The Alpha's Mafia Luna novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Damian kept his word.

Ever since I knocked out Mira with a hardback diplomacy guide, I’d

been training at midnight. Every. Damn. Night. No sunlight. No fresh

air. Just shadows, bruises, and the whisper of steel slicing through

silence. The moon became my best friend, and my bones ached in

places I didn’t even know had nerves.

Apparently, knocking out a medical professional got you demoted to

creature–of–the–night status.

The worst part?

Mira was gone.

Damian had given her a break to “recover” from the minor concussion

I may or may not have given her. That woman was made of sugar and

sunshine–I knew I’d gone too far, but in my defense, I was trying to

escape captivity.

Now, I was locked in a room that only opened when a pair of guards

dragged me to a secret forest or training field. My new roommates

were mosquitoes and dead leaves. And every night, I trained with

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masked trackers who moved like ghosts and didn’t speak. Not a single

damn word. Just grunts and bruises.

Damian thought this would break me.

Instead, it turned me into someone who sharpened her spoons out of

boredom and memorized the weight of everything in the room–just

in case I needed a weapon.

Today, however, something changed.

A knock echoed through the silence, followed by the creak of my door

opening. I tensed on the mattress, expecting another training

summons.

But instead, a tall man in a fitted black shirt and slacks leaned

against the doorframe, sipping espresso like he hadn’t been keeping

me in isolation for a week.

Damian.

The Alpha. The Mafia King. The control freak who thought

punishment was a personality trait.

His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattoos I hadn’t noticed before-

lines of ancient symbols, wolves etched in red ink. He wore a watch

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that probably cost more than a car, and his presence filled the room

like gunpowder–quiet until lit.

“You’re being released,” he said flatly.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No more locking you in your room. You’ve proven your point.”

“Oh, have I? Which part? The part where I nearly dislocated my

shoulder fighting your ghosts, or the one where I gave your healer a

bedtime story in the form of blunt force trauma?”

His lip twitched. Not a smile. Just irritation threatening to become

amusement.

“You want normal?” he asked. “Come downstairs. We’re having

breakfast.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Do I get utensils this time?”

“You’ll behave.”

“I stabbed a fork into your wall two days ago.”

He gave me a slow, cold smile. “And yet you’re still alive. Think about

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that.”

The dining room was too fancy for a werewolf mafia boss. Long table.

Golden chandeliers. Walls that looked like they’d been kissed by

Italian artists. Fresh lilies sat in a crystal vase like something out of a

royal magazine.

I stepped in cautiously, barefoot and wild–haired, wearing the only

comfortable hoodie I had. Damian was already seated at the head of

the table, sipping coffee and flipping through files with a pen

between his fingers.

He didn’t look up when he said, “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” I muttered.

“You’re worse. Dogs listen.”

I sat.

A maid–I didn’t even know he had maids–brought a plate of

pancakes, eggs, and fruit. My stomach growled, and I hated myself for

1. it.

“You’re feeding me now?” I asked. “What’s next, belly rubs?”

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He finally looked up. “Don’t push me, Selene.”

His voice was low. Calm. But there was something dangerous under

the surface–something cold and calculated. The kind of energy that

made powerful men listen when he spoke, that made enemies

disappear.

Damian didn’t just run things. He owned them.

I bit into a strawberry, chewing slowly.

Then I saw it.

A knife.

Butter knife. Clean. Innocent–looking.

Sitting on the table right beside me.

I didn’t think.

I grabbed it and flung it at him.

It missed his head by an inch and embedded itself into the wooden

panel behind him.

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Silence.

He stared at the knife, then at me.

“Was that supposed to kill me?” he asked.

“Just checking your reflexes,” I said sweetly. “Spoiler: they suck.

He calmly set down his coffee. “Try that again.”

“Gladly.”

I reached for the second knife–the one on the fruit tray.

This one wasn’t butter. It had a real edge.

I flicked my wrist.

”

The knife spun through the air like a silver whisper, heading straight

for his heart.

And then-

He caught it.

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