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

He’s seen all I am. He’s ripped my clothing, stripped me bare, and shoved his own finger inside me. How cruel is it that exploring him isn’t nearly so simple?

It’s a journey through silken fabric that doesn’t want to conform to my touch and a metal zipper that resists when I tug it.

The biggest barrier in my way is the man himself, exhaling so harshly each breath resembles a growl.

“Stop.”

I don’t. I can’t. I keep tugging. Ruthlessly, persistently pulling until the material finally gives way, revealing darker cotton beneath. Boxers. A bulge shapes the front of them, and I balk, my face heating.

“Enough.” Donatello’s hand returns to my shoulder, gripping hard enough to sting. “Don’t embarrass yourself, little Stepanova,” he warns, yanking me to my feet. In the same motion, he refastens his pants and turns away. “You want to play blackmail? Well, then you win. I suggest you enjoy your spoils of war while you can.”

My body resonates with the threat, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. Swaying on my feet, I turn to the desk. The only way to put distance between us is to circle around to the other end of the table, utilizing the wood as a barrier.

I win, he said?

Aware of his gaze, I open the drawer he kept the letters in. I’m tempted to grab them all and run—anything to get another glimpse into the man he used to be.

Instead, I withdraw only the one he initially offered, denting the page with how tightly I hold it.

It feels like a live wire, unnaturally hot as I press it to my chest. Before I move from the desk completely, I grab the pen and a fresh sheet of paper as well.

Wordlessly, he watches me leave, my spoils in tow.

And we both retreat, aware that yet another round of this war has ended in a draw.

10

Don

She isn’t the reason why I fall asleep at my desk. I’m not afraid of her sneaking into my bed again, determined to suck my cock for real. No. I’m merely waiting for our next round to commence.

The parting look she sent my way all but guaranteed our game isn’t over yet—but therein lies the real mystery. What the hell is she playing at?

Does she even know… One minute she’s coming at me with a knife. The next, she’s on her knees. Touching me. Flashing those angry eyes when I deny her.

My cock throbs, threatening to burst through my damn zipper. Not because of her. Any woman with her mouth at the ready would trigger the same reaction. A pulse shoots through my abdomen as if to call me out—liar. My cock pulses in agreement. Only one woman is on my mind now. I still see her, those pouty lips glistening wet, her hands reaching for me…

Fuck. A cold shower is in my near future if I plan on meeting Mischa with my dignity intact. I always could use my hand to get myself off, but that’s what she wants. To get inside my head and play with fire.

Maybe I should let the little Stepanova burn?

I toy with the thought of dragging her beneath me, forcing her to put that mouth to work.

And, as if on cue, soft footsteps echo from the hall, and my head shoots up, my gaze on the open door. Before she can even show her face, I preempt her, “Back for more, little—”

“More what?”

Fabio appears in the doorway in lieu of a sly blond. He looks bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, his hair slicked back, his designer suit perfectly tailored, another shopping bag in tow. In fact, he seems too polished.

Not to mention, he’s eyeing the wall behind me rather than meeting my gaze. He’s hiding something.

“You look ready to get this shitshow started,” I remark without calling him out.

“I hope you’re ready,” he says, finally glancing me over. His eyes linger over my hands as if he’s making sure that nothing sharp or dangerous is within my reach. All he finds is blood and scabbed knuckles.

His eyebrow shoots up. “What the hell happened to you?”

I flex my fingers one by one. The Salvatore girl’s blood is still smeared across them. “I played nursemaid.”

Later, I’ll dissect the girl’s actions. Not only did she sneak into my room and steal the knife, but the nurse who treated her wound implied it was self-inflicted.

“Do I even want to know? Anyway, here—” Fabio withdraws the Librium from his suit pocket and fishes out a capsule. As I choke it down, he adds, “According to your outfit, you aren’t ready, as usual. Take this and then go get dressed. We’re meeting with Mischa in an hour and—”

“Cut to the chase, Fab.” I rise to my feet as color floods his cheeks. “Spit it out. If your eyes dart anymore, they’ll fly out of your head. What’s wrong?”

He grits his teeth. Then he sighs. “Mischa has returned to the table with a…request.”

“Oh?”

I don’t like his tone. I don’t like the way he keeps eyeing the doorway, either.

I’m surprised Mischa didn’t take the girl from the hospital. Either he’s had a change of heart, or he’s found another way to derail our “engagement.”

“And?”

Fabio exhales, grasping for an edge of the desk. “I wasn’t even going to tell you,” he admits. “Frankly, it’s something I could arrange without your consent via my contacts, though it would be violating several medical privacy laws—”

“What, Fabio?”

“He wants a blood test.”

I frown. “Of Willow? Let him have one. I can assure you that I am not the father.”

Perhaps this is Mischa’s way of reminding me of that boundary? The sick fuck. I wasn’t her father, but I took her in when she had no one else.

And in the end, I hurt her worse than Gino ever did.

“On both of you,” Fabio clarifies, now facing the wall. “Says it’s to…clear the air as to the nature of your relationship.”

I ignore that obvious bait,