Claimed by My Mafia Alpha King

Irina’s POV

I woke up warm.

That was the first thing I noticed. Warm in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. The sheets smelled like him—deep, dark, something that made my chest do a slow, unhelpful roll.

Then I remembered why.

My eyes opened fully.

The ceiling. White. Familiar. Morning light cutting through the curtains in pale gold strips.

And him.

Nicolas was lying beside me. One arm tucked behind his head. Asleep, or close to it. His chest rose and fell slowly. His jaw was relaxed. Every hard line in his face had gone somewhere else while he slept, leaving behind something that looked almost—

I stopped that thought before it finished.

I didn’t move. Barely breathed.

He was right there. Inches away. Close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes rested dark against his cheek.

Heat crawled up my neck. Into my face.

I thought about last night.

All of it.

I pressed my burning cheek against the pillow and squeezed my eyes shut.

I had *kissed* him. I had reached for him. Grabbed him. Said things—

A small, mortified sound escaped me before I could stop it.

"You’re thinking too loud."

His voice. Rough with sleep. Right next to my ear.

My whole body stiffened.

I opened my eyes. Slowly.

He was looking at me. Still half-asleep, one eye barely open. But that slight, dangerous curve at the corner of his mouth was very much awake.

"I wasn’t—" I started.

"You were." He turned his head slightly toward me. Not moving otherwise. "Your face is red."

"It’s not."

"It is." A beat. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"No."

"For how long?"

"I wasn’t—" I pushed myself up onto my elbow. "I just woke up."

He made a sound. Low. Not quite a laugh.

"You’re a bad liar," he said.

I looked away. Stared at the window.

My face was definitely still red.

The mate bond pulsed. Warm. Lazy. Like even it was still half-asleep.

I heard him move. The shift of sheets. And then his hand found my chin—easy, unhurried—and turned my face back toward him.

He was closer now. Much closer.

He watched me for a second. Something moved in those green eyes. Something I couldn’t read.

He said nothing.

I waited for him to push. To say something sharp and cutting that would make this worse.

He didn’t.

Instead he just—looked at me. For a long, quiet moment that stretched until I wanted to climb out of my own skin.

Then he leaned in.

I froze.

His mouth brushed mine. Soft. Almost nothing.

Different from last night. Different from any time before that.

He didn’t rush it. Didn’t grab. Just stayed there—lips against mine, barely pressing—like he had all the time in the world.

My hands were clenched in the sheets. My spine was rigid.

But not because I was terrified.

I wasn’t.

That was the terrifying part.

He pulled back. Just a little. His eyes were open, watching me.

"You didn’t go stiff," he said.

I hadn’t. I realized that only now.

"Don’t make it a big deal," I muttered.

The corner of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t his usual cold smirk. It was something else. Briefer. Lighter.

It disappeared almost instantly.

"Breakfast," he said.

---

The dining room felt different with him actually at the table.

Not just across from me at lunch—but beside me, moving through the morning like he owned everything in it, which of course he did. Staff moved out of his way without being told. Coffee appeared before he reached for it. The room rearranged itself around him.

I sat in my usual chair and focused on my plate.

The food had flavor this morning.

That was new.

Eggs. Toast. Something with fresh herbs. I ate carefully, methodically, waiting for my stomach to protest. It didn’t. I managed half a plate before I slowed down. More than I’d managed in days.

Nicolas ate across from me. Fast. Efficient. Like eating was just a thing to get through.

Neither of us talked.

But it was different from the usual silence. Less like being trapped in a room with a predator. More like—

I didn’t have a word for it.

I was still thinking about that. About whether that was better or worse. About the fact that he’d kissed me this morning like it was nothing and I hadn’t flinched.

The door opened.

Roman walked in.

My spine straightened on reflex.

He stopped when he saw me. Something crossed his face—there for half a second, gone almost immediately. But I caught it. I always caught it.

Disapproval. Barely contained.

He turned to Nicolas. "My lord. Good morning."

"Roman." Nicolas didn’t look up from his coffee. "Sit. I want to go over the eastern report."

Roman sat. He set a folder on the table. Not once did he look at me directly. But I felt his awareness of me. The careful, deliberate way he angled himself just slightly away. Like I was something he didn’t want to touch.

I looked back down at my plate.

Nicolas took the folder. Flipped it open. His eyes moved across the page.

"The Iron Thorn situation. The intelligence compilation is complete. Andrei delivered the full report last night."

I stopped chewing.

Iron Thorn. My former pack.

Nicolas’s expression didn’t change. "And?"

"It’s comprehensive." Roman’s voice stayed flat. Professional. "Weaknesses identified. Financial exposure. Three rival families who would benefit from a leadership change."

"Good."

"Will there be war with Iron Thorn?"

Both of them looked at me.

Roman’s expression went carefully, precisely blank.

Nicolas looked at me the way you’d look at something small that had unexpectedly made a noise. Not angry. Not dismissive.

Curious.

I kept my voice even. I didn’t know why I’d asked. I hated Iron Thorn. I hated everything about it. I hadn’t spent a single night in the last year thinking about those people with anything except cold, settled dread.

But the question had come out anyway.

Nicolas tilted his head. Something moved in those green eyes.

Then he smiled.

Not a warm smile. Not the almost-thing from this morning.

This was the other kind. The one that didn’t reach his eyes. The one that made people remember exactly who they were talking to.

"Yeah," he said. Casual. Easy. Like we were discussing the weather. "I’m going to attack them. Iron Thorn first, then whoever’s stupid enough to stand beside them."

He picked up his coffee again.

"And when it’s done," he continued, his voice dropping to something quieter and much more dangerous, "I’m going to take their heads and hang them from the city walls."

He looked at me over the rim of the cup.

"What do you think?"