Scandalous Prince (Mafia Royals 2)

Panic rose in my chest. “Let’s think about now, not about a week from now.”

He picked me up and tossed me onto the bed, then hovered over me, his hair a mess, his eyes practically glowing. “You aren’t mine anymore, Vi. Don’t you get it?” He looked crazed. “You’re not mine!” He jerked away from me then and went over to the wall punching it twice before falling to his knees. “Sleep.”

“I can’t—not without you,” I whispered through the tears that slid down my cheeks. “Please?”

“I won’t sleep next to you, Vi, my heart is having trouble processing what my brain is telling it, that no matter what I’ve always told myself, you’ve never been mine. If I sleep next to you, I’ll want to hold you, I’ll want to comfort you, I’ll want to mark you, and then I’ll make my second mistake when it comes to touching you, I’ll wrong you, I’ll wrong what you have…”

“Please, Breaker… Please.” I broke out into a quiet sob.

He was at my side in an instant.

And what was supposed to be a torturous week of looking at different Seattle colleges and being photographed with Nikolai—went off like lightning.

Before we knew it.

We were landing back in Chicago.

Breaker hadn’t as much as looked at me the entire trip. He did, however, manage to plan a going away party for me that night; we had enough time to go to my house to change after the plane landed, and then we were expected back at Nixon’s.

My stomach sank.

This was it.

This was my life now.

It was built around lies.

Around a broken heart.

Around a broken Breaker.

Numb, my legs took me down the stairs and into the waiting SUV with Andrei waiting—and in his hands a black box as if to warn us that things could, in fact, get worse. Breaker sat next to me speechless, hard, like a complete stranger. Like he had no choice but to hate because the love was killing him from the inside out.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning.” Nikolai nodded once we were back at my house. “Pack light.”

“Why? Because your G6 is hauling weapons or something and has no space?” Andrei joked.

“Actually. Yes. As you know, ammo is quite heavy.” Nikolai examined his fingertips and then reached across the seat and grabbed the black box Andrei had brought into the car. It looked like a sleek tattoo gun.

He motioned for us all to get out of the SUV. Shaking, I did just that while he rummaged with the gun behind me.

Something clicked, making me jump as I took a step back and collided with Breaker.

“Your hand, please.” Nikolai held out his palm.

“Why?”

“Breaker, grab her hand, please, the left.” Nikolai ignored me, and of course, loyal Breaker grabbed my left hand and placed it in Nikolai’s palm. “Don’t move.”

I was right.

It was a cordless tattoo gun, small, he turned it on, and suddenly needles were diving into my pale skin.

It was over in less than a minute.

Extremely small.

Hardly noticeable.

But I knew what it was the minute I saw the black swirl.

Valerian Petrov had just marked me without even being there—with the mark of a sickle.

The brand of the Petrov’s.

I was no longer Violet Abandonato.

I was his.

“You should pack,” Breaker said in a wooden voice. “Then, you should probably tell the rest of the cousins how excited you are to be studying in Seattle.” He sneered as he paced my room, pulling out luggage and tossing shoes inside without even asking.

His steps were purposeful.

His eyes laser-focused on getting rid of me.

It stung more than I cared to admit.

That my protector, my friend, the guy I’d been half in love with for most of my life, was so easily handing me over to another.

“Breaker, can we talk?”

He breezed right past me toward my dresser. When he jerked open the drawer, he nearly knocked it over with his force. Then he started pulling out T-shirts, a few pairs of jeans.

“Breaker!”

He shoved the drawer shut, the few pictures on top of the dresser fell over and broke, including one of us together last Thanksgiving. It had been my favorite because it was the first time we’d kissed in a while, and that kiss had turned into a bit of a make out session that still made me hot.

“Wow. I take a shower and come out, and God decides to give me my Christmas present early?” He crossed his arms over his muscled chest; he had on low-slung jeans that were still unbuttoned as if he stopped the minute he saw me, and his blue shirt was open, revealing the giant Campisi tattoo on his chest with all its swirling glory. I never stared at it longer than a few seconds mainly because he always gave me shit when I did and because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look away.