Mafia Casanova

Was it when they kissed?

Was it when he touched her bruises?

Was it when she told him she loved him?

Or was it the night before when I told her I didn’t love her?

I’d been a bystander to my own death and destruction, and the pain was still burning alive inside me, threatening to spill over into a war of chaos where my white flag was up.

I surrendered.

Gave up.

Game over.

No do-overs.

No second chances.

No love for me.

Not in this life.

With a curse, I left the church lobby and went into one of the Sunday school rooms. I’d left my Glock hidden so I wouldn’t have to explain to the priest why I was packing next to the communion table. It was one of the first times in years where I’d actually chosen not to wear my gun.

I knew it bothered Eden.

I could keep her safe without a gun.

It was her wedding day.

So even though she didn’t know, I did, and that made all the difference, or it had.

“Knock, knock.” Tristian rapt his knuckles against the wood door, then crossed his arms. “You feeling okay?”

“Course.” I snapped out the answer, waving my gun at him. “Just left this in here next to the crayons and goldfish. Why?”

His eyes flickered from my gun to the scratches on my neck and lingered there for a good five seconds as if he wanted me to know he saw.

He knew.

He might even slightly understand.

I shifted on my feet. “Tristian?”

His gaze fell to me. “I’m only going to say this once.”

“Good, because I’m starving, and I’m about three seconds away from stealing the goldfish and animal crackers in that cupboard.”

“Stealing from children, how typical.” He moved farther into the room, his posture rigid, his eyes fuming despite his sarcasm.

“Well?” I leaned against one of the tables littered with construction paper and more art supplies.

He eyed the scissors.

Not promising.

“She’s mine now.” He looked over at me. “You understand that, right?”

I jerked back, never expecting him to say that.

“Answer me, Romeo.”

I put my hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Whoa, man, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.”

“The past you have with my wife stays in the past, including whatever history you and Eden may have had. Consider it nonexistent.” He stepped toward me, getting right in my face. “She’s my wife now, brother. Are you understanding me?”

With a rigid stature, I replied, “Loud and clear, brother. Loud and fucking clear.”

He turned and gave me such a pitiful look that I’d prefer getting punched in the face. “Want to know why you’ll always be second place when it comes to Eden, Romeo?”

I cocked my head, arching an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, Tristian,” I said dryly.

He let out a snicker, “Because there’s only room for one person in that dark heart of yours—you.”

I flinched. “Some might say that’s how I stay alive.”

“Some might ask if you’re really living.” He took a few steps toward me again and then jerked his chin up. “Next time, have the fucking decency to at least cover up the scratches from whatever whore you were with last night—the last thing Eden needs is to be reminded of what you do and how you do it.”

My nostrils flared. Did he know? Was he baiting me? I gripped the table with my fingers to keep myself from wrapping them around his neck. “Or what?”

“If you touch her again,” he continued. “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

I burst out laughing. “Did you rehearse that? You almost had me there. Don’t worry, brother, the last person I want to touch is your precious virginal wife; I’d compare that experience to fucking a corpse.”

“Tristian,” Eden’s voice filled the room. “They need us for pictures.”

Slowly I turned toward her.

She was furious.

Hurt.

Beautiful.

His.

“Eden, you’re a beautiful bride,” I whispered as agony washed over me, through me, around me. Taking me whole, holding me captive.

“Don’t you mean corpse bride?” she snapped, and then as if deciding I wasn’t worth it, she brought her attention to my brother, her smile bright. “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready my whole life, Eden.” Tristian shot me one last look and then joined her, wrapping an arm around her body and leading her out of the room.

I’d been wrong.

The final break hadn’t taken place during the vows or even during the kiss or the I love yous.

No, it had just occurred.

And I’d been the one to do it.

My relationship with them both would never be the same, and all I had to do was look in the mirror to know the person responsible for it. This was the moment our dynamic changed into something unrecognizable. The broken pieces of our hearts shattered into a kaleidoscope of black and white when we used to be nothing but bright, blinding color.

Crashing to the floor by our feet.CHAPTER ELEVEN“A Villain is just a princess who has not been rescued.” —Maleficent