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

“Here—” he shoves a folder before me, containing more documents. These, however, all pertain to one location. A port with his name listed as the owner.

I look up and catch him watching me in return. A shiver runs down my spine, my throat dampening. He’s openly transparent, eyeing me like he’s waiting for something. Hunting for it. Then, his upper lip quirks, and I almost drop the page in my hand. I haven’t seen this expression in seven years.

The smirk he’d sport during the games we used to play, when he was all but sure of his win—until I proved him wrong, winning instead. I taught you well, he’d remark after…

“Maybe I was wrong.” While I was lost in thought, his smirk disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Give it back—” He grabs for the folder, but I pull it out of his reach.

Eyeing the pages again, I scramble to connect the dots on my own.

Several locations, all within close distance, and one pivotal business owned by him. Without thinking, I rummage through the remaining pages until I find a map tucked amid the chaos.

Donatello loudly clears his throat. He’s watching, still waiting. And yet…

I’m too fixated on the puzzle he’s presented to care. Despite my better judgment, his dare piqued my interest. How do you do it? An answer lurks in the murky bits of information; I can feel it. You are a smart, sneaky son of a bitch…

I only know one man who fits that descriptor perfectly. So, I ask myself—If I were Donatello Vanici, what would I see?

Danger. Paranoia would color my outlook of the world in hostile shades of gray. In his eyes, even a harmless butcher shop has ulterior motives.

But would Mischa see things any differently? Yes. Mischa is a crocodile prone to lie in wait for his chosen prey, while the man before me is a lion, apt to go for the jugular as soon as it’s presented to him.

My own throat contorts around a hard swallow. This isn’t right. No matter which mindset I put myself in, the information refuses to make sense.

But what if I tried a different, untapped outlook?

My own. How would Willow Stepanova see it? Or Safiya Mangenello…

Cocking my head, I observe the documents again. The various bits and pieces blend and meld, but I still don’t see a way of making sense of them.

Until I make the mistake of glancing up. Donatello glowers at the center of it all like a blazing bullseye, and my focus shifts. Not as a hunting predator, but something far more calculating. A watchful, careful animal that knows when to lie in wait and when to strike, so still and small it can seem invisible. Yet, dangerous in its own right.

I reach for another document, and then another, arranging them according to the pattern unfurling in my mind. There. It’s so clear to me now. I’m the one smirking, drawing a single grunt from the man across from me. In answer, all I can do is grapple for a pen and write on the corner of the nearest page.

It’s a web.

“A web?” Raising an eyebrow, he stands, moving behind me. His shadow is poison against my newfound confidence. I hate the way I watch him, searching for a hint of approval. He is poison. My body prickles with this newest dose, my breaths quickening as he runs his fingers across a document I’d placed in the center.

The port.

Suddenly he slaps his hand down over the map. “Son of a bitch.”

I release the breath I wasn’t aware of holding. Hidden within the gruff tone was an emotion he couldn’t suppress—grudging respect? It vanishes as he grunts again, snatching up another document. “So, their aim isn’t to drive me out; it’s to box me in. But why? For what?”

I shrug. Why else does a spider spin a web at all?

To catch a fly.

But even I can admit that it would take a rather large web to snare a lion.

I expect him to elaborate more, explain his reasoning at least. Instead, he lifts his hand abruptly, sending a trove of documents to the floor.

“Get dressed,” he says. “And not like that—” He nods to the simple sweater I’m wearing now. “Not that innocent shit Fab got you. Find something else. Something…” He seems to fish for the right words as he storms from the room. “Something that makes you look like you deserve a seat at the table.”

It’s a double-edged request, conveying so much of what he thinks of me. Unimpressive. Unworthy. Easily ignored. I bristle, irritated by his assessment, though do I even want to appeal to a man like him?

My mind flashes back to that moment in the darkness, and I lose track of everything but the tightness in my chest.

“Show me what I’m missing,” he demanded. “This is how you can hurt me. Show me what I’ll never have...”

“Meet me in the car,” the present Donatello calls from the hallway. “I need to have a little word with the Saleris… And I’m taking you with me.”

The Saleris. That name sounds familiar, but I don’t realize why until I spy the building we approach through the windshield of Donatello’s sports car. In the overcast daylight, it looks like just any other midrise structure near the city center.

Not a club. Without seeing the name emblazoned across the front, I wouldn’t even recognize it as the lounge where we met those two men. The Saleris. There seemed to be no love lost between them and Donatello—to the point where I felt compelled to kiss him to play the role of his willing fiancée...

This time, Donatello parks directly before it, heedless of the posted sign forbidding the action, or the bouncer who lunges from his post. “Hey! You need to move your car—”

“I need to see Gregori Saleri,” Donatello growls as he climbs out and fearlessly mounts the curb.

As I watch him, his prior words echo in my skull. Look