it.

“You look,” he said, voice low and rough, “like every man in that room tonight is going to wish he were me. And every one of them is going to know immediately that he never will be.”

He reached out at last, fingers brushing the edge of Sage’s jaw, thumb tracing just beneath the sharp line of eyeliner. “You’re stunning, tesoro. Devastating. I’m going to spend the entire night trying not to drag you into the nearest dark corner and ruin all that careful work you just did.”

His hand slid down to adjust the knot of Sage’s tie—more for the excuse to touch than any real need—then settled possessively at the small of his back.

“I’ve shown my face at a hundred of these events,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of Sage’s ear. “Never once looked forward to one. Tonight I can’t wait to walk in with you on my arm. Let them all see what’s mine.”

He pulled back just enough to meet Sage’s eyes, the bond thrumming warm and bright between them.

“You ready to make an entrance, amore? Because once we step out that door, I’m not letting anyone else have even a second of your attention.”

His smile curved, sharp and fond all at once. “Though I suppose I’ll try to behave. For a little while, at least.”

Alessandro couldn’t tear his eyes away as they descended the villa steps toward the waiting car. Sage’s arm was looped through his, the mischievous tilt of that grin and the faint flush on his cheeks making Alessandro’s blood run hotter than it had any right to in public. The bond thrummed with Sage’s excitement—bright, sparkling, almost contagious—and Alessandro let a low, appreciative hum vibrate in his chest.

“You say that now,” he murmured, leaning down just enough for his lips to brush Sage’s ear as Matteo held the rear door open, “but if you keep looking at me like that, amore, my reputation will be the least of our worries.”

He handed Sage into the car first, following with a grace that belied the possessive way his hand settled at the small of Sage’s back once they were both seated. The partition rose silently—Matteo knew better than to intrude tonight—and Alessandro let his thumb trace slow circles over the fine fabric at Sage’s waist, feeling the faint tremor of anticipation under his touch.

The drive passed in a haze of city lights and quiet conversation—Sage’s fingers laced with his, the occasional squeeze when something outside the window caught his eye. Alessandro watched him more than the scenery, drinking in every new expression: curiosity, delight, that bright edge of nerves he was trying to hide. Every few minutes Sage would glance at him, eyes catching the passing streetlamps like polished amber, and Alessandro would answer with a slow smile that promised later.

When they finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the palazzo hosting the auction—columns lit dramatically, valets in crisp uniforms, the low murmur of wealth and power spilling out onto the marble steps—Alessandro felt Sage’s excitement spike sharp and sweet down the bond.

He stepped out first, offering his hand without looking away from Sage’s face. The moment Sage took it and rose beside him, Alessandro tucked that hand firmly into the crook of his elbow, covering it with his own. A silent claim for anyone watching—and half the courtyard was already watching.

Heads turned as they ascended the steps. Whispers followed—some recognizing Alessandro, others simply arrested by the sight of the stunning omega at his side. Alessandro didn’t acknowledge a single one. His focus was entirely on Sage: the way he held his chin high despite the unfamiliarity, the subtle press of fingers against Alessandro’s forearm that said I’m right here with you.

At the top of the stairs he paused, turning Sage toward him under the golden glow of the chandeliers spilling through the open doors. He brushed an invisible speck from Sage’s lapel, letting his knuckles graze warm skin just above the collar.

“You’re perfect,” he said quietly, for Sage’s ears alone. “Every eye in there is going to be on you tonight—and every single one of them will know you’re mine. If it ever feels like too much, squeeze my arm twice. I’ll have us out of here in under a minute. Otherwise…” His smile curved, sharp and fond. “Enjoy yourself, tesoro. Dance with me, bid on something ridiculous if you want, let them all see how brightly you shine. I plan to spend the entire night making sure you never forget you belong at my side.”

He pressed a brief, chaste kiss to Sage’s knuckles—public, deliberate—then turned them both toward the entrance.

“Shall we?” he asked, voice low with pride and promise, and led his mate into the glittering crowd.

Alessandro guided Sage down the grand staircase with a hand settled possessively at the small of his back, every step measured, every inch the untouchable king of the city. The room parted for them the way it always did—subtle shifts in posture, averted eyes, murmurs that died the moment he passed. He felt Sage’s excitement thrumming through the arm looped with his, the omega’s scent bright with wonder and just a hint of nerves, and it made something fiercely protective coil in his chest. His beautiful mate, wide-eyed and radiant in the midnight-blue suit he’d had tailored to hug every line of that perfect body. The high collar hid the claiming mark, but the fit left no doubt who Sage belonged to.

