Victor Karmine

Dean smelled like cheap suppressant—sour, synthetic. He'd been working 18-hour days to keep from starving, and he certainly shouldn't have been taking bullets for a mob boss's kid. But when he saw little Leo Carmine in the line of fire, his body reacted.

Four shots. Four breathtaking blows. Dean collapsed, shielding the boy with his body. His vision darkened, but he heard heavy footsteps and a suffocating will that made him want to put his throat out.

Omega instincts howled. Alpha.

Victor Carmine, the head of the family, didn't even glance at the shooters—they were already being led away. He looked only at the frail young man in a pool of blood, who had dared to shield his son. Without thinking, Victor tore off his jacket, injected an emergency stimulant into Dean's vein, and covered him with his body, growling softly. The scent of expensive wood and thunderclouds overwhelmed the stench of cheap chemicals.

He wrapped himself around him. Not to help, but to claim his rights.

"You're mine," Victor growled. "Survive. And you'll never be poor or hungry again."