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

I croak out a laugh, dragging a hand through my hair. Part of my reflection is visible in the metal base of a nearby lamp, proving Fabio’s initial assessment accurate; I look like shit. “If you’re cursing, it must be serious.”

“You’re damn right I am. It isn’t good for you. And Willow? What do you think must be going through her mind to be back here?”

Oh, but I know exactly what’s on “Willow’s” mind, and it has nothing to do with the past. Just revenge. The little witch aims to torment me. Punish me. Drive me fucking insane.

And after last night? I think she succeeded.

My eyes drift to the bottle nearby, and I curl a fist to keep from grabbing it. Though, hell, why shouldn’t I take more? I’d down every last pill just to wipe that moment from my memory.

Fabio snatches the pills first, returning them to his pocket. “Don’t tell me I’m going to regret giving you these,” he grumbles. “The last thing we need is to have you relapse in any shape or form.”

“Speak for yourself.” I’d kill for a sip of liquor right about now. I’d go out and find one too, if it weren’t for Vincenzo. I should be by his bedside as he recovers, not playing house with some mafiya witch.

“Maybe I should overdose,” I suggest coldly. “At least then you couldn’t bar me from the fucking hospital—”

“And now,” Fabio says gently, “we cut to the heavy stuff. There’s a reason why I didn’t want you to see Vin. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to be angry?”

I’m not ready for the fear that slams into me like a gut punch, and I grapple for the edge of the desk. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Fabio’s smile is tired but authentic. “Better than fine, actually. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but the nurses have already noted a marked improvement. Far better progress than even the most optimistic predictions.”

I feel a corner of my mouth twitch upward. My Vin was always a fighter. Yet, Fabio’s own actions undermine the good news.

“He’s doing better,” I rasp. “So why keep that from me?”

“Because I don’t want you barging in there and camping out by his bedside, that’s why.” I’ve known him long enough to guess what he’s too classy to say out loud—You’ll fuck it all up.

He thinks I’ll do more than visit Vin—perhaps take a detour and pay Mischa’s family the same respect he’s shown toward mine.

Is he wrong? I scoff rather than dwell upon an answer. “Glad to see you have so much faith in me, Fab.”

“I do,” he counters, “and I want you to keep a clear head and squash this mess between you and Mischa. That will keep Vincenzo safe. You can’t help him by scowling around his wing, intimidating the nurses—”

“Bullshit.” I recognize the significant dip in his inflection. Fab rarely lies to me outright. Primarily because he’s piss poor at it. “You learned something,” I say, a suspicion confirmed by the way he’s averting his eyes. “What?”

“First, I need to know how well you trust what little fragments of the famiglia remain—” he jerks his chin toward the doorway. From deeper in the house, a series of footsteps betray the movements of someone else. I’d almost forgotten we aren’t alone. At least four famiglia men patrol the property, scavenged from the ranks of Antonio Salvatore.

“You know Antonio was potentially working with whoever wanted you dead,” Fabio points out. “What about them?”

A damn good question. Luciano, Antonio’s second, is the only one who seems to hold any real sway. He denied knowing about the attack and, for what it’s worth, I believe him. He’s already had more than enough chances to kill me outright.

Though I don’t believe that he’s stuck around out of the goodness of his heart, either.

“I’ll vouch for them,” I say finally. “For now.”

“Alright, then.” Fabio braces his hands against my desk and takes a deep breath. “I did some digging into the financial records of Paulie Vanetti. Whoever bankrolled his little operation definitely wasn’t Antonio Salvatore. They’re smart. Very, very clever. Hid the transaction behind a million different fucking hidey-holes. Even the best sleuth couldn’t track the original bank account for a few years at least.”

“Anyone but you,” I point out, crossing my arms. “So where did it lead?”

He frowns. “Nowhere definitive yet. There were a few offshore accounts thrown into the mix. The kind deeply embedded in several European nations that can’t be easily accessed by just anyone.”

“Anyone like Antonio Salvatore,” I admit. That bastard didn’t have that kind of political pull. Though I can think of someone who does. “That kind of intel isn’t out of the realm for someone like Mischa Stepanov.”

“Exactly. I will give you that.” Fabio strokes his chin, his brows drawn in concentration. “It doesn’t seem likely that he would accidentally mastermind an attack on his own family—”

“But it’s in his wheelhouse,” I say, sitting straighter. Renewed hunger for retaliation surges through my blood, banishing any discomfort. Fuck withdrawal. I feel better than ever. If Fabio himself can deem Mischa a threat, he couldn’t stand in my way. “Foreign influence. Dark money. It has his hallmarks.”

“It does,” Fabio admits. He would know. “I didn’t want to feed your paranoia, but remember his interest in your harbor? Well, it seems several listings on the city’s west end have suddenly been bought up. In cash. Even after the accident that happened at your port office—”

“You mean Mischa Stepanov setting it on fire?”

Fabio winces. “It’s still prime real estate. I bet whoever wants it, still does. Especially when they’ve spent over ten million to secure a bunch of rundown warehouses and random businesses.”

“Ten million?” My eyes widen. It’s an impressive sum. “That’s a lot of dark money.”

If not Mischa’s, then whose? The city’s west end is known only for abandoned warehouses from the steel mill days. Nothing