Claimed by My Mafia Alpha King

Irina’s POV

*Bzz. Bzz.*

The cheap plastic of my cell phone violently vibrated against my bruised thigh.

I sat completely frozen on the edge of the massive, king-sized bed. The blinding light from the cracked screen pierced the heavy darkness of the opulent bedroom. It was the only tether I had left to the real world. To the human world. To a life where monsters didn’t exist.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I picked it up.

There were dozens of missed calls. A tidal wave of frantic text messages absolutely flooded my screen. They were all from Mia and Asher.

Mia: *Irina! Where the hell are you?*

Mia: *Who was that giant psycho? Did he hurt you?*

Mia: *I swear to God, I am calling the cops right now! Please pick up!*

Asher: *Rina, Mia just called me crying. Are you and Luka safe? Drop a pin. I don’t care who that guy is, I’m coming to get you.*

A broken, hysterical breath tore from my throat.

*Call the cops. I’m coming to get you.*

The sheer, innocent ignorance of their words made my chest physically ache. They had absolutely no idea. They thought Nicholas was just some abusive ex-boyfriend. Some arrogant human thug with a big car. They didn’t know he was a ruthless apex predator. They didn’t know he was the Mad King of the werewolf underworld.

If Asher tried to come here, Nicholas wouldn’t just beat him up. He would slaughter him. He would tear Asher’s throat out on the pristine stone driveway and completely forget about it by dinner.

I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them monsters were real, and that I was completely, inescapably mated to the worst one of all.

My thumbs felt like solid lead. They hovered over the cracked glass screen. I swallowed hard, fighting the heavy, suffocating lump in my tight throat.

I typed slowly.

*I’m fine.*

I stared at the two pathetic words. They were a massive, filthy lie. I was shattered. I was trapped in a gilded cage in the heart of the mafia empire. But I kept typing.

*Please don’t worry. It was a misunderstanding. Luka and I are completely safe. Don’t call the police. I will talk to you soon.*

I hit send.

I immediately powered the phone off and shoved it deep under the thick silk pillows. I pulled my knees tightly up to my chest and wrapped my shivering arms around my legs. I buried my pale face in my knees. I didn’t cry. My tears were completely dried up. I was just empty.

Days bled together.

I didn’t know if it had been three days or a week. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, completely blocking out the sun. The massive, lavish suite felt exactly like a beautiful, expensive tomb.

Nicholas didn’t come to see me.

He locked me inside and completely vanished. It was pure, unadulterated psychological torture. Every single time the floorboards creaked in the hallway, my heart violently stopped in my chest. I braced my fragile body. I waited for the heavy, terrifying thud of his boots. I waited for the door to burst open. I waited for his blinding heat and his violent, inescapable touch.

But he never came.

Instead, I was forced into a sickening, humiliating routine.

Three sharp knocks would echo from the heavy mahogany door.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

I would violently flinch. I would freeze in the corner of the room, barely daring to breathe. I would wait ten full minutes in absolute, dead silence. Only then would I slowly, carefully creep across the thick Persian rug.

I would open the massive door just a tiny crack.

The two heavily armed mafia guards always stood right there, looking straight ahead like stone gargoyles. They never looked down at me. They never spoke a single word.

On the cold hardwood floor outside my door, there was always a silver tray. Gourmet meals that smelled incredible, but tasted like absolute ash in my mouth. Stacks of expensive, premium diapers. Warm bottles of fresh milk for Luka. Clean, folded baby clothes.

I reached my shaking arm out of the crack in the door. I blindly grabbed the supplies, pulling them inside like a terrified, starving rat snatching cheese from a deadly trap. I never stepped a single toe over the threshold. I knew Nicholas’s threat was absolute. If I stepped out, he would skin those guards alive.

I shut the heavy door. I locked it. Not that the flimsy brass lock could ever stop an Alpha.

I took care of Luka. He was the only thing keeping my completely shattered mind tethered to reality.

He loved the soft, ridiculously expensive mattress. He rolled around in the thick silk duvet, happily babbling at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He was completely oblivious to his mother’s agonizing terror. He was safe, he was warm, and his little belly was full.

But when Luka slept, the dissociation violently took over.

I became a walking corpse. An empty, hollow shell.

I sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed for hours. I stared blankly at the dark floral wallpaper. I didn’t feel the biting cold of the room. I didn’t feel the dull, throbbing ache of the fading bruises on my shoulders. Sometimes, my mind would completely detach from my body. I would float up to the ceiling and look down at myself. I looked completely pathetic. A broken, dirty girl drowning in oversized clothes, trapped in a king’s bedroom.

The ghost of his rough, blistering hands still burned wildly on my skin. My inner wolf occasionally whined in the dark, desperately craving the Alpha who had brutally claimed us. I hated her. I suffocated her with my numbness.

It was evening. Or at least, the room had grown significantly darker and colder.

I was sitting on the thick rug next to Luka’s temporary crib. My chin rested heavily on my knees. I was staring blankly at the wall.

*Click.*

The loud, sharp sound of the heavy brass door handle turning echoed violently like a gunshot.

My entire body violently jolted. My breath instantly trapped in my throat. It wasn’t the usual three knocks. Someone wasn’t just dropping off a tray. Someone was actually coming in.

*Nicholas.*

Pure, blinding panic clawed brutally at my chest. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, pressing my spine completely flat against the cold plaster wall. My chest heaved with frantic, ragged gasps.

The heavy mahogany doors slowly swung open.

But the massive, terrifying frame of the Mad King didn’t fill the doorway.

It was a young woman.

She stepped quietly into the lavish room. She was wearing a plain, shapeless, dark gray dress. The heavy fabric dragged slightly across the floor. It was the absolute lowest uniform of the pack. The uniform of an Omega servant. The exact same uniform I had worn for a year while scrubbing floors and taking beatings.

She stopped exactly three feet away from me.

She didn’t look at my bare, dirty feet. She didn’t look at my trembling hands. She kept her head bowed in perfect, absolute submission. Her face was a completely blank, emotionless mask. Her eyes were dead. She looked exactly like I felt—a ghost trapped in a living body.

She kept her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Irina," the servant said.

Her voice was completely flat. It was entirely devoid of any warmth, any pity, or any malice. It was just a hollow echo delivering a command from the top of the food chain to the very bottom.

"The Alpha requires you to join him for dinner."