Mafia Casanova

I gasped. The audacity of this man!

He let me go but not before he ran his nose along the side of my neck like he was trying to inhale my scent to take with him.

“Come on,” he demanded, pretending as if I hadn’t noticed.

Taking a deep breath, I desperately tried to govern my emotions. Reel in the havoc that seemed to be taking over when I least expected it. Hate felt good. Hating him felt right. It was better than feeling…

Lost.

Forgotten.

Forsaken.

Even though he’d already turned his back to me and was on his way out of the kitchen, I nodded, following behind him. My gaze fixed on his flexed back. He’d taken off his suit jacket; all that remained was a tight white button-down shirt that seemed to move with each step he took.

He was bigger than he used to be—more fit. Selfishly I wondered if it had anything to do with me—with Tristian, and then I remembered his words that night.

“I don’t love you. I only came here to fuck you.”

My body physically jerked as if he was saying it all over again. Tears filled my eyes at the painful memory. He’d still been inside me, filling me, pulsing, reminding me of what we’d just done.

My heart had been within reach, and rather than hold it, he wrapped his hands around it and squeezed until there was nothing left.

And then, like every villain, he left me in a pool of my own blood, not caring whether I lived or died because, in the end—he got exactly what he wanted.

My body.

He didn’t know that I’d never slept with Tristian, that I’d always kept him at arm’s length even during our engagement.

I broke that vow with Romeo, and I could never take that back.

One choice.

One decision.

And I’d become his before ever becoming my husband’s, and now my husband was gone.

Head high, I walked into the dining room and tried to paste a polite smile on my face as Andrei Sinacore leaned back into his chair, his sharp blue eyes seeing too much.

In his late thirties, he was one of the younger bosses in the Cosa Nostra—also the most deadly. He liked to toy with his victims and found great joy in using dangerous animals in his torture techniques. Rumors spanned far and wide about his tiger cages and the human bones that were cleaned out on a weekly basis, all because he was trying to keep the family safe.

Myself included.

Half Russian, half Italian, he was the glue that held the very shaky peace between both families together, and while I’d always been thankful, I didn’t want to see him right now, not when he was already inspecting every movement right down to the way I was breathing.

Blinking.

Trying to hold what was left of my life together.

“Sit.” He nodded toward one of the chairs. My father was on his right, Romeo’s father to his left. A few associates were scattered around the room, pretending to stare out the window or look at their phones when we all knew they were watching, waiting, ready to pounce if need be.

Romeo pulled out the wooden chair, his long elegant fingers a welcome distraction because I remembered what those fingers could do.

They brought pleasure, pain, heartache, hate.

Slowly I lowered myself to the chair, back straight, eyes locked on one of the most powerful bosses in the world. He was almost too pretty to be ruthless—but we all knew the truth. Sometimes the prettiest things in the world were far more warning than invitation.

He was the former, with his golden blond hair, light eyes, chiseled jaw, and full lips, but Andrei was all fallen angel, no chance of redemption, not that he would want it in the first place since he actually enjoyed his seat in Hell and welcomed sin like a long lost lover.

It’s how he kept everyone safe.

At the end of the day, these men were ruthless, feared, monsters in plain sight but family over everything.

It was everything.

No matter what.

Family always came first.

“We have a few questions.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “I know this is difficult but, you were the last person to see Tristian…”

I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered. “Yes, he was in a hurry.” I left out the part where he smelled like cheap perfume or how he’d slapped me so hard across the face it’d taken me a whole hour to try to cover the bruise that was still faintly on my cheek. The guilt in his eyes would haunt me for an eternity until he decided to bait me, betray me, put his hands on me, not with a lover’s touch. “We had been…having some communication issues.” That sounded better than fighting. “And honestly, I was so thankful that he was smiling and acting like himself that I didn’t ask when I should have.” I lied through my teeth; it was better than the truth.