Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3) - Lana Sky (top romance novels .TXT) 📗

can’t breathe, and I’d stay here forever if I could. For a brief moment, Donatello Vanici is just a bad memory…

Just as quickly, Mischa lets me go.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, whirling to face a figure I didn’t realize was still standing here, out of view from any of the rooms. Fabio. “The bastard’s way of taunting me? I know that’s the trick he likes to play—”

“No trick,” Fabio insists, his hands raised. “Merely a gesture of good faith.”

“Faith?” Mischa’s voice resonates like thunder, so loud I’m sure he can be heard from the lobby. Belatedly, he seems to realize that as well. With one last glance at Ellen’s room, he storms ahead, barging from the private suite with Fabio and me on his heels.

Cocking his head, he poses another question from over his shoulder. “I assume your faith is the only thing stopping me from taking my daughter home?”

Fabio frowns, confused. “I don’t—”

In a blur of motion, Mischa pivots, grabbing my arm without warning. The force with which he yanks me to him nearly takes me off my feet. From the corner of my eye, I see the guard at the door step forward to bolster the unspoken threat.

To his credit, Fabio doesn’t even flinch. “You and I both know that were any harm to befall me, your little spat with Donatello would escalate.”

“You think Vanici is in the position to threaten me?” Mischa replies, his voice low.

“Perhaps not.” Fabio shrugs. “You have ten times the men and resources—but Donatello can wreak more damage than you can imagine, even alone.”

“I’ve heard of the kind of ‘damage’ he likes to cause,” Mischa snarls. “So have you. After what he did to your sister—”

“Olivia’s death was an accident,” Fabio says smoothly. “A terrible tragedy.”

His voice remains level enough, but I catch the subtle wince he suppresses behind that blank expression.

“An accident.” Mischa raises an eyebrow. “Has he even told her the truth? Have you?” His eyes narrow with a sudden realization. “He hasn’t, has he? The fucking coward. And you. I would have thought you would be above this sick little game—”

“I don’t think we should discuss the past here,” Fabio insists, his tone soft.

Mischa’s fingers tremble, biting into my skin with a strength I don’t think he’s aware of. It hurts, compressing muscle and bone, but I don’t resist. This pain is only a fraction of what I’ve already caused him. If he ripped my arm off, it wouldn’t be punishment enough.

“You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” he harshly accuses. “What he did. I thought maybe you were in denial or believed his lies—but you don’t even have the decency to tell her the truth. What really happened to your sister. Why he sold her like chattel—”

“Trust me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Fabio warns, but the words lack bravado. He’s not boasting. He’s begging.

For silence?

What really happened to your sister…

Is Mischa implying there was more to her death than senseless violence?

“The past is in the past,” Fabio continues. “I love Donatello like a brother, but I wouldn’t wish his wrath on even my worst enemy. I can’t predict him. Given that the mishap between you two nearly resulted in the death of his nephew, I’ll be honest—the fact that we’re both unscathed is a blessing. For now, at least, there is a path to peace, however ridiculous it may be. I suggest we take it.”

Mischa scoffs, releasing me—but not as a gesture of good faith. Using his weight as a barrier, he blocks me from view, instead. “You do have a way with words. If the past is so inconsequential, then why don’t you tell her now, what he did?”

I crane my head enough to see Fabio, still unfazed. “There is no point in dwelling on the past,” he repeats. “Allowing your daughter to come here was a display of goodwill on Donatello’s part. I hope that you can match that courtesy by attending our meeting tomorrow. Rather than bring up old grievances, our time might be better spent tracking down the man who caused this mess in the first place.”

“J.W.,” Mischa says, his accent thick.

I can’t suppress my body’s reaction—revulsion. Bile threatens to crawl up my throat as I remember the brutality Donatello utilized to glean that bit of information from a man he tortured. Then killed.

“According to my best men, no one by that name exists,” Mischa adds.

“He’s clever,” Fabio admits. “As we speak, Donatello is tracking down leads as to the culprit’s identity. We can discuss this further tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

I can’t see Mischa’s face from this position. Every second that passes without a response from him makes my breathing hitch. Finally, his fingers capture my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“You insist on this?” I suspect he doesn’t want an answer. Whatever he sees in my expression makes him turn away, releasing me. “Of course, you would… You’ve always been so damn stubborn. The only way to make you see the truth is to prove it to you.”

Without another word, he storms off, leaving his guard by the door. A wary glance is the only acknowledgment the man sends my way before he returns his attention to the hall in general.

“Well…” Fabio sighs, tugging at his collar. “That was intense, wasn’t it?” He forces a faint smile, and I have a new appreciation for his quiet authority. Few men could keep their composure in such a situation.

Though, fewer men could tolerate the varying moods of Donatello Vanici. The latter proudly sports his title of a monster—with selling a child being one crime among many—but what does that make a man who so faithfully stands beside him?

Surprisingly, Fabio’s expressions are more nuanced than even Donatello’s. “I hope the visit went well?”

I look away, trying to process the tumult of emotions battling to shape my mood. Foremost, I’m relieved to have seen Ellen. Though, the next time we meet, will she grace me with that same loving smile? Mischa hasn’t told her what