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

The past is dead.

For good measure, I shove the letters in a desk drawer and turn my focus toward the one thing I have any damn control over—the future. Once I adjust my insurance policy, Vin will be protected, and my little wife will finally get to see her revenge enacted…

Everyone wins.

I smile at the thought, but the satisfaction doesn’t last long. A familiar scent catches my nostrils, fresher than the stench infecting the letters. Roses. The source appears in the doorway the second I identify it, her hair loose, a new slip of paper in her grasp.

I blink to see if she vanishes like Olivia.

She doesn’t; my imagination isn’t wild enough to conjure that haughty fucking expression. She and Fab project a similar smugness. Like they know something I don’t, while they conspire together, visiting Vincenzo without me. Did he give her those letters in the first place?

I wouldn’t put it past him in some misguided attempt at “peace.”

“What do you want?” I flatten my hand against the desk, noting its width in comparison to that pretty, pale neck. I could curl a fist around that throat and have my fingers meet. One hard twist would snap it.

I should do far worse than that.

“What did he say to you?” Fresh irritation roughens my voice. I should have confronted her the second I saw her in his room.

Hell, maybe that was my karmic punishment—watching her stand over Vin’s lifeless body after I tried my damn hardest to destroy her. God is a cruel son of a bitch.

So is she. Her eyes reflect nothing but my own staring back. She has no trouble reading me, but it’s rare when I can’t read her.

I slam my hand against the desk hard, and she jumps, not so stoic after all. “Tell me.”

She doesn’t have to. Her cheeks flush pink with rage, and it’s confirmation enough. Despite his weakened state, Vin told her the truth—he thought Safiya was dead.

Fuck. I sit back, caught off guard by the guilt rising in my gut.

Do I regret the lie? No. If Vin knew what I actually did, that I left her…

He would never forgive me for that.

Never.

She’s smart enough to have already guessed that. It’s why she’s here, even if she can’t state as much out loud—blackmail.

Well, she can get in line. As I lift my hand, a streak of blood draws my notice—the Salvatore girl’s. She’s another future hellcat with an ax to grind, not to mention the Saleris, and Mischa, and whoever set this all into motion…

In the grand scheme, Willow Stepanova is one in a long line of many.

“You think you have leverage over me now?” I say, cutting to the chase. A chuckle slips from me before I can help it, but the little witch isn’t playing along.

Her eyes widen as if she’s confused by the statement. Bullshit. I’m not falling for the innocent act.

“Fine,” I admit. “You got your wish. I’ll play. Keep your mouth shut. Or…”

Once again, those eyes convey her response without her having to utter a word. Or what?

“If he knew… It would kill him,” I say coldly. Though, I can’t keep the truth from him forever. “Give me time to tell him myself.”

She purses her lips. Why?

“You seem to be in the habit of making ultimatums,” I point out. “Keep your mouth shut, and you set the terms.”

I expect her to pretend she’s above blackmail, but she seems to enjoy proving me wrong.

Rather than leave, she approaches the desk. Shock roots me to the spot, and she’s close enough to touch before I know it, that frothy yellow dress swishing around her. The thin fabric conforms to those softly curving breasts and slender hips, falling just above her knees. By her side, a pale hand flinches, and I suspect what she’s after even before she flattens her palm against the wood’s surface.

Let me speak.

I tug open a drawer—the same one I shoved the letters into—and withdraw a fresh sheet of paper and a pen, sliding both toward her. She takes them in her delicate hands, manipulating each one the way I assume she would piano keys.

Mischa turned her into a musician, but at her core, she’s an assassin—whether it’s a knife, or a pen, she wields both weapons against me without hesitation. The cut she left on my cheek still stings, but I must be addicted to her brand of pain. Here I am, letting her take yet another shot. I shouldn’t indulge her. Her words shouldn’t matter.

I’m staring anyway, feeling the front of my pants tighten. Watching her write is way more enthralling than it should be. As sick as it sounds, there’s something sensual in how she grips that pen. Her thumb strokes the barrel as she takes her time forming each word.

The end result is blunt as hell—You lied to him. You are a coward.

I grit my teeth. Surprisingly, I don’t feel the anger I’d expect. She’s right. I lied to Vincenzo, and I’d do so again.

“I am a coward,” I admit, leveling her with a searching look. “But no different from your Mischa.”

Her eyes cut to slits. Don’t you turn this on him.

But it’s the only weapon I have—deflection.

“He knew my identity,” I add, sitting forward.

She bites her lip and goddamn. The sight of that pink flesh between her teeth is hell. Aware of my attention, her eyes narrow, her cheeks reddening—but she can’t deny she’s pissed. Good.

“Mischa,” I continue, fighting to stay focused on the topic at hand. “He let me live all this time in proximity to you without breathing a word. He denied you your revenge. Does that count as a lie?”

Her nostrils flare as she retracts her teeth, leaving her lip blood-red. It’s the closest I figure she’ll come to an outright snarl, and it’s a look that requires no interpretation—You are a monster.

“I thought we already established that I am a monster,” I point out.

She doesn’t look satisfied by the admission. Her eyes trace mine in