He’d been about to steer them toward the champagne table—ready to indulge Sage’s playful demand and watch those lips wrap around crystal—when his gaze swept the room in habitual assessment and froze.

Viktor fucking Volkov.

Lounge against the far bar like he owned the place, flanked by two of his lieutenants, a tumbler of vodka in one hand and that same smug, icy smile that Alessandro had wanted to carve off his face for years. The Russian had nerve showing up here, on neutral ground or not. Their territories had been bleeding into each other for months—shipments hijacked, men disappearing, a silent war that hadn’t yet spilled into open streets. And now Volkov was here, in Alessandro’s city, sipping liquor paid for by Alessandro’s enemies-turned-temporary-allies for the sake of this goddamn charity facade.

Alessandro’s expression didn’t change; the polite, lethal mask stayed perfectly in place. But inside, his blood turned to fire. His hand tightened fractionally on Sage’s waist, a silent signal as he angled their path slightly, putting his own body between his omega and Volkov’s line of sight.

He leaned down, lips brushing Sage’s ear in what would look to anyone else like an intimate murmur between lovers.

“Change of plans, amore,” he said, voice low and velvet, laced with dark amusement to hide the edge. “There’s someone I need to remind of his place before we get you that champagne.”

His thumb stroked once along Sage’s hip, reassuring and grounding. “Stay close. Smile like you’re having the time of your life. And if anyone looks at you too long, let me handle it.”

He straightened, guiding Sage forward with effortless grace—straight toward the bar. Toward Volkov. The crowd shifted again, sensing the shift in the air the way prey senses a predator. Alessandro’s smile was small, sharp, civilized.

And utterly deadly.

“Viktor,” he greeted smoothly as they reached speaking distance, Italian accent curling around the name like a threat. His hand never left Sage’s waist. “Didn’t expect to see you slumming it with the philanthropists tonight. Charity suddenly one of your vices?”

His eyes flicked over Volkov’s men—cataloguing weapons, exits, weaknesses—then back to the Russian’s pale gaze, challenge gleaming bright.

“Allow me to introduce my mate, Sage.” Alessandro’s voice dropped just enough to carry the unmistakable warning. “Sage, this is Viktor Volkov. He runs a… smaller operation north of the river.”

He let the silence hang, possessive arm drawing Sage imperceptibly closer, every line of his body screaming mine while his expression remained the picture of aristocratic boredom.

Let Volkov look. Let him see exactly what Alessandro had claimed—and understand what would happen if he ever thought to reach for it.

Alessandro felt the subtle shift in Sage the instant they stopped in front of Volkov—the way his omega leaned into him, not cowering, but claiming space at his side like he belonged there. That faint twitch at the corner of Sage’s smile, the quiet hum of agreement, the way he pressed just close enough to make the claim unmistakable. Pride surged hot and fierce through Alessandro’s veins. His mate wasn’t shrinking from the threat; he was meeting it head-on, beautiful and fearless, and it took every ounce of discipline not to drag Sage away right then and remind him exactly how much that fire turned him on.

Volkov’s pale eyes flicked to Sage, lingering a fraction too long, assessing. Alessandro’s grip tightened possessively, fingers splaying wider across Sage’s lower back, a silent warning that needed no words.

The Russian’s smile was thin, humorless. “Alessandro,” he returned in that clipped accent, raising his glass a fraction. “Always a pleasure to see you playing benevolent king among the sheep.” His gaze slid back to Sage, curiosity sharpening. “And this is your mate. Charming.”

Alessandro’s own smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Isn’t he?” he murmured, voice smooth as silk over steel. He shifted just enough to angle Sage half a step behind him—protective without making it look like retreat—while keeping his hand firm on his omega’s waist. “Sage has exquisite taste. In champagne, in company… in everything.”

He let the double meaning hang, watching Volkov’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

“I wasn’t aware you’d brought such delightful company tonight,” Volkov said, eyes still on Sage. “Neutral ground or not, one hears things. A new claiming mark, perhaps?”

