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

of me tries to shrug the reaction off—she saw I’d told her the truth, that’s all. She believed me. She meant nothing. Not a damn thing.

The only problem is I think she wanted to see that indifference emblazoned on my fucking face.

I couldn’t even give her that much.

“I don’t remember,” I croak, staring blankly at the wall as if it contains the answer. What was I feeling as I did what I did? When I left her.

I should have felt something. The same shit I tried to rub in her face at least—smug, remorseless pride. Why else would a sick, twisted motherfucker do something so fucking cruel without a damn good reason? All along, I’ve been telling myself the answer was simple masochism—selling her hurt me more than Gino’s betrayal.

But for the first time since seeing her again…I can finally admit it out loud. “I don’t know why I did it.”

What drove me there, with her hand in mine? Looking back, those memories are shrouded in a web of hate that obscures everything beyond it in a red haze. It’s an inferno, burning too brightly to even see what lurks beneath the flames.

Not that the reasons matter. Her father deceived me, and I sold her in return. On its face, that’s more than enough of a reason for a sick monster to betray one of the few people foolish enough to put her faith in him.

“I don’t remember, is that what you wanted to hear?” I demand to silence. My fingers are in her hair without permission from my brain, creeping through the tresses shrouding her skull as if it alone contains the answers. All I’d have to do is break it open…

I curl each finger, feeling my nails graze the delicate skin. I could hurt her with no effort at all. It takes more energy to hold still. “Tell me why. Tell me what you remember.”

Her own nails bite into my wrist, her face against my chest. I can guess what she would say—You left me. You left....

I did—but when I inspect those memories, it’s like watching a stranger’s unfurl. I’m blocked from the bastard’s mind, blind to his motives. Why did he do it?

Not that it matters.

“I’m glad you hate me,” I tell her, withdrawing my hands from her scalp. Finally, she moves, inclining her head to face me. One swipe of her hand across her cheek banishes any tears. She’s stone again.

For whatever reason, my thumb drifts down, catching the edge of that pouty mouth before she can smother all emotion completely. I apply just enough pressure to make her lips part, imagining the words she’d say. I’ll always hate you.

“You should,” I reply. “At least that means I taught you one damn thing worth remembering.”

Something beyond how to play hide-and-seek or swim.

“I taught you to never trust anyone—” I shove her back and head for the doorway. “You got that? No matter how much they claim to love you, it doesn’t matter. They’ll leave.”

Just like how I did when it came to her. Just like how Liv left me. Intent doesn’t matter; it’s fate. There is no such thing as a happily ever after.

Leaving now is one final shred of mercy I can give her.

But she won’t let me. Her scent is a drug, dulling my better judgment, weighing down each step I take as though I’m wading through quicksand. Then I stop. She’s pressed against the wall, her expression frozen, those eyes so endless; one look, and I’m drowning in them.

When I finally move, it’s in the wrong direction—advancing on her corner, watching her shrink in on herself. My heart pangs, and I tell myself that this is what I want—her afraid and shivering.

Her hand flies out without warning, pressing against my chest. I grip her reflexively, dragging her closer, inhaling that fucking scent in stereo. I groan, telling myself a million different lies. This means nothing. It’s not capitulation if I don’t penetrate her. Holding her means nothing. Nothing.

The fact that she relents is irrelevant, her hands on my forearms, her face against the name etched into my skin.

“I’d give you anything to make it right…” The promise escapes my mouth, unbidden. Do I even mean it?

I look down at the sliver of her face exposed to me. The soft bone structure. A dark eye squeezed shut, cheek glistening with tears.

She’s beautiful.

She’s hell, my personal devil here to ensure my soul burns eternally for what I did. I have no right to touch her, stroking the bridge of her nose with the tip of a finger.

I feel driven to keep talking to her, “You won’t have to endure me for long.”

Her head jerks up, her gaze cutting to mine, demanding an answer. Do I mean it as a warning? A mercy?

“You’ll be free in due time, little principessa. Free to marry your prince and live the sheltered life promised to you.”

This is mercy, I decide. The truth, even if it’s not exactly what she’s after. She’ll be freed from her monster soon enough—both her and Vincenzo.

She should take comfort in that.

Instead, her eyes blaze, body stiffening with indignation. Her answer is almost too easy to guess—because I’m seeing only what I want to see.

No, she says, my selfish little witch. You belong to me.

She sinks her nails into my flesh, and I figure it’s just a proxy for what she really wants—to dig her claws into my soul.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I rasp. Suddenly exhausted, I stop resisting, bringing my mouth near her ear, forcing her back to bow beneath my height. “I’ll teach you one more thing—to know when to fold. Some battles aren’t worth winning.”

She’s always been a greedy fucking thing, though.

She doesn’t let go, even as I lean back against the wall, allowing the rickety structure to support our combined weight.

She stays, her eyes seeking out mine in the dark.

I will win, they say. You owe me this.

13

Evgeni

“How does an heiress wind up beholden to