Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3), Lana Sky [summer reading list txt] 📗

Shattered Throne

Mice and Men Book 3 (The War of Roses Universe)

Lana Sky

Also by Lana Sky

The Ellie Gray Chronicles

Drain Me

Chain Me

The Complete Ellie Gray Chronicles

Beautiful Monsters

Crescendo

Refrain

Mezzo

Allegro

Club XXX

Maxim: Submit

Maxim: Obey

Maxim: Surrender

Maxim: The Complete Trilogy

Vadim: Control

Vadim: Corrupt

Vadim: Conquer

Vadim: The Complete Trilogy

Savage Fall Duet

King’s Men

King’s Horses

The Complete Savage Fall Duet

The War of Roses Universe

The War of Roses

XV: (Fifteen)

VII: (Seven)

I: (One)

The Complete War of Roses Trilogy

Of Mice and Men

Ruthless King

Queen of Thorns

Shattered Throne

Mended Crown

Painted Sin

A Touch of Dark

A Taste like Sin

The Complete Painted Sin Duet

Standalones

Pretty Perfect

Crossed Lines

Dragon Triad Duet

Moth

Flame

The Complete Dragon Triad Duet

Rockstar Rebels

Dirty Lyrics (Newsletter Exclusive)

Shattered Thorne

Shattered Thorne By Lana Sky

Copyright © 2021 by Lana Sky

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

1. Evgeni

2. Willow

3. Don

4. Evgeni

5. Willow

6. Evgeni

7. Willow

8. Don

9. Willow

10. Don

11. Willow

12. Don

13. Evgeni

14. Don

15. Evgeni

16. Don

17. Evgeni

18. Willow

19. Willow

20. Evgeni

21. Don

22. Willow

23. Evgeni

24. Don

25. Willow

26. Don

27. Willow

28. Don

Afterword

Chapter 1 of XV: War of Roses Trilogy Book 1

A Word from the Author

About the Author

Also by Lana Sky

1

Evgeni

I used to fear the dark above all else. Almost every night, I’d wake up screaming, convinced that any variety of monsters lurked within the shadows. To comfort me, my mother repeated the same bit of wisdom—Stay strong. This fear? It’s nothing.

As she saw it, the real horrors worth battling couldn’t be found on earth in physical form. No beast, or criminal, or illness around was more terrifying than what lurked within the human soul.

“The dark,” she said, “is constant. It can be fought against with light. You know what can’t be banished so easily? Sin. The things you do, the lies you tell. One day, they will be what you see in the shadows.”

She was right, of course. Monsters can be fought; beasts outrun. Neither foe is comparable to what a man learns to truly fear—himself. His past is a beast of his own making, relentless in its pursuit.

The sad part is for all her wisdom, my mother couldn’t even fathom the cruelty of men. The sins that some can easily sow with no remorse. The chilling past that lurks in their wake. She chose to see the good in anyone she met, and that kindness blinded her. So much so that she fell in love with a monster of her very own.

To her dying day, she never regretted any second of that life spent with him. I carried that burden for her, saddled with the weight of my father’s sins and her blind devotion. Once, I was naïve to think I could ignore the baggage. Face that beast and say no more.

Now? I can admit that I’ve never stopped running from it.

I still am.

“I was wrong,” a woman’s purr intrudes on my inner monologue, and I nearly swerve off the road.

Briar Winthorp. I’d forgotten she was here or maybe my brain feels driven to ignore her. Her presence is a thorn piercing through my otherwise logical thought process. Mischa fucked up and took his frustration out on me. I had every right to leave.

When he decides to listen to reason, I’ll go back and make amends.

Allowing us both enough space to process our anger is a fitting courtesy.

But I should have tossed her out of the car ten miles back, Briar Winthorp, one of the three women at the forefront of my mind. Willow Stepanova is the other, followed by a newer name. As of yet, I have no idea just where she fits within this mess regarding Mischa and Vanici, just that she’s related somehow.

Safiya Mangenello.

Suffice to say, I’d prefer the company of the latter two than the woman accompanying me now.

“I thought you were boringly predictable,” she says dryly. “A man I could trust to always do what he perceived to be ‘the right thing’ no matter the cost. But now? I see that you are just as stubborn and reckless as any other man. I should have taken my chances with the other lackey you work with.”

She sounds genuinely disappointed, and I have to scoff. “So now you drop the coy, mysterious act?”

A damn shame. I prefer her silent and smirking.

She barks out a callous laugh. “Why shouldn’t I? Given the way you stormed out of there and the fact that Mischa hasn’t joined us, I’m assuming that you reneged on our agreement to have me meet with him. You’re of no use to me now.”

Her uncanny ability to see to the core of the situation aside, I marvel at the dismissiveness in her tone.

“Is that all people are to you? Useful peons?” If so, I’m not surprised. Given her upbringing, I’m sure that Briar Winthorp excelled at living up to every last stereotype of a selfish socialite. Selfish being foremost.

“I feel it’s better to be pragmatic than emotional,” she replies with an iciness that I suspect isn’t an act. The cold gleam in her eye I spy when I glance in her direction reinforces that suspicion. “Though, I should have guessed that someone who deigns to work for my sister would be of the latter quality. Don’t forget that I did my research on you, Evgeni Volkov. A quiet, dutiful man prone to sadistic outbursts of rage.” She sounds like a student reciting her notes. Maybe she is. “I assume you and that brute Mischa had a tiff, and you stormed out. I hope it wasn’t over little old me—”

“You’re wrong,” I lie, irritated by the fact that she’s not. Beneath those coy expressions and superficiality is