Mafia Casanova

I made damn sure of it.

From early on, I was chosen as the boss’s favorite, not once trying to hide the fact that he wanted me to partner with him, standing to the right of his throne.

One day, I’d rule the underworld.

Where Tristian was weak, I was strong. I didn’t give a flying fuck what I had to do. I did as I was told, enjoying it every step of the way. My brother, on the other hand, he was too emotional, too involved. He felt too much, exactly like our mother. I felt nothing; it was just easier that way.

I learned from his mistakes.

I corrected his slipups.

I made sure to make up for his flaws.

You see, Tristian had a heart.

I was certain…

I didn’t.

Cold.

Dark.

Lethal.

Mafia Casanova was what everyone labeled me.

Tristian narrowed his eyes in my direction. “Just because I’m not named after a pussy doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around one.”

My lips twitched in amusement while uncertainty crossed his features. He was always so damn easy to read.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He threw the shot of tequila back. “Leave it to you to give me actual performance anxiety before I’m even on deck. Son of a bitch, I hate you sometimes.”

“You love me; everyone does.”

His eyes fell for a bit before he tossed back another shot. “Yeah, that’s the problem. How’s a guy supposed to get laid around here with you cock blocking me every time?”

I didn’t flinch.

I was good at appearing aloof.

I had to be; it was the way I stayed alive.

Seduce.

Satisfy.

Kill.

Welcome to the Sinacore Family.

Cheers.

But something about the way he said it rubbed me the wrong way, maybe because I’d heard it my entire life, how every girlfriend from first grade to present day had eyes for me and only me and gazed right past him.

I shouldn’t say every woman.

Eden.

My forbidden fruit.

She was always the one who never fell for my bullshit no matter how hard I tried. Then again, she grew up learning how to read people too. She was a lot like us, except she was a little girl who turned into a woman as if it happened overnight. Her father didn’t hold the power or level of authority that ours did, but she still learned all the tricks, knowing how to defend herself with more than her favorite gun or knives.

I had the fucking scar on my right thigh to prove it. The memory of attempting to kiss her during our senior year of high school struck my mind.

Except, I’d like to think it was her way of foreplay.

She threatened to stab me again when I realized I’d just said that out loud.

I gripped her wrist. “I let you attack me once. It won’t happen again.”

She glared at me.

No one could get my heart racing, and my cock hard quite like she could. Especially when she was trying to prove she was capable of being more than just a woman in a man’s world.

I loved her.

Tristian and I both did.

Nevertheless, I loved my brother more.

There was a line I never crossed when it came to Eden. Her garden wasn’t mine to plow my seed in.

“Speaking of my growing fan base…” I winked at Tristian, letting her go. “Where’s the three to our threesome at tonight?”

“She’s right here, and it’s not a threesome since I still refuse to participate,” she teased, playing coy.

Eden was smart; she knew I wanted her.

Needed her.

Craved her like an addict craves heroin.

Tristian’s eyes immediately darkened, drinking her in. I, however, refused to turn around. I already knew what I’d see.

Tits.

Ass.

Legs.

Long ones that seemed to go on forever. Yet somehow, they matched her curves. Triggering my hands to burn with the desire to caress up and down her body.

Marking.

Claiming.

Making her mine.

Until she begged me to stop.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

Years of pent-up sexual tension would do that to any man, and I was no different. She had the power to bring me to my knees if she sought it out enough. I refused to allow her to come in between my brother and me.

Even though I wanted her more than anything and anyone.

“Eden.” I gestured for another drink. “We started without you.”

She reached around me, grabbing the shot from the bartender. “You always do. I’m no longer surprised. So what are we celebrating?”

I slowly turned, keeping my eyes locked on hers. Fighting with the urge to glance down her body. Eden demanded respect, attention; I’d never treat her as if she was just another victim of my charm.

She was different.

Immune.

Not interested.

She loved me, but not in the same way I did her. Hence, the fucking knife in my thigh senior year. Saying some shit about dying rather than hooking up with someone who used scratches on his bedpost as a way to climb to the top.

There was a joke in there somewhere about being on top, spewing out of my mouth, of course. The way she was looking at me had my mind lost in its own thoughts.