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

by Lana Sky

  I hate that I catch myself approaching the stairs the second we enter the house. She’s on my mind, a part of me craving for her input. She sees the world like no one else.

  Or at least in a way no one else would admit. Someone like Fabio would rather live in oblivion of the darker side of human nature.

  The universe is beautiful to him.

  To her? It’s paradise and hellfire—with both beauty and damage being different sides of the same coin.

  “Where are you going?” Fabio asks.

  I’ve already mounted the first few steps and have to physically force myself to turn around. “To think,” I say, entering my study instead.

  The drawer draws my attention like a fucking beacon. Ignoring it, I riffle through the stack of documents Fab left, trying once again to see order amid the chaos.

  “I’ve been reading through them all night,” he says, nodding toward the overflowing piles of papers.

  I must lose track of time, poring over each page for some key bit of information I could have missed. When I look up again, Fabio is gone.

  Sighing, I take in the mess of scattered pages again. Tucked beneath a random folder on the corner of the desk, I find a familiar set of documents.

  My insurance policy.

  Sex isn’t a magic cure. One night shouldn’t be enough to shatter my entire perception, and have me reevaluating everything that felt like perfect sense before.

  What the hell was I thinking? Leaving Vin, whether or not it would benefit him in the long run.

  I must have lost my fucking mind.

  Though maybe, I’m still just as crazy—just in a different way. This life may not be as fucked-up and worthless as I thought. Sure, I broke my own damn vow—I fucked her.

  But the little witch has more secrets in her head to discover. No one could blame me for wanting to try, prolonging this engagement a little longer…

  “Did you?” The voice is Fabio’s, but too soft to be directed at me. Maybe he left me to interrogate my fiancée in peace?

  Warily. I enter the hall, noting that his voice is coming from the top of the stairs.

  “…I think it would be better for everyone to leave the past in the past,” he says.

  I frown, recognizing his tone. Fabio is inclined to recite his little speeches ad nauseum, but this is overkill, even for him.

  I mount the stairs, intending to tell him as much.

  “I need you to retrieve those letters,” he says. “Please.”

  The letters.

  It’s several seconds before those words sink in. Those fucking letters. Olivia’s letters, that Fabio somehow knows about. I’m sure he put Willow up to reading them—probably gave her the damn things in the first place.

  They must not notice me yet, their heads together, scheming and trading their fucking secrets.

  Well, no more.

  Turning on my heel, I start down the stairs. “You want those fucking letters?” I call loudly on my way into the study. Circling around my desk, I wrench open the drawer, grasping every folded page.

  They must have heard me this time. They’re waiting at the base of the stairs, wearing twin expressions of shock.

  “You wanted these so badly?” I lift my fist, brandishing the pages in my grasp. “And here I was thinking you wanted the past left in the past, Fabio.”

  “Donatello,” he rasps, but his gaze is on my hand. “I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea to dredge up these old memories.”

  Old memories, though he looks anything but nostalgic. No. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, instead. Or that he fears one...

  Liv.

  I feel invisible around you, baby, she wrote. Sometimes it’s like I’m a ghost…

  Fabio isn’t the type to fight over old trinkets. No. There must be something in them he’s wary of. Or something she told him. Perhaps she left one of those messages for him as well?

  If so, she doesn’t even have the decency to convey a shred of guilt. Standing beside him, she keeps her eyes on me, but I can’t get a read on her at all.

  Even when I offer the letters to her directly. “You want them? Here—” She reaches out, her fingers grasping, and for a heartbeat her mask slips.

  Bingo. Those wide, dark eyes are the window into her soul—through them, all I see is desperation. She can’t disguise how badly she truly wants these fucking snippets of paper. Badly enough to extend her fingers with greedy intent. Badly enough to fuck me? To follow me onto a Saleri yacht and toy with my head, pretending she understood me? Agreed with me…

  Just as she fingers the edge of a page, I change tact and throw them. Every last one. Let her gorge on the past to her heart’s content.

