Tyrone Russo – 29 years old (Dominant Alpha)

The feared mafia leader. Ruthless, powerful, and consumed by darkness. Everyone bows to him—except the one person fate bound to his side.

Remy Martins soon to be Russo– 21 years old(Submissive omega)

An innocent, shy, and gentle omega. Forced into an arranged marriage with Tyrone, he appears fragile… but his quiet strength may be the only thing capable of softening a monster’s heart.

Alexi Ricci – 28 years old (Dominant Alpha)

Tyrone’s closest friend and partner in crime. Dangerous, cunning, and equally feared, but hides his sharp edges behind a teasing, playful persona. A notorious playboy—yet his heart secretly beats for Oliver.

Oliver Russo – 21 years old(Omega)

Tyrone’s younger brother. Charismatic, warm, and quick to befriend Remy. Despite his bright personality, he hides a secret—his secret love for Alexi Ricci.

Lillian Russo- 66 years old(Omega)

Grandmother to Tyrone and Oliver. Strong-willed and loving, she raised them after their parents’ deaths. Determined to honor her late daughter-in-law’s wish: to see Remy and Tyrone united in marriage.

Liam Martins- 44 years old(Omega)

Remy’s omega mother. Gentle but resilient. Years ago, he made a promise with Tyrone’s mother—to bind their families through marriage. A vow that the now seals Remy’s fate.

Anto Rills - 21 years old(Beta)

He will be become Remy and Oliver supportive friend

**Prologue **

The underground of the Russo Group headquarters was alive with the sound of agony. A man’s raw screams bounced off the cold concrete walls, breaking into choked sobs as blood dripped from his torn lips. The single bulb above him flickered, casting long, shifting shadows.

He was tied to a chair, his body broken, his spirit cracking. Around him stood the two most feared men in the city—Tyrone Russo, the mafia boss everyone bowed before, and his childhood friend and partner, Alexi Ricci.

Tyrone stood tall, his sleeves rolled up, a knife glinting in his hand. His face was unreadable, his dark eyes colder than death itself. Beside him, Alexi leaned casually against the wall, smirking, spinning a bloodied ring between his fingers as though this were nothing more than a game.

“You killed five of my men,” Tyrone’s voice was calm, but it vibrated with restrained violence. He crouched so his face was level with the intruder’s, the knife’s edge pressing lightly against his cheek. “So tell me… who sent you?”

The man’s chest heaved. His eyes darted frantically between Tyrone’s chilling glare and Alexi’s mocking grin. He shook his head, lips sealed in fear.

Alexi chuckled and moved forward, gripping the man’s jaw hard enough to make his teeth clack together. “Wrong answer. Try again. Or would you prefer I cut out that stubborn tongue and hang it on the wall?”

The man let out a strangled cry. “Please… please, no more—”

“Then talk,” Tyrone snapped, his patience thinning. The knife dug deeper, drawing a thin line of blood.

Finally, the intruder broke. His words came out in a desperate gasp:

“Dante Moretti! It was Dante Moretti!”

The name echoed in the chamber, heavy and venomous.

Tyrone’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a storm building behind them. Dante Moretti—a rival boss. Ambitious. Reckless. Foolish enough to provoke him.

Alexi let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Dante, huh? Guess the bastard’s tired of breathing easy.” He leaned close to the intruder’s ear and whispered, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Too bad you won’t be around to watch what happens next.”

The man’s scream was cut short. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of footsteps as Tyrone turned away, already done with him.

Before the body was even dragged out, Tyrone’s secretary appeared at the doorway, her face pale. She avoided looking at the mess on the floor.

“Boss,” she said cautiously. “Your grandmother is waiting in your office.”

Tyrone froze. His grip tightened on the knife still in his hand. He already knew why she had come. For weeks now, Lillian Russo had pressed him about one thing—a marriage arranged long ago, a promise to a woman who was no longer alive.

Behind him, Alexi laughed softly. “Oh, this I have to see. The demon of the underworld about to be lectured by Grandma. Don’t worry, I’ll be here to remind you how cute you looked when she scolded you.”