The question was bait, probing for weakness, for confirmation that Alessandro had bound himself permanently. Alessandro felt Sage’s body tense subtly against his side—ready to bristle, ready to defend—and the sheer possessiveness that roared through him nearly made him bare his teeth.

Instead he laughed, low and dangerous. “One hears all sorts of things, Viktor. Most of them irrelevant.” He leaned in a fraction, voice dropping just enough for Volkov and his lieutenants to hear. “But if you’re asking whether I’ve claimed what’s mine—yes. Irrevocably. And I protect what’s mine with enthusiasm.”

His thumb stroked once along Sage’s spine, a private reassurance even as his stare bored into Volkov’s. “Enjoy the auction. Bid generously. Just remember—some treasures in this room aren’t for sale. Touch them, and you’ll find out exactly how charitable I’m feeling.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. With a subtle pressure at Sage’s waist, Alessandro guided him away, turning them smoothly toward the champagne table as if the exchange had been nothing more than pleasant small talk.

Only when they were clear did he lean down, lips brushing Sage’s ear, voice rough with approval and barely leashed hunger.

“You were perfect, piccolo,” he growled softly. “Standing there like you were ready to tear his throat out with your teeth. Fuck, I almost dragged you into the nearest dark corner to reward you right then.”

He flagged a waiter, plucking two flutes of champagne and handing one to Sage with a predatory smile.

“Drink. Smile. Let them all see how untouchable you are.” His eyes darkened, promise heavy in every word. “And later, when we’re home, I’m going to show you exactly how much I liked watching you mark your territory without saying a single word.”

He clinked his glass gently against Sage’s, eyes never leaving his mate’s face.

“To us, amore. And to anyone stupid enough to think they can look at you without my permission.”

Alessandro’s eyes tracked Volkov for a final second as they walked away, committing to memory the way the Russian’s gaze lingered on Sage’s back—like a wolf watching something it hadn’t decided whether to chase or fear. The chill that ran through his omega didn’t escape him; he felt it in the subtle tension under his palm, and it only fed the cold, calculating rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. Volkov would be dealt with. Not tonight—neutral ground held for now—but soon. Very soon.

But right now, Sage was smiling up at him, cheeks flushed from champagne and adrenaline, eyes glittering with that dangerous mix of mischief and fire that always went straight to Alessandro’s blood. Christ, he was exquisite—elegant in the suit, lethal in the glare he’d leveled at Volkov, and now teasing him like he hadn’t just stared down a rival boss without flinching.

Alessandro’s mouth curved into a slow, predatory smile as he leaned in close again, voice a low rumble meant only for Sage.

“Like it when my puppy bites?” he echoed, amusement dark and warm. “Piccolo, I fucking love it. You looked like you were one heartbeat away from telling him exactly where he could shove his curiosity, and I’ve never been prouder.”

He brushed his thumb across Sage’s lower lip, watching those eyes widen slightly at the touch.

“And you’re wrong,” he continued, guiding Sage toward a quieter alcove near the balcony doors, away from the densest part of the crowd. “I would have appreciated every single word you wanted to say, especially delivered in that pretty voice of yours.” His smile sharpened. “But you held your tongue because you knew I needed you to. You played it perfectly. And that obedience…” He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of Sage’s ear. “…is going to earn you such a thorough reward later.”

He pulled back just enough to hand his own untouched flute to a passing waiter, freeing both hands. One settled at Sage’s waist again, the other tipping Sage’s chin up so their eyes locked.

“Drink slowly, amore,” he murmured, watching Sage sip the champagne with visible delight. “I want you clear-headed enough to feel every second of what I’m going to do to you when we get home. Starting with peeling this suit off you piece by piece, kissing every inch of skin I uncover, and then bending you over the nearest surface until you’re begging me to let you come.”

His thumb traced Sage’s jaw, possessive and tender.

“You represented me perfectly tonight. Looked untouchable. Acted untouchable. And still let every bastard in this room know you’d rip their throat out if they tried anything.” Alessandro’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “You’re not just my beautiful omega, Sage. You’re my partner. My equal. And I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving I know it.”

He stole a quick, deep kiss—proprietary, promising—then drew back with a wicked grin.

“Now finish that glass. Then we’ll dance. I want Volkov and every other fool here to watch you move in my arms and know exactly what they’ll never have.”