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

here. In the house she loved, not far from this very spot. It’s crazy how I can look around this room one second and just see the emptiness. The dust. The decay.

Then I blink, and it’s full of life, the halls echoing with laughter. Liv’s… I can see her, standing at that counter over there, her hair loose, hips swaying. Barefoot, she’d be wearing a brightly colored dress that popped against the beige walls. “The brighter, the better,” she used to tease. “I need some way of getting your attention, old man.”

God, it’s like she’s here, her back to me, her neck bare. I reach for her…

And she vanishes. I eye my hands, startled by the calluses and scars that weren’t there in the past. The ravages of time have spared Liv, but they’ve hammered me.

Even her face is getting harder to recall. The same one I once spent hours memorizing every inch of, tracing every last freckle. On the other hand, her death is etched into my fucking skull—her body, lying limp, the puddles of her blood dotting the floor—but the good times are just fleeting snippets…

I only have myself to blame. I’ve spent damn near a decade drowning myself in alcohol just to forget her. The fact that I succeeded shouldn’t come as a shock.

“You okay?”

I shake my head to make sure the figure standing in the doorway is really here. Luciano. When I blink, the bastard doesn’t disappear. Going off his raised eyebrow, I suspect he’s been standing there for a while.

“Yeah. I’m fine. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Food,” he replies, crossing to the fridge. “For your other guest, or did you forget?” He inclines his head toward the doorway, but a glimpse of black curls is all I get of the tiny figure lurking just out of sight.

Kisa Salvatore.

If I weren’t set on sobriety, she would be another figure I’d want to wash from my skull.

“What do you plan on doing with her?” Luciano asks, lowering his voice. “Sell her to the Saleris?”

I haven’t thought about it. I could always let her go. Dealing with the Saleris would be more trouble than it’s worth.

Though, I didn’t exactly think through taking her in the first place. Damn. Fabio’s been selective in his choosing which battles to fight. He complains about the fucking house but not the shit I’ve brought inside it. A new wife. A stolen child.

History repeating itself.

Who knows, tomorrow I might return to find blood splattered on the walls and bodies lying in the foyer. I can almost smell the salt. Around me, the cupboards distort, dripping red…

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Luciano snaps. His eyes are on my hands, grasping for the nearest wall.

“Nothing,” I snap. When I look up, the blood has vanished. “I’m fine.”

Leaving the kitchen, I enter the hall.

Fabio was right. Finding the man who set me up and staying one step ahead of Mischa is all that matters. The best method to achieve both goals is to fall back into my old role. Run the famiglia. Hunt for clues. Come up with a plan and make my glorious return to the city’s criminal stage.

Donatello is back, and he’s not afraid of anyone.

Least of all, Mischa Stepanov.

“Where are you going?” Luciano asks.

“To read about a waterfront property listing,” I call back. “It’s time to find a needle in a fucking haystack.”

Fabio and his hunches are never wrong, but he can be prone to a paranoid streak every now and again, which isn’t surprising, given his line of work. Money is the root of all evil, and he makes a living laundering it clean.

If Mischa or anyone else has their sights set on the city’s west waterfront, I can’t see the appeal. Developing a port from scratch would cost more money than it’s worth. Why pick Hell’s Gambit in the first place?

I can’t focus. Rather than ruminate over property listings, my attention keeps returning to the same damn subject.

The same woman.

Fuck! It was stupid to let her go with Fabio. Mischa will be there, hovering over his wife. If the bastard is smart—and he is—he’ll grab her, our “engagement” be damned. The second they enter Mercy, the mafiya will be waiting. My eyes narrow at the thought, and I plant my fist against the desk, scattering the documents lying there.

But would she go willingly?

Trying to predict her is dangerous. Almost as risky as letting her climb into my bed in the first place. I close my eyes and still see her. That haunting gaze. Those wet lips parted, eyes widening with an enticing fucking mixture of curiosity and alarm. Like she didn’t even know what pleasure was…

“You don’t know the first damn thing about what really happens between a man and a woman,” I told her. “You’ve never fucked…and I’m assuming you’ve never touched yourself, either.”

I’m still sure of that. Just like I know, this was her aim all along. To get inside my head and infect my lungs with her smell. Distract me to the point of such carelessness that I’ll let her skip right out of my reach.

Though, is she ready to quit playing with me?

I could always get there and find out for myself. I should do that. Grab her. Make her choose.

Mischa or me?

My vengeful fantasy goes murky before I have a clear answer as to who she’d pick. If I had to guess, no one could force “Willow” to do a damn thing.

Again, I recall those eyes heavy lidded, glittering in the dark. They bore into mine fearlessly, like she had every right to be there. To see into my damn soul.

She thinks she owns it.

It’s wrong to compare her to Liv. Fuck my brain for even going there, turning from the mafiya princess only to dredge up an old memory.

“I never know what you’re thinking,” she told me. The context is murky, but she looked sad. Damn, I hated the way her eyes could get like that, a cloudy shade in