Claimed by My Mafia Alpha King

Nicolas’s POV

I stopped in front of the door.

Andrei stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets. Looking guilty as hell.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out sharp. Dangerous.

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Would you believe me if I said I was just passing by?"

"No."

"Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me either." He scratched the back of his neck. "Okay, fine. I was checking on her."

My jaw clenched. "Why?"

"Because someone needed to." He shrugged, but his expression turned more serious. "And you looked like you were about to have an aneurysm at dinner."

The hallway was too quiet. Too small. The walls pressed in.

I could hear my own heartbeat. Feel the rage building in my chest.

"Get out of my way."

"Hold on, hold on." Andrei held up both hands. "Before you murder me—which, let’s be honest, you’re thinking about—maybe you should know what I was doing first."

"I don’t care what you were—"

"I brought her ice cream." He said it like a confession. Then added with a crooked smile, "Chocolate and mint chip. The expensive kind from Fifth Street."

I stared at him.

"You had no right—"

"Look, I know." Andrei’s voice softened, though his eyes still held that playful glint. "But she was alone. Scared. And you—no offense—you probably terrified the poor girl at dinner."

Heat flooded through me. Not anger. Something worse.

Shame.

"That’s none of your business," I said through clenched teeth.

"Normally? You’d be right." He leaned against the wall, casual. "But when my best friend is clearly struggling and his mate looks like she’s going to pass out from fear every time he walks into a room? Yeah, I’m making it my business."

My hands curled into fists. Bones cracked.

"I was trying to help." His tone shifted—less playful now, more genuine. "Bridge the gap a little. Show her that not everyone here is going to bite. Well—" He paused. "Bad choice of words. You know what I mean."

He winced. "Also, fun fact—turns out ice cream on an empty stomach after months of starvation is a bad idea. So I feel really guilty about that part."

Silence stretched between us.

I could hear Sofia moving inside the room. Soft footsteps. Murmured words I couldn’t make out.

My wolf howled. Demanded to get inside. To see our mate. To make sure she was okay.

"Move," I said.

Andrei stepped aside immediately, giving me an exaggerated bow. "Your Majesty."

I pushed past him. Reached for the door.

It opened before I could touch it.

A woman emerged. Middle-aged. Wearing scrubs. The palace physician.

Nadia.

She looked up at me. Her expression was carefully neutral.

"My lord," she said. Bowed slightly.

"How is she?" The question came out rougher than I intended.

Nadia straightened. Drew in a breath.

"Miss Irina is stable. Resting now."

Relief flooded through me. Brief. Intense.

Then suspicion followed.

"What happened?"

"Gastritis," Nadia said. "Her stomach lining is inflamed. Likely caused by eating after an extended period of malnutrition, combined with consuming something cold."

She paused.

"The ice cream, I believe."

Behind me, Andrei made a small sound. "Oops."

I didn’t turn around. Kept my eyes on Nadia.

"Gastritis shouldn’t affect a werewolf," I said flatly.

"No, my lord. It shouldn’t." Nadia’s expression shifted. Concerned. "That’s what troubles me."

My entire body went rigid.

"Explain."

"Under normal circumstances, a werewolf’s healing abilities would handle this within hours. Minutes, even." She folded her hands in front of her. "But Miss Irina’s wolf spirit is... weak."

"How weak?"

"Very weak, my lord." Nadia’s voice dropped. "I can barely sense it at all."

The hallway tilted.

Barely sense it.

That wasn’t possible.

Every werewolf had a wolf spirit. It was what made us what we were. What gave us our strength. Our healing. Our ability to shift.

Without it—

"I’m not certain." Nadia’s expression tightened. "But given the extent of her physical injuries—the layers of old trauma—I would guess it happened during a significant emotional or physical shock."

"What does she need?" I asked. "Right now. What does she need?"

"Rest," Nadia said immediately. "Her body is exhausted. Malnourished. She needs to eat small amounts frequently. Bland foods at first."

She gestured back toward the room.

"I’ve given her something to settle her stomach. She should sleep through the night."

I nodded. Couldn’t trust myself to speak.

"If that’s all, my lord?" Nadia bowed again.

"Go."

She left. Quick footsteps disappearing down the hallway.

"Nicolas." Roman’s voice. Careful. "Perhaps you should—"

"Everyone out," I said quietly.

"My lord—"

"I said out." I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to.

The temperature dropped. The air grew heavy.

Andrei moved first. Started walking away without argument.

Roman stayed.

"My lord," he said again. "You should let her rest. The physician said—"

"I know what she said."

"Then you know that hovering over her won’t help." Roman’s tone was reasonable. Professional. "She needs space. Time to recover."

I turned slowly. Faced him.

"Get out," I said. "Now."

"Nicolas—"

"That’s an order, Roman."

His jaw tightened. But he nodded.

"As you wish, my lord."

Silence crashed down.