  She’s always been a scheming snake—thank fucking God. At least now I know the meaning behind that searching, desperate look she always wears. It’s greed. She only ever wanted something from me.

  She never wanted me.

  It’s like a weight has been lifted off my fucking shoulders.

  Her using me, I can understand.

  Nothing more.

  Not redemption.

  Not love.

  “Donatello!” Fabio starts after me, but I barely hear him.

  I’m too busy laughing. Loud, boisterous fucking laughter.

  “I’m going to see Vin,” I say, starting down the porch steps. “I don’t need your fucking permission for that.”

  If he argues, I don’t stick around to hear him. I’m done playing by his rules like a spanked child.

  It’s time to live my way. For Vincenzo.

  Only for Vincenzo.

  “You staring at me like a mother hen isn’t going to make me eat any faster,” Vin grumbles while stabbing at a mass of scrambled eggs perched on the edge of his breakfast tray.

  “Fine. I won’t stare.” It’s a lie. My focus remains glued to him, analyzing every inch of his pale expression. Apart from the bandages, he almost resembles his old self. My Vinny with the mischievous brown eyes and a smart-ass mouth.

  The doctors claim his progress is “unprecedented.”

  I’m selfish enough to deem it too damn slow. Despite how well he’s healing, the damage done to his body is undeniable. He’s still too exhausted to stand on his own, capable of holding a conversation only for a few minutes at a time. True to form, he suppresses the discomfort the only way he knows how. With snark and humor.

  “You should be more like Saf… Willow,” he says, nodding toward the other side of his bed where she’s seated. “She knows how to make me not feel like a fish in a bowl.”

  Her lips twitch into the shadow of a smile, but it’s thinner than Vin’s watery eggs.

  He doesn’t seem to notice, smiling wider in return.

  Fabio must have been the one to tell him her new identity. I suspect he’s the same force behind why—despite my visiting him every day—he hasn’t mentioned the past once.

  A good man, worthy of him, wouldn’t need the prompting to come clean.

  But me? I’m savoring every fucking second I can withhold the truth.

  I didn’t just lie to him.

  I ripped his childhood apart, and I couldn’t even begin to tell him the reason why. I’ll be lucky if he ever speaks to me again.

  Hunting down the real puppet master behind the attack on him is the only damn thing I can do to make amends—and I can’t even do that. Two weeks later, and we’re no fucking closer to the truth.

  This J.W. son of a bitch might not be much of a mastermind at all.

  Or you’ve missed something, my gut tells me.

  Fabio must think the same. Since the explosion, he’s been poring over documents related to the docks, consumed with examining the damage done to the west end. As well as pretending that our little standoff regarding the letters never happened.

  I don’t know what he’s done with them. Or why he even cared. Olivia’s belongings never interested him before.

  As for the woman, she’s been elusive for once, lurking in the corners of the fu
cking house like a specter. For all I know, she could be a ghost, with the real Willow Stepanova having snuck back to her family two weeks ago when we left the hotel. It feels strange to admit the lack of contact after that night. It’s been two weeks since I’ve felt her skin up close. Weeks since I’ve smelled the nuance of her scent in full detail. Two fucking weeks of silence, both literally and figuratively.

  Good riddance. I want to give into that reflexive anger again—make her the enemy. No matter how hard I try to feel it, the remnants of that hostility ring hollow.

  None of this was ever her fault. Just mine. If I were like Fabio, I could find a way to talk to her. Bridge the gap I created. So, what if she only aimed to get close to me to gain the letters?

  A few notes from the past are the least I can give her. I owe her so much fucking more. Shame alone could explain my avoidance of her. The void between us has always been too vast to fill. We can’t play this game forever.

  It would be better to let her run.

  Sooner or later, she’ll return to Mischa anyway and claim the future promised to her—as an heiress to a fortune, sheltered by a powerful name.

