Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3)

by Lana Sky

  I know that in my gut, though I can’t explain why.

  Eli’s eyes meet mine, and in them, I see bravery. A hint of fear. Overall? Trust. The same trust I once felt, confident that the man before me could never let me down.

  Never leave…

  “Come on,” the guard commands. Digging his fingers into Eli’s injured shoulder, he yanks him back.

  I don’t think. I just react. The blade flashes through the air, raised high. Then, with a sickening thud, it strikes something firm. It resists at first, then relents with a heart-wrenching sensation.

  The guard shoves Eli aside, grasping a chunk of my hair in a fist. He staggers, dragging me with him, so brutally tears prickle my eyes. “Little… Bitch…”

  Suddenly, a force slams into me from the side, knocking me to the floor. Crushing me. The stench of blood is overwhelming, an oppressive weight pinning me down.

  The guard? He’s too heavy. Unmoving.

  As if from miles away, I hear Eli and Ellen talking, but their words overlap, impossible to decipher.

  But then a louder voice cuts through the din, impeccably clear. Probably because it’s spoken against my ear, persistent as the pressure weighing me down is suddenly withdrawn.

  “I’ve got you,” that voice continues as I lurch onto my hands and knees, twisting my head to get my bearings. “It’s okay.” An arm goes around my waist as I spy the guard nearby, lying on his side. He isn’t moving.

  Which means, he isn’t the figure whose strength spreads through me as a stabilizing force, his voice so soft… Softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Don’t look at him. I’ve got you.”

  Tears spring to my eyes, impossible to keep at bay. I just let them fall as the unseen figure continues to hold me, repeating those same three words over and over. “I’ve got you.”

  It’s a lie; I know it is. He’ll have me until he no longer has any use for me…

  But for the time being, his presence drowns out the guilt.

  And I don’t have the energy to resist him.

  23

  Evgeni

  We’re too late. I sense it the second we pull into the parking lot. Roughly an hour after the blast, and I’m sure the bastard has already made his move.

  Though what it might be? Who the hell knows.

  Without any contact with any of the men inside, I’m blind to what we might be walking in to. My gun is my only backup.

  And her. She’s been so quiet, I’ve almost forgotten she’s here.

  “You learned nothing else?” I call to her.

  When she doesn’t answer, I turn and find her slumped on her side, her eyes closed.

  “Shit.”

  I climb into the back seat, focusing on her thigh. Up close, the severity is worse than I could have imagined. It’s deep, almost down to the muscle. Whatever cut her, must have hit an artery. Or two. Beneath her, the floor of the vehicle is soaked with blood, but the fee for a damaged rental is the least of my concerns. I think she’s dead. Her skin is so pale I can see the map of veins snaking beneath.

  I feel along her neck, shocked to feel a faint, but steady pulse.

  “Not dead yet, soldier,” she rasps. Her eyelids flutter, but she only seems capable of opening them halfway. “It seems you face…a dilemma… Am I worth more to you dead or alive?”

  Dead, warns the part of me that knows better. But damn her. In that mocking hue of blue, I see a flashing hint of relief. And greed.

  She wants to die. Because she did her job, leading me into whatever trap she and her boss have set?

  Like hell, will I give her the satisfaction.

  “You owe me answers,” I warn. After a glance around, the bloodstained seats reveal nothing else to use as a bandage; I strip my shirt and cover her wound, applying enough pressure to make her wince. “No dying until I say so.”

  “Funny,” she rasps, chuckling in between panting breaths. “I think you have more pressing matters…”

  She trails off without finishing that statement, but I can guess well enough.

  And she’s right.

  This is the parking lot Mischa’s men use. If it’s empty, that means only a fraction of the men must be inside. Ten? Five? Fewer?

  “Come on.” I hook an arm beneath her waist, dragging her from the van. When she slumps, unable to stand on her own, I sling her over my shoulder and approach the hospital, heading for the back entrance near the Stepanov’s private wing.