Tyrone shot him a glare sharp enough to silence most men. But Alexi only grinned wider.

Upstairs, in the vast office lined with glass and shadows, Lillian Russo sat elegantly, her back straight despite her age. She had been both mother and father to Tyrone and his younger brother, Oliver, since their parents’ deaths. And Tyrone knew—knew in his bones—that there was only one person alive he could never refuse.

“Tyrone,” she said firmly as he entered. Her eyes softened for only a heartbeat before hardening again. “The time has come. In two weeks, you will be married.”

He said nothing, only leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening. Refusal wasn’t an option. Not with her. Not when she spoke of promises tied to his late omega mother, Rino.

When Lillian finally left, escorted to her car, she

lingered for a moment, staring at the night sky.

“Rino,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve kept your wish. Your son will not walk alone.”

The car drove into the dark, leaving Tyrone alone in his office—the name Dante Moretti still burning in his mind, and the weight of a marriage he could not escape pressing on his shoulders.

The soft morning light filtered through white curtains, filling the Martins’ household with a quiet warmth. The air smelled faintly of lavender and fresh bread from the kitchen.

Remy Martins sat at the small wooden table, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. His omega mother, Liam, hummed softly as he plated breakfast. It was peaceful—almost fragile, like a dream that could shatter with the wrong touch.

Remy had always been quiet, gentle by nature. At twenty-two, he still carried a softness in his features, the kind of innocence that made people instinctively want to protect him. His shy smile, his downcast lashes—he was a soul untouched by cruelty. Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.

“Remy,” Liam said as he set a plate in front of him, his voice tender but carrying a weight Remy couldn’t quite name. “Eat before it gets cold.”

“Yes, Mama,” Remy replied softly, picking at his food.

Liam sat across from him, watching his son with eyes that had seen too much, eyes that carried secrets. He knew today was not like any other day. For years, a promise had lingered between him and a woman long gone—a promise that would soon pull his son into a world far different from the gentle one he had built here.

“Remy,” Liam began carefully, fingers curling around his teacup. “There’s something you need to prepare yourself for.”

Remy looked up, puzzled. “What is it?”

Before Liam could answer, the heavy sound of cars stopping outside broke the morning calm. Through the window, black vehicles lined the street, their presence commanding, suffocating.

Remy’s heart skipped. He didn’t recognize them, but instinct whispered danger.

Moments later, a knock echoed at the door—firm, final.

Liam’s face softened, but his voice was steady. “It’s time, Remy.” He reached across the table, holding his son’s hand tightly. “Remember what I always told you—no matter where life takes you, no matter who stands before you, never lose yourself.”

Remy’s brows furrowed in confusion, fear curling in his chest. “Mama… what’s happening?”

The door opened, and men in dark suits filled the small space with their looming presence. They bowed slightly—not to Remy, but to Liam.

“Mr. Martins,” one of them said. “We’ve come to escort your son.”

Remy’s pulse raced. Escort? To where? His wide eyes turned to his mother, silently pleading for answers.

Liam squeezed his hand one last time. His smile trembled, but his voice was firm. “To where he belongs. To the one he was promised to.”

The words hit Remy like a thunderclap. His breath caught in his throat.

Promised?

To who?

Before he could form the question, one of the men stepped forward, his tone clipped, respectful but unyielding.

“You are to be married to Tyrone Russo. The preparations begin today.”

The name was unfamiliar to Remy, but the dread it carried was unmistakable. He felt the walls of his safe little world closing in, crumbling with each heartbeat.

Remy’s tea cup slipped from his trembling fingers, shattering on the floor.

The convoy of cars rolled into the sprawling Russo estate, engines rumbling like thunder before settling into silence. The wrought-iron gates closed behind them with a metallic clang, sealing the world outside away.

For Remy Martins, every second felt unreal. He sat stiffly in the back seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap, staring out at the looming mansion that awaited him. It was beautiful in a cold, merciless way—stone walls, sharp lines, endless windows like eyes watching everything.

