What's Wrong With Being An Omega Nanny? Chapter 163: Busted!

The dominant oga stepped back when she saw the insignia on Harlan’s gun, her eyes widening as she shook her head slowly. The gold emblem glinted under the dim lights of the trade room, unmistakable to anyone who knew the Corleone na. She stared at it for a long second, her lips parting in disbelief. "No," she whispered, almost to herself. "It’s fake. Anyone can fake that."

But even as she said it, doubt crept in. The way Harlan held the steady weapon... like it was an extension of his hand. The calm in his eyes, the way he didn’t flinch when all those guns turned on him... it felt too real. Her mind raced.

’Could he actually be from the Corleone house?’ The thought made her stomach twist. If he was, then everything she had built here... the control, the power, the money... was over.

She swallowed hard, forcing her expression back to cold confidence.

"It doesn’t matter," she said loudly, turning to the guards. "Kill the intruder. Whether he’s from the Corleone house or not, he doesn’t leave this room alive."

The guards didn’t hesitate. The first shots rang out—sharp, loud cracks that bounced off the concrete walls. Bullets tore through the air, aid straight at Harlan.

Harlan moved instantly. He dropped low, rolling to the side as rounds splintered the chair he had been sitting in. Wood fragnts flew, one grazing his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. He ca up on one knee, breathing steady, and paused for half a second. The suit felt restrictive around his arms. He rolled up his sleeves quickly, exposing thick forearms corded with muscle, then cracked his neck once.

The oga yelled from the side, her voice sharp with frustration.

"He’s just one man! Get closer! Knives! Daggers! End him!"

The guards listened. Guns were good for distance, but Harlan was already moving too fast, weaving between tables and pillars. They switched tactics, pulling knives and daggers from belts and hidden sheaths. Four of them advanced first, blades gleaming under the lights, faces set in grim determination.

Harlan saw them coming. He had no dagger of his own yet, but he didn’t wait. He charged the closest one... a tall man with a curved blade... ducked under the swing, and drove his fist into the man’s gut. The guard doubled over, air rushing out of him. Harlan grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted hard, and yanked the dagger free as the man dropped to his knees gasping.

He spun, blade in hand, and t the next attacker. This one lunged with a straight thrust aid at his chest. Harlan sidestepped, caught the wrist, and drove the stolen dagger up through the man’s forearm. The guard scread, dropping his weapon. Harlan didn’t pause... he kicked the man’s knee out, sending him crashing to the floor, then turned to face the other two.

The room was in chaos now. Tables overturned, drinks spilt, the auction stage abandoned. The VIP n in the back were shouting, so trying to hide, others yelling for security. The Ogas chained to the display posts watched with wide eyes... fear, hope, disbelief all mixed together.

Harlan had expected a simple takedown—knockouts, restraints, nothing fatal. But the bloodlust in their eyes told him otherwise. These n weren’t here to capture. They were here to kill.

So he fought with everything in him. He had to survive. He had to make sure they didn’t reach the door, didn’t escape, or didn’t hurt anyone else.

The next guard ca at him with two daggers, slashing in quick arcs. Harlan parried with his single blade, tal clanging against tal. Sparks flew. He stepped inside the man’s reach, elbowed him in the throat, then drove the dagger into his side. The guard gasped, eyes wide, and collapsed.

The fourth man hesitated, seeing three of his friends down already. Harlan didn’t give him ti. He threw the dagger straight and it buried itself in the man’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall. The guard scread, dropping his weapons.

The room went quiet for a heartbeat, only the distant thump of music from upstairs and the groans of the wounded.

Harlan stood in the centre, breathing hard, blood on his hands... but not his own. He looked around. Bodies littered the floor. The three remaining guards were panting, weapons shaking in their hands. The oga watched from the side, her face pale but furious.

She stepped forward. "Finish him," she ordered the three. "Do it, and I’ll grant you freedom. Full release. Money. I’ll give you whatever you want."

The three looked at each other. One of them... older, scarred... shook his head. "He’s too fast. We’ll die."

The oga’s eyes flashed. "Do it, or I’ll kill you myself."