  I don’t even have to set a foot inside the building to sense that something’s off. There are no patrols on the outer perimeter. The door to the stairwell is unlocked.

  “What the hell?”

  I enter it, instantly on guard.

  “He moves fast,” Briar murmurs into my ear. “I suggest you keep that gun of yours handy, soldier.”

  “Like minds.” I’m already drawing the weapon from its holster.

  As I mount the staircase, the stench of blood tinges the air, irritating my nostrils. Hers? Or someone else’s?

  I’ve barely gone another flight, when I see the body slumped against the outer door. I recognize his face—one of Mischa’s. I don’t even have to feel for a pulse to know he’s dead, his throat slit.

  The method sticks out to me. No gunshot, meaning the attacker prioritized stealth over speed. It’s sloppy. The work of one man?

  A mole.

  “Damn.” I readjust the woman, pressing my ear against the door to the ward. It’s quiet. No…

  I hear shouting. A woman and child. And I hear a man’s voice answer them.

  “Shit.” There isn’t time to regroup. I shrug the woman off and leave her on the bottom step. “Wait here.”

  She’s too weak to argue, her blue eyes glued to the dead man slumped just paces from her.

  Ignoring any emotion, I hold my gun aloft and kick the door open, steeling myself for whatever I might see beyond it.

  Nothing.

  Mrs. Stepanova isn’t in her room as I race down the wing. They’re just beyond it. I move entirely on reflex, rounding the hallway to find blood on the floor and a man, his arms around a woman I recognize instantly.

  “Willow!” Without hesitation, I aim at her attacker. “Let her go.”

  But he doesn’t, and when his eyes meet mine, I’m sure he never will.

  The last time I saw this face was on a grainy video as he tortured a man to death—and yet I have no trouble identifying him. Donatello Vanici.

  “Get the hell away from her!”

  It’s like the bastard doesn’t even see me.

  The man lying nearby is a Stepanov agent. I recognize him—the newest recruit. He’s still breathing, his face contorted in agony. The knife embedded in his chest, gives a clue as to why.

  But when I see the handle of the blade, I stop short.

  What the hell?

  “Look at me,” Vanici demands, his hand on Willow’s cheek.

  I lunge for them, my gun at the ready, but I never pull the trigger.

  Willow’s expression has me paralyzed. I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she is now. Like she’s drowning, and only his touch is keeping her afloat. Keeping her breathing.

  My gaze cuts to the injured guard. Then I turn my attention to the rest of the ward. There’s no one else around. Where the hell is everyone?

  “It’s over,” I hear Vanici tell Willow. “It happened. There’s no use dwelling on it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Evgeni?”

  I swivel in the direction of the voice and sigh in relief. Further down the hallway, two figures lurk in shadow. Mrs. Stepanova and Eli. Both seem unharmed but wary.

  “Something was wrong with him,” Eli says, pointing to the guard. “He tried to take me.”

  “We need to get in contact with Mischa,” Mrs. Stepanova demands, her tone authoritative despite how frail she appears overall. Which reminds me.

  “The baby?” I ask. Yet another potential member of the Stepanov family who could be targeted.

 
Mrs. Stepanova’s strained look of relief eases that worry. “She’s been discharged already. Mischa and Anna have been getting her settled.”

  “Good. But we can’t stay here long,” I say, thinking fast. Until I know what the fuck is going on, even the traffic jam would be a safer place than the hospital. “We should leave. Come with me—”

  “I’ll cover you,” Vanici says, lurching to his feet. Willow copies him, but her gaze is distant. I doubt she even realizes I’m here.

  I take a step toward her. “What happened?”

  “Go!” Vanici says, inclining his head toward the stairwell. “There isn’t time. We need to get them out of here.” He nods to Mrs. Stepanova. “Worry about them. I’ll get Willow clear.”

  “Wait…” I grit my teeth, my fingers clenching the handle of my gun.