When the door opened, the chill of the evening air hit him. A guard gestured for him to step out. His legs trembled as he obeyed, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on him.

Inside, the mansion was grand and suffocating. Black marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers, and the silence was heavy, as though the walls themselves demanded obedience. Guards lined the corridors, their stares sharp, their expressions unreadable.

At the far end of the hall, a man stood waiting.

Tyrone Russo.

Remy’s breath caught. Tyrone was taller than he expected, broad-shouldered, his presence dark and commanding. Dressed in black, his tailored suit molded to his frame like armor. His expression was carved from stone, and his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—locked onto Remy with ruthless precision.

Remy felt stripped bare under that gaze, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“So,” Tyrone’s deep voice rumbled, smooth but heavy with disdain, “this is the one they expect me to marry?”

The words struck Remy like a blow. His lips parted, but no sound came. His instinct screamed at him to lower his head, to make himself small. And yet… something in him resisted. His fists curled at his sides, a quiet rebellion flickering in his chest.

Before Remy could respond, another voice broke through the thick silence.

“Brother, you’re scaring him.”

All eyes turned to the grand staircase. Oliver Russo, Tyrone’s younger brother, descended with an ease that contrasted everything about the mansion. His presence was lighter, his smile warm, his dark eyes holding no malice.

“Oliver,” Tyrone said flatly, irritation lacing his tone.

“Don’t ‘Oliver’ me,” the younger man shot back, brushing past his brother as though he weren’t the most feared man in the city. Oliver approached Remy and offered his hand with a grin. “I’m Oliver. And you must be Remy.”

Remy blinked, startled by the kindness in his voice. Hesitant at first, he placed his smaller hand in Oliver’s. The handshake was firm but gentle, grounding him after the storm of Tyrone’s presence.

“Y-yes,” Remy whispered.

Oliver smiled wider. “Don’t worry. Not everyone in this house bites.” He threw a playful glance at his brother. “Well… at least not all the time.”

Tyrone’s jaw ticked, his dark eyes narrowing. Oliver, as always, was fearless in the face of his temper.

“Enough,” Tyrone warned, his tone sharp.

But Oliver ignored him completely, focusing instead on Remy. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said softly, lowering his voice so only Remy could hear. “You’ll get used to the walls here… eventually. And I’ll be around.”

Something in Remy’s chest loosened. The warmth in Oliver’s words was like sunlight cutting through heavy clouds. For the first time since leaving home, he felt a flicker of comfort.

Before he could reply, a slow clap echoed from the shadows.

“Well, isn’t this heartwarming?”

From the corner of the hall, Alexi Ricci stepped into the light, his grin sharp and mischievous. His suit was immaculate, his hair casually tousled, his whole demeanor radiating danger wrapped in charm.

“Remy, is it?” Alexi’s eyes swept over him with predatory curiosity. “Sweet, shy, innocent little thing… I can see why Grandma chose you. Quite the contrast to our dear Tyrone.”

Remy flinched at the attention, but Oliver stepped subtly closer, a protective edge to his posture.

“Alexi,” Tyrone’s voice was low, warning.

“What?” Alexi spread his hands in mock innocence, smirking. “I’m only making conversation. It’s not every day we meet our boss’s future omega. Though…” His eyes flicked to Oliver with a teasing glint. “Some of us are far more eager to welcome him than others.”

Oliver’s cheeks warmed instantly. “Shut up, Alexi.”

Remy’s eyes darted between them, confusion mixing with embarrassment.

Alexi chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, then leaned lazily against a pillar. “Relax, sunshine. You’ll figure out soon enough—this family is far more entertaining than it looks.”

Remy didn’t know what to say. His heart was still racing from Tyrone’s cold scrutiny, yet Oliver’s warmth and Alexi’s playful teasing tugged him in opposite directions.

Tyrone stepped forward then, his towering presence silencing the room. His gaze locked onto Remy, and though his face betrayed nothing, there was a weight in it—danger, control, inevitability.

“Enough introductions,” Tyrone said. “Dinner. Now.”

And just like that, Remy realized his life had changed forever.