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

“He…”

“Fabio!”

“Okay, okay.” Finally, he mutters, “He wants the testing extended to Olivia… And Nico.”

“What?”

I see red. I taste the rage, welling over my tongue like blood. I black out. Go numb. The next thing I know, I’m barging into the hallway, unable to contain the restless energy that demands I do something. Punch something. Stab. Fight.

“I want you to think rationally, Donatello,” I hear Fabio warn, but he’s smart enough to keep his distance.

Think rationally.

How the hell can I? All I see is Olivia’s beautiful face, Nico in her arms. Their blood all over this fucking floor…

I close my eyes, leaning against the wall as the world around me spins like a fucking merry-go-round. When I re-open them, it’s still spinning, an endless, dizzying blur.

“Donatello,” Fabio says softly. “Hear me out—”

“You were going to do it anyway.” I’m surprised to find the guilt openly expressed on his face. “Son of a bitch! You were going to let that fucker toy with your own damn sister’s body. Why?”

“Why?” With a shift of his stance, he transforms into the stoic accountant, only concerned with the fucking logistics. “Because I loved Olivia more than you will ever know, but she’s gone. Vincenzo, on the other hand? He’s still here, and I would give my own soul to ensure that fact remains true.”

“You…” I take a step toward him, my hand clenching.

“D-Don?” Fabio stiffens, raising his arm in defense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him afraid.

Could I hit him?

My knuckles crack as I raise my fist, eyeing his unblemished jaw. I pivot instead, striking the wall. Pain rips up my arm, but it’s not painful enough. So, I hit it again.

Again.

“Donatello!”

“Mischa started this,” I bellow over him. “If anyone should be kowtowing to ridiculous demands, it’s him. Why the fuck are you making me play like this is an even fight? It’s not. I have every right to kill him if I wanted.”

“No,” Fabio says so quietly I have to strain to hear him above my panting breaths. “I watched you destroy your life over revenge once. I refuse to let that happen again. You hear that, Donatello?”

He steps directly into my line of sight. “I refuse to. You went through hell, I get it, but have you ever stopped—just once—to wonder what that was like for me? For Vincenzo?”

His words have the effect of a punch to the gut. I go limp, watching the shredded flesh around my knuckles drip droplets of red.

“We had to watch you die without having the benefit of a funeral to mourn you. Do you think that was easy?” I’ve never heard him like this, and he clears his throat, fighting to return to his usual tone. “It wasn’t. So, fuck Mischa Stepanov. He could ask for the moon, and I’d grant it. Why? I’m not afraid of him. He isn’t the one I give a damn about.”

“Mischa wants my blood. Fine—” I lift my bloodied hand. “Have him come here and prick me his damn self. But not Olivia. Not Nico.”

“They’re gone, Don,” Fabio says gently. “They’re gone. No one else can ever hurt them. 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 first, giving him the opening to go for your throat. I’ve spent longer with the man than you have, and I have no delusions as to his merciful side. I’ll let you in on a secret—he doesn’t have one.”

As the words leave his mouth, the scent of roses hits me full in the face. Fuck. I don’t even have to turn around to see her lurking there, watching from the bottom step. For how long? Long enough.

“He doesn’t care for anyone outside of his family, that is,” Fabio corrects, spotting her as well. “Do you want to give him the satisfaction of turning you into the villain after he nearly killed Vin? I haven’t forgotten that, and you better not either. The only way to win is to keep your head. Stay focused. Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

He waits, letting my silence serve as his answer.

“If you want my advice, you go in there with your head held high and your willing bride on your arm. You acquiesce to any asinine request, and you gather the evidence necessary to find the real culprit behind this ‘misunderstanding.’ You didn’t get to the top by using your fists. You used your head.”

“Giovanni could have used a recruit like you,” I admit, but it’s no compliment. “You’re damn good at manipulation.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t have the stomach for it. Speaking of ‘stomach,’ I got you a suit that hopefully fits you properly, so you don’t look in danger of busting out of it—” I hear a papery rustle as if he set his shopping bag down. “Put it on, clean yourself up, and meet me in the car in twenty minutes.”

When I don’t argue, he finally turns to the girl. “I’ve already made it clear that you have made your voice heard in these negotiations.”

Finally, I look at her. From her blank expression, she interprets the statement the same way I do—not as a respectful olive branch, but as a bone thrown to keep the beasts satisfied for the time being. In the grand scheme, Fabio doesn’t give a damn about her “voice.” He’s made it clear that he has his own motives for wanting this sham to go on. I suspect they all aren’t as selfless as he would lead me to believe.

Maybe he’s been the puppet master all along. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised. He’s nothing if not resourceful. While my life went to shit, Fabio thrived despite the stigma of being attached to the Vanici name. While achieved on his own merits, Vin’s success was also a