Mafia Casanova

His serene gaze went from my face to my disheveled hair, to my robe that was still open.

Lips compressed in a hard line, he reached over and closed it for me. “What did Tristian do to you, Eden?” His jaw tightened, his hands fisted, his expression morphed from worry to hatred. “Did he hurt you?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t find the words to tell him what had happened. I think a huge part of me didn’t even realize the extent of our altercation. It had all happened so damn fast.

Dad muttered something in Italian under his breath while he reached for his cellphone inside his suit jacket.

“What are you doing?” I asked, petrified with his reply.

“Handling business.”

“No!” I snatched his phone out of his hands. “He’s my husband.”

“What did he do to you, Eden?”

“He’d been drinking before he got home. He’s been drinking a lot, Dad. For years now. I’ve tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I dumped out all the liquor from the bar in our house. He came home…” I shook my head, reliving it all over again. “He was angry I hadn’t cooked dinner, I told him I’d make him something, but it didn’t matter. Nothing I do ever does.”

My father’s anger intensified with each word that escaped my lips.

“When he realized there wasn’t any liquor left, he just… blew up. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Did he lay a hand on you?”

“No,” I lied.

“Eden…”

“What are you going to do?”

“What any father would do.”

“Father or made man?”

“Makes no difference.”

“It does, and you know it.”

“How long has this been going on? You said years. How many exactly?”

I wanted to tell him the truth.

It was on the tip of my tongue.

Ready.

Willing.

Able.

Just say it.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

I turned him into what he’d become.

This was my fault.

Right?

Why did it feel like it was?

If I’d never opened the door to Romeo that night, then we’d be happy, right? Our life would be normal? Living happily ever after?

I did this…

I had no one to blame but myself.

Which had me stating, “You can’t hurt him, Dad. You just can’t.”

“You think I’ll be the only one who’d put him in his place? If his father finds out that his son has laid even one finger on your head, he’ll do it himself.”

I exhaled a deep breath, aware of how much truth that statement made. “He was drunk.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“He didn’t hurt me. He scared me.”

“And I’ll make sure to return the favor. He won’t scare you again if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Daddy, please… for Naz.”

“All the more reason.”

“I can’t deal with this. You need to listen to me. You can’t hurt him.”

Out of nowhere, a familiar voice boomed through the office, “He won’t, but I sure as fuck will.”

Shaking me right down to my core. In that instant, I realized the reality of my world.

This wasn’t the end like I expected…

This was only the beginning.CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT“If only there was someone out there that loved you.” —Scar

Romeo

I listened until I couldn’t listen anymore until my blood burned with a rage so hot, so deadly that I was having trouble seeing in front of me.

Tristian.

Fucking Tristian.

He had everything.

Fucking everything!

And this was how he treated her? Treated his son?

My gut twisted with an anger so foreign that I knew if I didn’t walk out of that room soon, I would decimate it; there would be nothing left of it, nothing left of Tristian but dust as he returned to the very ground he had come out of.

I wouldn’t say his last rights.

I wouldn’t send him to Heaven.

I’d damn him to Hell, and I’d do it with a smile on my face and anger in my soul.

It wouldn’t matter if I damned myself in the process. All that mattered was that Eden was safe, that she got her retribution, that fear was no longer pretending to be love.

God, had I done this?

Was I the reason she was sobbing on the couch?

“I sure the fuck will,” I repeated in case no one had heard me.

Eden gasped, her eyes going wide with fear, then horror, and ending in shame as she turned away like she didn’t want me seeing her at her worst when she believed I’d only ever loved her at her best.

Wrong.

How very wrong she was.

I would take her any way I could have her.

Blind.

Broken.

Half dead.

Aged.

She was mine.

Always had been, always would be, and it took me years to admit it to myself.

I had done what was best.

For my two best friends.

I’d handed him gold, and he had treated it like dirt.

Nobody harmed what was mine; it didn’t matter that his ring was on her finger—she owned my soul, and mine recognized hers as one thing.

Ours.

Blood protected blood even if the person who needed protection couldn’t be the one to do it.