  The only thing I should do is hasten that inevitability. Show her mercy, for once…

  But mercy has always been a foreign concept in my world.

  When we finally leave Vincenzo and return to the house, I turn my focus to the one subject I know better than anyone. Plotting self-destruction.

  The little princess deserves to return to her castle, and Vin should have the means with which to build his own.

  The insurance policy has already been updated…

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Fabio remarks from the corner of my study he commandeered.

  I blink, startled from my thoughts. I don’t know how long he’s been sitting there, poring over the morning paper.

  “Even the explanation of the fire is being whitewashed,” he snaps. “Public officials are still claiming it was most likely an ‘industrial accident,’ though the investigation seemed to last barely twenty-four hours. So far, the death toll stands at ten workers caught in the blast. They won’t even name who they were employed by.”

  “It feels too neat,” I say in response. Too clean.

  If the purpose of the display was to attack the Stepanovs, or even make a dent into the mafiya’s territory, they failed. Mischa’s family is safe, and everything else seems at an eerie standstill.

  Even the Saleris have gone quiet. Though at least one thing seems clear after the dust has settled.

  An engagement is no longer necessary. Mischa owes the lives of his wife and child to me. In retrospect, little Willow should have gone running back to him the second I broke my vow.

  But she hasn’t…

  Every time I recall that night in the hotel, the more aggravated I feel. She won. She got her wish.

  But these past weeks, she’s lurked within this house like a ghost. The only time she dares to appear is when Fabio and I go to see Vin. Every day, like clockwork, she waits by the door when we’re ready to leave, dressed in one of the outfits Fabio supplied her.

  And every goddamn time I try to look at her, she shies away—whether it’s in the hallway of Havienna or in the car on the way to the hospital.

  Even when we arrive at Vin’s, she nearly lunges around the bed to put space between us, but she isn’t the only one on edge around me.

  As I enter the room after her, Fabio hesitates, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll be right back,” he says before slipping away, and I’m instantly suspicious. He’s up to something.

  I start after him, but from the corner of my eye, I see a flash of golden hair and lose track of everything else.

  Vincenzo isn’t shown the same avoidance she reserves toward me. She’s already by his side, taking up her usual seat. He’s awake, pulling himself up higher in bed to face her.

  His lips part into their usual smile, but the sight of it hits me differently than before. Despite his sallow skin, and the bandages still draped over his head, he looks…

  Happy. That’s not all. Day by day, I’ve noticed the subtle changes when it comes to her. His eyes sparkle a little more, what little color he has flooding his cheeks.

  Watching them, I don’t know what the hell to name the emotion shooting through my chest. Guilt? Jealousy? Both?

  Weeks ago, I entered Stepanov manor, Vin in tow, convinced that a marriage to Willow Stepanova was his only ticket to a good life—but I was wrong. Not because of the shitstorm that followed, but because he never needed me to decide his match in the first place. In a perfect world, they would find each other naturally.

  The same way Olivia should have found a nice politician, or doctor, or banker, Vin deserves a woman like her.

  Not me.

  I don’t know how long I watch them. Long enough that when I finally turn away, Fabio has already returned.

  He isn’t alone.

  Rage is my impulsive reaction. Then I remember the shit we’ve both been through, strung along by the same bastard. Knowing that, I bite my tongue at least, letting them approach.

  To his credit, Mischa seems to be heeding the same unspoken boundary. Our eyes meet, though I can’t get a clear read on his motives. Walking alongside him, Fabio implores me through his wide-eyed gaze. Instantly, I know that he’s up to something.

  The awareness of someone beside me distracts me from the two men long enough for a new arrival to rattle my mindset entirely. She probably noticed her father before I did. When I look at her, that stoic mask cracks, revealing the pain lurking beneath. Longing.

  It’s the first time in weeks that I’ve sensed anything from her at all. The sensation rippling through my gut could be jealousy. Or maybe selfish acknowledgment of a truth that shouldn’t catch me so off guard.

