Broken Crown (Mafia Royals 5)

I open my mouth.

“I wouldn’t,” King whispers. “I wouldn’t right now.” He slowly moves away from me, crawling off me, his eyes weary. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask.

Eyes locking on mine, he says, “For taking what I needed.”

“And what was that?”

He pauses and then releases a soft sigh. “You. I need you. I’ve always needed you. And now that I have you for seven days, I’m going to fucking take you, even if that means I don’t get you for the rest of my life. I will. Take. You. Now.”

“Because it’s your right?” I spit out, almost embarrassed it was so easy.

“No.” He smiles. “Because it’s my privilege.”

My mouth drops open.

“What? Nothing to say… princess?” And he’s right, I’m the new princess, and all I have right now is my used and satiated body—and my broken, confused stare.

My chest heaves. I open my mouth then shut it taking seconds to finally say, “Only seven days. You’re almost at six.”

“That I am,” he says with a promise, his body heat lingering against my skin even though we’re no longer touching. “That I am.”

“So.” I lift my chin. “What’s your plan?”

His grin tells me nothing and yet everything at the same time. “To make you fall for me.”

I almost roll my eyes. “My heart isn’t yours.”

“It will be,” he promises, his glare menacing. “And if at the end of this time it isn’t, I’ll let you go.”

“Really? You’ll just let me go.”

He shrugs, his muscles bulging in his shoulders, his biceps impossible to ignore as he leans up on one elbow. “I’ll have no choice… After all, I’ve only been given seven days.” His lips descend to my chin. “Right?”

“R-right,” I stutter. “Right.”

“So, what’s the harm in letting me try to make sure that bodyguard of yours stays at your side and not in your bed.”

I don’t tell him Roman’s never been in my bed. Instead, I just try to give him a calculating glare that probably isn’t working by the looks of it.

“No harm. No foul. Not when you can’t hang or play. Right?” It’s all I have left after what just happened, after what I just felt between us.

“No harm.” He leans down again, and his lips caress mine. “No foul.”

I kiss him back on instinct.

His hands dive into my hair.

And I know before I even say yes—I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life, and he will painfully make me pay for it.

Bite by bite.

Kiss by kiss.

Loss by loss.

His.

Forever.

Chapter Nineteen

“To see evil and call it good, mocks God. Worse, it makes goodness meaningless.”—King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table

King

I have no idea what to say to her, what to say to that, so I let her fall asleep across my chest, and I ponder, I wait, I wonder, I wish.

That’s maybe what I do the most.

I wish for more, for things I’m not allowed to have. I wish for deep kisses strong embraces. I wish for soft words, scorned ones even, to set me back in place. And I wish for safety for her, for me.

And if I’m being completely honest.

I wish for more.

So much fucking more.

Because for the first time in my entire life—I wish for a kid, for someone to pass this down to, to tell stories to. A piece of me to continue on the way I’m continuing this bloody legacy for my dad.

To hold in my arms hard and close—to tell him or her or whoever they want to be that it’s okay, they can be it, and that I’ll protect them until my dying day.

But wishes. Wishes are for people who don’t see the world the way I do. The world is a dark and dangerous place. Hell, I’d be lucky to even have a wish to wish on, let alone have one come true.

I breathe in and out, and I come back from that place of want and accept my reality. The reality of knowing that this woman in my arms sleeping peacefully after calling out her desires won’t really ever be mine.

She’ll be his.

I’ll protect her from afar; he’ll hold her close. That’s my reality, that’s my world, and quite honestly, at the end of the day, it’s her happiness that matters most, not mine. Maybe I wasn’t born out of this cloth. Maybe I was meant to be the type of man who just simply protects his own and deals with the pain because that’s what it feels like right now.

I got both the short and long straw. I found my person, but I’ll forever watch her be kept by someone else.

It’s okay, I tell myself.

It’s going to be fine.

It has to be. Otherwise, how does a person survive this sort of torture and pain?

Her hair is falling against her cheek, I brush it away, and then I smell my fingertips, wishing she was there to greet me with her lips. Maybe I sound like a crazy person, but if this is crazy, what the hell would I do with being sane?