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

“Don’t tell me you’re this worried about our troublesome newcomer?”

I shrug off the thinly veiled concern. “Don’t read too much into it, Fab. Just do this for me, okay?”

“Okay.” He reaches past me, gathering the documents. “But I think I’ll hold onto these at my office. And I shouldn’t have to say this… I don’t want to say this, but—” He meets my gaze, and for once, he doesn’t put on the poised, unshaken mask I’m used to. He openly wears his fear, his face constricted, eyes wide. “There is a clause that suicide would render the policy null and void. Vin would get your assets, but not your very hefty payout. Not that you would even consider doing something like that to him.”

He waits, daring me to fill the silence that falls. Lie. Make an excuse. Anything he can use to solidify whatever suspicion is growing in his skull.

“Goodnight, Fab,” I say, claiming my chair.

He deliberately lingers in the doorway before retreating into the hall with a sigh. “Goodnight, Donatello.”

I sense the moment he leaves the house, but I lose track of time after that. Without the insurance documents to distract me, my brain turns to its current chosen vice—her.

The letter she left me burns a hole in my pocket. I felt it, searing away during the meeting with Mischa. And now? It’s hellfire-hot against my thigh, distracting me from reviewing the numbers Fabio presented.

Like always, he’s right. The threat of a new player should be my sole concern. Not her. For all I know, she left me a blank piece of paper.

And if she did…

Fuck it, I’d see it as a sign—I got inside her head. I got her to back down. I won.

Why prolong the inevitable? Triumph can trump business, just this once.

Eagerly, I fish out the page, flicking it open with my thumb. A grunt rips from my throat. Shock? Or amusement. The little witch wrote to me, all right, the firm handwriting undermining her innocent mafiya princess image. No princess writes like this.

You took those letters because you are a coward.

I laugh out loud, but I keep reading, feeling my eyes narrow to slits.

You pretend that you don’t give a damn, when in reality, you are the child now, hiding from the horrors you don’t want to face. What are you afraid of? That I’ll see the truth? I am not afraid. I want to know.

Why did you do it?

I crush the note in my fist, rising to my feet. It’s already later in the day than I feel it should be—as if thinking of her eats up more time than I realize. My study is nearly pitch dark. Beyond the window, the sun is below the tree level, painting the horizon blood red.

The walls reflect the scarlet hue, embodying Mischa’s taunt—My wife isn’t dead.

Again, Fabio is right. This fucking house is a prison—all along, I’ve convinced myself that being here hurts her more, but it’s a lie. Masochism might be the real answer. What else could explain wandering these halls, stepping over the bloodstains still visible if you squint hard enough? The past battles for supremacy every fucking moment. I swear I hear laughter one minute. Footsteps the next. A voice…

“We need to talk.”

That voice isn’t Liv’s. Still, I take my time looking over my shoulder to find Luciano behind me, someone real at least—and relevant to the topic that should be my sole concern. If Antonio was a puppet, then his closest disciples had to know something.

“We do need to talk,” I say, returning to my desk.

“I need to know your plan,” he says. “With Kisa. With the boys and me. If you keep us on, then we deserve a cut of whatever the hell you’re planning. No more secrets. No more orders. I’m not your fucking babysitter, either—”

“Have a seat.” I gesture to the nearest chair. After a second’s pause, he sits. “I need to know who Antonio was talking to,” I say before he can reply. “If he were taking his marching orders from someone, you had to see something. A regular visitor. Something. Tell me what I want to know, and we can discuss fair compensation for your efforts.”

He rakes his hand through his hair, cutting his gaze to the wall behind me. “Define visitor,” he says finally. “He only took business at his office. Those appointments were the Saleris, and a few associates.”

“No one out of the usual?” Following Fab’s line of logic, this culprit is a newcomer, highly intelligent with wads of cash to throw around. Someone who couldn’t fly under the radar for too long.

“Not that I recall. He didn’t do business with very many people. Now, who he had at the house? That’s a different matter.”

I’m not surprised. Antonio had always been a hotshot, even in the days of old Giovanni. It was a rare thing to see him without a new whore on his arm—before and after his marriage.

“He liked his parties,” Luciano adds. “Men. Women. Lions, tigers, bears. He’s had all manner of shit in and out of that place, and I couldn’t even begin to keep track. But there was one woman I saw more than the others. Older than his usual type. Blond. But I couldn’t tell you more.”

I file away the description for later.

“What about Kisa? Did you keep track of her?” I don’t know why she’s on the forefront of my tongue now. It could just be a sloppy segue to the real question on my mind when it comes to Salvatore.

You have an alliance with one of the most powerful families in Hell’s Gambit, and a cushy position as the famiglia head. Why risk it all to take orders from an outsider?

What the hell did he have to gain?

“What about her?” Luciano says, his tone colder.

“You’ve been with Tony since he took over, haven’t you? Did you know her mother?”

He grits his teeth. So that’s a yes. I can’t understand his defensiveness, though. Unless, like me, he remembers what