  It’s hard to think clearly without a clearer view of just what the hell is going on. “We need to—”

  A sudden noise from down the hall draws my notice. Reinforcements?

  But Mischa’s or an enemy’s?

  There isn’t time to question.

  I look back at the Stepanovs. Ellen seems far too weak to move on her own. Picturing Briar, I’ll need all the help I can fucking get.

  “Help me carry them,” I tell Vanici, weighing strategy over common sense. “I have a car. I know somewhere we can regroup.”

  And yet I have a suspicion that, no matter where we go from here, we’ll still be ensnared by this twisted web.

  24

  Don

  An injured woman, a child, and a surly guard enter a hotel suite.

  It sounds like the start of a bad fucking joke. Yet, here we are, and no one’s laughing.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” the man says from across the sitting room situated near the front of the three-bedroom suite. Evgeni, the Stepanova woman, called him, though we haven’t been properly introduced. Judging from his voice, he’s the mysterious caller who sent me to the hospital in the first place. “One man kills his partner and tries to take a Stepanov child out of the hospital alone? It’s insane. It’s reckless. It’s…” He lowers his tone, shooting a glance down the hall where said child is resting with his mother. “Mischa will be here soon. Maybe he’ll have more insight.”

  It’s already after midnight. Apart from one stabbed guard and one dead one, there was no other attack on the hospital from what information we’ve gathered when the cell phone service returned roughly an hour ago. To put it bluntly, no “fireworks.”

  “Care to enlighten us?” I ask a figure lounging on a leather chaise near a row of windows that provide a breathtaking view of the waterfront.

  I almost didn’t recognize her at first, the blond who smuggled herself onto Tony’s boat. Somehow, I’m not surprised that her “knight in shining armor,” turned out to be a Stepanov guard. Now that I can pair her features with those of Mischa’s wife, the resemblance is uncanny. A sister?

  It doesn’t seem the mystery will be solved any time soon. Considering Mrs. Stepanova collapsed from exhaustion the second we entered the hotel, I can’t question her directly, and Evgeni doesn’t seem inclined to strike up an in-depth conversation.

  My knight, she called him. He stands in between us more like a bulldog. His stance is angled toward her, his hands at the ready to repel any potential assault. Does he aim to protect her? Or is his intention more possessive? Like a predator disinclined to share his kill…

  “Enlighten?” the blond echoes with a shrug. Despite her swim, she looks none too worse for wear, though her leg is wrapped tightly with towels taken from the bathroom. How she’s still conscious is a miracle.

  “I’m as in the dark as you are,” she says, her voice a rasp. “Maybe I was wrong after all? I could have made a mistake—”

  “Bullshit.” I take a step toward her, but the guard moves to block my path.

  “We’ll let Mischa question her,” he suggests. At least my unasked question has an answer—he’s her guard dog.

  Apparently, he was able to get in touch with the mafiya leader after we left the hospital. Though why the hell were his wife and child left with just two guards for protection in the first place?

  Yet another mystery.

  “I need to make a phone call of my own,” I say, heading for the hall.

  I see a flicker of movement near my side, and smell roses. Since we left the hospital, she’s been damn near unresponsive. Considering her knife was stuck in the living guard, I assume she stabbed him.

  Without reinforcements, we had to leave him behind to be treated. Knowing Mischa, he won’t get far.

  But it still doesn’t make any damn sense. Why send a lone man to kidnap a child? Though, hell. Without being tipped off ahead of time, would I even have had the foresight to think the hospital could be a target?

  No.

  That question and more weigh on my mind as I open the door to the suite. Time alone to think is as much my reason for leaving as the need to call Fabio. If anyone can make sense of this, it’s him.

  “You should stay here, Willow,” Evgeni says as she starts to follow me into the hall. “I’m sure your mother would feel better with you here—”

  “No.” I snatch her hand before she can move, making the decision for her. “She stays with me.”

  We go far enough from the room to prevent being overheard.

  I call Fabio, and he picks up on the first ring.