They hesitated, then charged.

Harlan exhaled deeply. He could hear the loud banging from the door... Viktor and the team are trying to break in.

He smiled grimly. "I guess I should just hold on for five minutes," he muttered to himself.

He had no bullets left... his gun was empty. Only the stolen dagger in his hand. There were guns on the floor, scattered from the fallen guards, but they were too far to reach without turning his back.

The three n rushed him at once. The first swung a heavy blade in a wide arc. Harlan ducked, rolled forward, ca up behind him, and stabbed downward into the man’s calf. The guard dropped with a howl. Harlan didn’t stop... he spun, blocked a second attack with his forearm, took the hit, then drove his knee into the second man’s ribs. Bone cracked. The man staggered.

The third was smarter. He waited for an opening, then lunged low, aiming for Harlan’s stomach. The blade sliced across Harlan’s side—shallow, but it burned. Blood soaked his shirt. He grunted, grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted, and slamd him face-first into the table. The man went limp.

The first guard was back up, limping, swinging wildly. Harlan caught the blade on his forearm... steel bit deep, blood flowed freely.

He ignored the pain, headbutted the man, then finished him with a hard strike to the throat. The guard fell, gurgling.

Harlan stood panting, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his arm and side. The room was silent except for the banging on the door, louder now.

The Ogas chained to the posts watched him with hope in their eyes... wide, shining, so crying quietly. One of them whispered, "He’s doing it... He’s really doing it."

Harlan wiped blood from his face and looked at the last guard standing. The man was panting, with his knife raised, but fear in his eyes.

Harlan took a step forward.

Then he heard gunshots.

He thought at first it was Viktor and the team finally breaking through. But the last guard jerked, eyes wide, and fell forward, blood blooming on his back.

The shot ca from behind Harlan.

From the oga.

She stood there, gun in hand, smoke curling from the barrel. She had shot her own man.

Harlan turned slowly, confusion on his face. "Why?"

She called the fallen guard a weakling under her breath, then walked toward Harlan, gun steady in her hand.

"You have no weapon left. I have one. I’ll be the victor in this little ga."

Harlan lifted his hands slowly, palms out. "You can’t do anything. Your n are down. The door’s coming down soon."

She smirked, then laughed... a cold, sharp sound. She raised the gun and fired once into the ceiling. Plaster rained down. The VIP guests in the back scread, ducking. The Ogas at the corners shrieked in fear, chains rattling.

She said, "Maybe you are from the Corleone house after all. But you’re not returning alive. It’s a goodbye."

She aid at his chest.

Before she could pull the trigger, sothing silver flashed through the air.

A dagger pierced her hand. The gun clattered to the floor.

She scread, clutching her bleeding hand.

Harlan rushed forward to grab the fallen weapon.

He looked up... and saw who threw the dagger.

It was the sa beautiful oga Ethan had talked about... the one with the ponytail.

The oga stood near the back wall, breathing hard, eyes wide. As soon as he threw the dagger, he collapsed to his knees, exhausted.

Harlan walked toward him quickly. Not just him... the other Ogas chained nearby rushed forward too, as far as their chains allowed, calling his na.

"Alex! Alex!"

"Help him!"

"Even if you can’t save us... Please save Alex!"

Harlan knelt beside the ponytail oga... no, Alex... checking him over. The oga was in bad shape... bruises on his arms, cuts on his neck, eyes glassy with pain and fatigue.

Harlan asked urgently, "What happened to you? Why are you like this?"

Before Alex could answer, the door burst open with a deafening crack.

Viktor and Ethan barged in with the rest of the team—guns raised, moving fast.

Ethan rushed straight to Alex, dropping to his knees. "No... what happened to him? Hey—talk to . Are you okay?"

Viktor and his n pointed their guns at the dominant oga, who was still clutching her bleeding hand, face twisted in shock.

Viktor stepped forward, voice cold. "You’re done. You’re busted."

The dominant oga looked from Harlan to Viktor to the team, then to the fallen guards, then to Alex.

Her face paled.

"Why? Isn’t this ga supposed to be over when you lot murdered my entire family?"