Scandalous Prince (Mafia Royals 2)

The line went eerily quiet and then.

“For as long as we both shall live.”

“For as long—” she hiccupped “—as we both shall live.”

Nixon shot down the stairs along with several of the bosses and wives.

The wait was torture, but then footsteps sounded. And within minutes, everyone was back upstairs, including a very shaky looking Ash, a rarely emotional Nixon, and the happy couple.

It’s like the minute the bosses knew that their love was real, that it wasn’t just sex but something more, something rare in this life, they saved them.

So why didn’t I feel happy? Why wasn’t I breathing a sigh of relief?

The clock struck six, an omen perhaps, to say, jokes on you—you’re next.

I watched Junior’s confession, something that was so dark and hopeless, become redeemed and beautiful.

Even him, my heart beat. Even one of the worst of us gets his happy ending.

My heart skyrocketed into a gallop—I should have stopped myself. I should have tamped my feelings down.

Instead… I hoped.

And in that moment, I was able to shove memories of Valerian away with an F U look and embrace my adopted family and the life I’d been given.

Not the legacy I’d left.

Or the lies that stayed as a result.

Chapter Five

Have clapped my hands at him from the door

When it seemed as if I could bear no more. —Robert Frost

Violet

I ran home to change clothes since everyone had decided to crash at Nixon’s again, and lucky me, I’d had my own personal escort who didn’t even have to type in 666.

Breaker was back to his quiet, reserved self during the car ride. Then again, after this afternoon, how could any of us feel anything except relief and sadness at the same time?

“Pretty crazy, huh?” I asked. My small talk was the absolute worst, but I wanted to at least hear him do something other than grunt.

“Life is crazy… it makes you want to get high and shoot birds,” he grumbled.

“Um, are you high?”

He snorted out a laugh. “I wish.”

“Breaker?”

“That’s my name, isn’t it…?” His jaw flexed like he was clenching his teeth. Even in the darkness, I could make out the strong aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and thick, shiny hair, which was a bit of a mess from him running his hands through it. “Shit.”

“Breaker?”

“God, could you just stop saying my name for one second?” he snapped, his green eyes nearly feral as they pinned me in place.

For the first time in a year, I felt actual fear, but it wasn’t from the men who had taken me. It was from the one who had saved me, and I couldn’t figure out why I suddenly felt like puking, or why he looked so lethal when he was supposed to be the one keeping me safe.

I reached across the leather seat and put my hand on his muscled thigh, my palm pressed against his slacks, feeling the heat from his skin pulse through my body. “Something’s wrong… you know you can talk to me, right?”

He hung his head and put his hand on mine. “I’m sorry, it’s not you, I’m just—”

“Not good,” I joked. “Gonna turn into a werewolf or something? Hope you brought more pants because you’re about to just morph right out of those tight slacks you’re wearing.”

He smiled down at our hands. “First off, I told you what would happen if you mentioned it again, so prepare to fight me off, and for the love of God, get that eager grin off your face before I take my knife to your dress here and slice from slit to neck.” He sighed. “Second, you’d know if I was a werewolf.”

“Ohhhh right, because in the mafia we’re raised to know the difference between a mere mortal and a wolf, totally.” I nodded in mock agreement.

“Ha-ha,” He squeezed my hand then lifted it to his mouth. “You’d know because I would have bitten you already… we both know my self-control is at negative ten when it comes to you.”

“Wow, negative ten, I had no idea you even knew how to count back that far, Breaker. Just full of surprises.”

He nipped at my fingertips, then kissed the palm of my hand and brought it to the side of his face as he sighed and whispered, “You have no idea.”

“Are you okay though?” I frowned as he held my hand there, keeping it prisoner as he squeezed his eyes shut like he couldn’t bear to look at me.

“I’m tired,” he finally said after a few tense seconds. “Just really tired… of everything.”

“It’s okay to be tired.”

“Not when I’m trying to protect you, Vi, never when I’m trying to protect you.” He dropped my hand softly and turned to stare out the window, ending the conversation and making me even more worried.

The SUV pulled up to my massive brick mansion. My dad had built it originally for his deceased wife, Mil De Lange. She’d singlehandedly destroyed the De Lange Family by doing a deal with the Petrovs without realizing that Andrei was playing both sides and that he was half Italian, meaning his loyalty was always to us and ours to him.