My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 8: Regret and inferiority( Killian’s POV)

I need to pull myself together.

Really.

One coherent thought—just one.

Step one: give Emiliano the damn formula. Step two: get Damian.

Step three: move him to the farthest corner of the continent.

Step four: find Luther.

Wherever that slippery little brat is hiding. Preferably before his dad finds out and rips my spine out like a daisy chain.

Honestly? That sounds kind of relaxing.

Yes, I know—I’m drunk, lustful, sleep-deprived and making deals with people who probably eat each other for fun and not in a kinky way.

But the real problem here is that if I hadn’t helped Luther, Lucrezia would’ve blackmailed him into marrying .

And yeah, okay, that’s not exactly the worst idea.

We’d be hot together.

Power couple.

The tabloids would cream themselves.

But I want Luther to want .

To look at like I’m not just the lesser evil. Is that so much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

I could’ve just married him and worked out the feelings later. Classic —full of bad decisions and post-release regrets.

God, I’m so stupid. Whatever.

I’m done letting Lucrezia pull the strings like I’m her personal marionette in overpriced shoes.

I can win Luther over.

I’m charming.

I’m rich.

I have cheekbones sharp enough to kill soone in the right lighting.

I’ve lost the plot again, haven’t I?

Anyway—flashback ti.

Two weeks ago.

Hotel room.

, Claus, Luther.

Three idiots, one bottle of whiskey, and enough tension to light a building on fire.

Claus and I were circling each other like stray cats hissing over a very pretty bone.

Luther just sat there and said, cool as a cucumber,

"I need hallucinogens and fake petals."

I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t.

He wanted to dose Lucrezia’s tea and cover up the petals on his oga mark.

Sothing about hiding his flower—ogas have flower petals in the corner of their eyes, don’t ask why.

)

I’m too drunk and too tired to keep up with biology and symbolism right now.

So what did I do? I got him the drugs.

Through Damian.

And then Lucrezia found out.

And now I’m out here offering pharmaceutical gold to a psychopath with mummy issues, trying to trade back a spy I never cared about in the first place.

Soone please shoot . Or better yet—don’t. I want to see how bad this gets.

God. Who am I even talking to?

I’m parked.

I haven’t eaten in twenty hours.

My shirt’s wrinkled. I look like I crawled out of a dumpster behind a Gucci outlet.

And of course—he enters like he owns the city.

"Quick, aren’t you?" I snarked, side-eyeing him. "I was expecting an underling, not you actually showing up."

"I wanted to see your expression when you get what you asked for."

"So cryptic," I muttered. "Do people actually find you interesting, or is being irritating just your emotional support hobby?"

"Do you have the recipe?"

Sharp tone.

Sharp eyes.

The kind of sharp that makes your instincts whisper run.

"Yeah."

"Good. You destroyed everything else, right? This is the only one remaining."

"Yes. Only you have the recipe. Just like you asked."

He smiled like he already owned my bones.

"Great," he said. "As we speak, in about ten seconds after I exit the car, your phone will ring. The lesser oga you wanted will let you know he was delivered safely to your apartnt."

My stomach flipped.

"How did you—"

"I know everything. Your apartnt. Your sister’s. Your aunt’s. I even know how many strands of hair are clogging your shower drain right now."

Goosebumps. Actual goosebumps.

What a psycho.

"Anyway."

He cleared his throat, like we were in a polite business eting.

Then he started ripping the f--king recipe apart.

Right there.

In front of .

Page by page.

Shredded.

"What the f--k are you doing, Emiliano?!"

He didn’t even blink.

"Playing around. You don’t really think I need your little research, do you? I developed this drug years ago."

Years ago.

And he laughs.

Just... laughs.

Like my years of work were a crayon doodle.

My pulse shot up so fast I thought my head might explode.

And then, right before he got out, he leaned in like he was telling a secret:

"Oh. Should I send your regards to Luther?"

Door shut.

Silence.

What did this psychopath just said?