  “What the hell is going on? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours—”

  “You’re not going to like it,” I preface before explaining everything that happened since we reached the docks.

  “I’ve heard from Mischa as well,” Fabio admits. “It seems the network his men were using to communicate has been hacked. Calls were blocked, signals scrambled. Sometime directly before the blast, most of his men were called back to the manor via an emergency message. They thought it had come from him.”

  Well, that’s one question explained. Whoever set this plan into motion must have ensured only two guards would remain, exempt from the fake message.

  “Can someone do that kind of shit?” I ask. “Hack an entire network?”

  “I haven’t heard of such technology,” Fabio admits. “But who knows? I don’t like this. You should come home. Vincenzo is safe—”

  “I know. I made sure of that.”

  “But I don’t want you staying in that godforsaken city any longer. I’ve already ensured that Vin will be covered around the clock—”

  “I’m not leaving the city while he’s here,” I say. “That’s final.”

  “At least promise me you’ll try to get some sleep. It won’t do Vincenzo any good to spend the night lurking around the hospital. I own a property not too far from—”

  “There’s a hotel,” I say absently. “I already booked a room. It’s close by.”

  I hate the idea of leaving Vin alone, even for a few hours, but I can’t shake the sense that being in a central location is better overall. If the hospital was just a diversion, who knows where the real “fireworks show” might be. And when…

  “Good,” Fabio says, drawing my attention back to him. “A part of me wants to question how you could be so reckless. At the same time, you turned this situation around better than expected. Mischa owes you his son’s life. That can’t be denied. I’m sure any previous ‘disagreements’ can be forgotten. You might not need this sham engagement after all.”

  I have to chuckle at that. “Same old Fab. Won’t let a little thing like a foiled abduction, a bombing, and a plot to take over the city get in the way of business—” I don’t miss how the woman flinches, still watching me. The look in her eye resembles the Salvatore girl’s. Miles away.

  I can’t resist running my thumb across that delicate chin. She jumps, her eyes flitting to mine. Still glazed, but the longer I touch her, the more life returns to them.

  “Donatello?” I hear Fabio say.

  “I was calling you shrewd,” I reply.

  He laughs.
“You’re damn right I am. But I’m pleased to say that we’ll live to see another day thanks to you. Though I do have to wonder the effect this all might be having on your…guest.”

  I’m looking right at her, wondering the same damn thing. Her eyes seem darker than ever. For once, I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

  “She’ll need support, Donatello,” Fabio says. “In fact, a good show of faith would be letting her return to her family—”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

  “Stay put and get some rest.”

  I hang up, heading back down the hall.

  The guard, Evgeni, is still waiting in the doorway, his arms crossed. “I still think she should stay here. Her father is on his way.”

  “Tell Mischa that one little instance of cooperation isn’t enough to fix everything.” I step closer to the girl, grabbing her hand. “The engagement isn’t off yet.”

  She’s still mine.

  To prove it, I keep walking, feeling her fall into step behind me. Until a figure exits from an elevator up ahead, flanked by two guards. Sympathy is the last emotion I expect to feel for a man who put me through hell. In this one instance, perhaps I’ll make an exception when it comes to Mischa Stepanov.

  He looks haggard, more of a zombie than a man. When he spies his daughter, he lunges for her, crushing her to his chest.

  A heartbeat later, he seems to notice the blood smeared across her wrist. Blazing, his eyes cut to mine.

  “It seems like the guard stationed near your wife and son attacked them,” I say. “She… Willow defended them on her own. The bastard is at the hospital—”

  “I already have him secured,” Mischa growls. “He’ll talk soon enough.”

  “And he has plenty to answer for,” someone declares from behind me.

  A look over my shoulder reveals Evgeni, still in the doorway, his expression even more guarded than it’d been a minute ago.

  Reluctantly, Mischa releases his daughter, advancing toward the suite.

  “Your wife and son are safe,” Evgeni adds, stepping aside. “Though there is a…guest, we will need to discuss.”