  Mischa will always have her loyalty. Her trust. I forfeited the right to anything of the sort seven years ago.

  “Donatello?” Fabio’s tone is fittingly cautious. When I look at him, he skirts any eye contact, staring at the wall behind me instead.

  “What a lovely day for a family reunion,” I bite out. So much for the attempt at restraint.

  Fabio sighs. “I think it’s past time that we finally arranged a meeting—”

  “I don’t need permission to see my daughter,” Mischa growls, his eyes cutting to slits. Apparently, I’m not the only one struggling to let bygones be bygones.

  Though, if our past meetings serve as anything to go by, we’re off to a damn near calm start.

  “What do you want?” I ask, skeptical if I’ve read him wrong. Though, this is perhaps the wrong damn place to test the patience of a man like him. From the corner of my eye, I remember where we are, and my mind goes straight to Vincenzo. Maybe Mischa’s changed his mind on peace?

  “I’ve learned information of my own,” the man says, his tone less harsh than I’ve become used to. “From the traitor. He’s been talkative these past few days. Fabio will relay what we’ve learned once I verify it.”

  “Of course.” Fabio nods, clearing his throat. “Mischa has also offered to pay for all of Vincenzo’s medical expenses, as well as contribute resources toward—”

  “What’s the catch?” I can’t help the cynicism.

  “No catch,” Fabio says in a rush.

  I laugh. “You mean there’s no caveat to drop the engagement? Or the blood test?”

  Peace or not, no one could blame me for the anger that seeps into my voice. That stunt was a low fucking blow from the outset.

  Unapologetic, Mischa’s expression doesn’t waver. His olive branch, must only extend so far.

  We can work together to find the source of the chaos that has affected both of our lives—but where his daughter is concerned, we’re both enemies.

  Though, what did Fabio suggest the day he first mentioned the blood test? Do you want to know why Mischa really asked for this asinine request? It’s because he thinks it will tip you over and that he has the upper hand. He wants you to drop the charade fir
st, giving him the opening to go for your throat...

  The ironic part is that—as far as vengeance goes—I’ve already beaten him at his own game. He aimed to use my dead wife and child as a tool to hurt me?

  I’ve already countered with an underhanded move of my own.

  I sullied his own damn daughter. A true bastard would gloat over that.

  A coward, on the other hand? He’d try in his own twisted way to make amends.

  Mischa wants my blood? He can have it.

  “You know what?” I say to Fabio’s visible horror. He starts forward as if afraid I’ll voice a threat. Instead, I shrug. “I’ll do it. That blood test you wanted. In fact, we can arrange it now. Mine and hers. Just to square everything away.” Baring my arm, I head for the closest nurses’ station.

  Fabio stammers. “B-But…”

  “Can you direct us to the department responsible for blood tests?” I ask of the startled receptionist. “I want mine, and my fiancée’s tested. For DNA. Hell, run it for everything, just to be fully transparent. We’ll make it a family affair.” I try my damn hardest to inject the vitriol in my voice that I don’t feel.

  This is just a pathetic way to assuage my own guilt and toss Mischa a bone. My humiliation? He can have it, one last show of goodwill before I let his daughter go for good.

  If not for her, then for Vincenzo.

  The Stepanov name has enough pull to command a blood test with ease. Perhaps, Mischa is playing along merely to save face. Or perhaps he truly believes that something nefarious will come from it—something he can use to turn his daughter against me.

  It’s already too damn late for that.

  I might as well be dead to her. Those eyes stare past me, her silence like a hammer driving in the vast gulf between us.

  This is more than that shit over the letters. More than morning-after regrets. I almost reach out to her as we’re shown to a room where a nurse prepares to perform the procedure. My fingers are outstretched, her arm within reach…

  “Donatello?” Fabio calls from the doorway, as wary as ever. “Are you sure this is really necessary?”

  It isn’t, not to me, anyway. If anything, going through the motions of this charade just drives home how insane this plan was to begin with.