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

all. Considering his detour to Vincenzo’s wing, her injury turned out to be more of a convenience than anything.

Or an intentional ploy. Would he really harm a child to suit his own motives?

Of course, he would. He was the one who took Kisa from her home in the first place, according to Luciano. He killed her father and threw her in the trunk of a car as though she were a piece of luggage. Cutting her would be par for the course for him.

And yet this sick, pathetic voice in my head keeps whispering that he wouldn’t.

I inspect him from the back seat as he drives, Fabio beside him. The reddish glow of passing headlights illuminates his features, enhancing the deep amber of his eyes and the stubble on his chin. If Kisa resembles a ghost, then he is the devil holding her soul captive, every bit the callous crime lord he claims to be—and these past few days have given me more than enough proof to support that image.

I should hate him. I do.

And yet… The little girl I used to be is harder to smother than I thought. She still can’t pair that reality of who he is with the figure in my memories. I close my eyes, and I still see him—the charming Donny who played with me. Who read me bedtime stories until I fell asleep. Who swore to protect me.

The very same man who wrote passionate letters to his wife in explicit detail.

Then I open my eyes and see the monster who stripped me naked and turned my misery into his game. Jerking my chin, I stare from the window, watching darkness paint the city black. My heart pounds at the thought of returning to Havienna. Fabio won’t stick around forever, and I’ll have to face Donatello Vanici again.

I’m not fooled by his silence. He’s going out of his way to ignore me now, but I sense an invisible timer ticking the seconds down.

The question he asked near Vincenzo’s room still echoes clearly in my mind. What did he say? Sooner or later, he’ll demand an answer.

And Vincenzo’s words alone should cement the cruelty of who Donatello Vanici is at his core. He told him I was dead. All this time, he let him believe that. It’s beyond malicious. It’s cruel.

“Finally,” Fabio exclaims.

Sick with dread, I follow his gaze, and my heart sinks when I spy the house looming on the horizon.

When we pull into the driveway, Donatello exits the vehicle without saying a word, his body bathed in shadow, eyes blazing like hellfire.

“Well, today was eventful.” Fabio appears before me, extending a hand to help me from the car. “You should try to get some sleep,” he continues. “By the way, Donatello, I made some calls and had my assistant find the documents you wanted. I’ll come by tomorrow before the meeting. I expect to find you here, having fully rested, okay?”

The other man is already storming up the front steps, barging into the house without a response.

“He’s not too talkative, is he?” someone remarks, stepping forward. Luciano. He drove the van behind us, though I suspect not by choice. Moving quickly, he approaches the door on my end, ushering out a small figure. “Come on, Kisa.”

Together, Fabio and I follow them, the last to enter the house.

“That box,” he murmurs to me, scanning the hall warily for Donatello. “Bring it to me now. I’ll wait here.”

Only now does the amusing nature of my predicament truly sink in. From captive to unwanted house guest. It’s obvious which iteration of those roles Donatello would prefer I keep.

Fabio’s talk of “equal terms” is just that in the eyes of Donatello Vanici—talk. He prefers I be locked away, a foe he can rail against, rather than an equal he has to face on even ground.

Ironically, the foundation of this old house seems to conspire with his wishes. The floorboards creak beneath my weight, and I half expect them to crack as I mount the staircase.

From here, Donatello is visible as a shadow, marching toward his study. Up ahead, Luciano is herding Kisa down the hall into her room.

I’m ignored for the time being—time that a smart woman would use to plot some way of turning the tables again. Proving to Mischa that I don’t aim to humiliate him. He is my family.

Donatello will always be the enemy.

Being here reinforces that divide. My throat itches with every dust-choked breath I take. I miss the quiet beauty of Stepanov manor, and my old room. Thoughts of it haunt me as I ascend the rest of the steps and enter that pink hell, shutting the door behind me. The back of my neck prickles with the awareness of Donatello lurking below as I tiptoe past the box of Olivia’s belongings. Hidden beside the bed, I find the silver container untouched.

Though his motives are unclear, I doubt Fabio is a liar. He meant what he said—in exchange for the letters, he’ll arrange for me to see Ellen and Eli. It’s an offer that should easily outweigh the allure of any secrets I could uncover. There is no real choice to make.

But…

Olivia’s scent teases the air, and the truth feels far more complicated. Curiosity is a dangerous temptation—but it might be my only way to gain some leverage. Insight. To learn more of the man who wrote of his wife as though she were the driving force of his entire world.

In theory, I should only need a night to read them all. No more. Then I can give everything to Fabio without regret.

I don’t let myself overthink the action as I return the box to its hiding place. When I find Fabio, still at the base of the steps, I shrug with what I hope is a helpless expression.

“You couldn’t find it? Damn!” He strokes his chin, pacing the length of the foyer. “I know it couldn’t have gone far. Maybe I dropped it on my way to the car...”

He’s so caught