Mafia Casanova

by Robinson, M.

  I knew it bothered Eden.

  I could keep her safe without a gun.

  It was her wedding day.

  So even though she didn’t know, I did, and that made all the difference, or it had.

  “Knock, knock.” Tristian rapt his knuckles against the wood door, then crossed his arms. “You feeling okay?”

  “Course.” I snapped out the answer, waving my gun at him. “Just left this in here next to the crayons and goldfish. Why?”

  His eyes flickered from my gun to the scratches on my neck and lingered there for a good five seconds as if he wanted me to know he saw.

  He knew.

  He might even slightly understand.

  I shifted on my feet. “Tristian?”

  His gaze fell to me. “I’m only going to say this once.”

  “Good, because I’m starving, and I’m about three seconds away from stealing the goldfish and animal crackers in that cupboard.”

  “Stealing from children, how typical.” He moved farther into the room, his posture rigid, his eyes fuming despite his sarcasm.

  “Well?” I leaned against one of the tables littered with construction paper and more art supplies.

  He eyed the scissors.

  Not promising.

  “She’s mine now.” He looked over at me. “You understand that, right?”

  I jerked back, never expecting him to say that.

  “Answer me, Romeo.”

  I put my hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Whoa, man, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of.”

  “The past you have with my wife stays in the past, including whatever history you and Eden may have had. Consider it nonexistent.” He stepped toward me, getting right in my face. “She’s my wife now, brother. Are you understanding me?”

  With a rigid stature, I replied, “Loud and clear, brother. Loud and fucking clear.”

  He turned and gave me such a pitiful look that I’d prefer getting punched in the face. “Want to know why you’ll always be second place when it comes to Eden, Romeo?”

  I cocked my head, arching an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, Tristian,” I said dryly.

  He let out a snicker, “Because there’s only room for one person in that dark heart of yours—you.”

  I flinched. “Some might say that’s how I stay alive.”

  “Some might ask if you’re really living.” He took a few steps toward me again and then jerked his chin up. “Next time, have the fucking decency to at least cover up the scratches from whatever whore you were with last night—the last thing Eden needs is to be reminded of what you do and how you do it.”

  My nostrils flared. Did he know? Was he baiting me? I gripped the table with my fingers to keep myself from wrapping them around his neck. “Or what?”

  “If you touch her again,” he continued. “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

  I burst out laughing. “Did you rehearse that? You almost had me there. Don’t worry, brother, the last person I want to touch is your precious virginal wife; I’d compare that experience to fucking a corpse.”

  “Tristian,” Eden’s voice filled the room. “They need us for pictures.”

  Slowly I turned toward her.

  She was furious.

  Hurt.

  Beautiful.

  His.

  “Eden, you’re a beautiful bride,” I whispered as agony washed over me, through me, around me. Taking me whole, holding me captive.

  “Don’t you mean corpse bride?” she snapped, and then as if deciding I wasn’t worth it, she brought her attention to my brother, her smile bright. “You ready?”

  “I’ve been ready my whole life, Eden.” Tristian shot me one last look and then joined her, wrapping an arm around her body and leading her out of the room.

  I’d been wrong.

  The final break hadn’t taken place during the vows or even during the kiss or the I love yous.

  No, it had just occurred.

  And I’d been the one to do it.

  My relationship with them both would never be the same, and all I had to do was look in the mirror to know the person responsible for it. This was the moment our dynamic changed into something unrecognizable. The broken pieces of our hearts shattered into a kaleidoscope of black and white when we used to be nothing but bright, blinding color.

  Crashing to the floor by our feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “A Villain is just a princess who has not been rescued.” —Maleficent

  Eden

  Now

  The house was silent except for the low murmur of the bosses at the living room table. They were long past a few bottles of wine, just like I was long past my ability to smile and say thank you every single time someone approached with their condolences.

  Naz had passed out hours ago, clinging to the stuffed horse Tristian had given him when he was born. What used to be white was now gray, missing one eye, and a bit matted, but it didn’t matter. He loved it.

  It was the one thing he refused to sleep without regardless of how old he got. He didn’t hear me check on him tonight, but I could still see the stain of tears on his ruddy cheeks while he clutched the horse under his arm, mouth open, blankets kicked off.

  How did we survive this? How did anyone explain death to someone who’d only lived a short life? To a tenderhearted boy who just wanted to see his daddy again, hold him close, and tell him about his day or his new Lego set?

  Exhaustion hit me hard and fast as I walked through the dark kitchen, unsure of what to do next. I was too tired to sleep, still had guests, and was afraid if I closed my eyes, I’d lose it again. Seeing my dead husband. A crippling numbness washed over me as I leaned against the kitchen sink, staring at my haunted expression in the window’s reflection.

  Dark circles stood out beneath my eyes; even my expert makeup couldn’t cover up the sadness that lingered like a mask across my face.

  Why, Tristian? Why?

  His death forced me to question every conversation, every choice, every instant I asked if he was okay only to hear a lie fall from his lips.

  Was he ever truly happy with us?

  With me?

  His brother?

  Or was that a lie too?

  “Eden.” Romeo’s voice was low, rough, tainted. I remembered a time when it caused chills of excitement. Now? All I felt was dread. “Andrei wants to see you.”

  I hung my head, my eyes locking on the empty sink as I gripped the edge of it. “Of course, he does.”

  Why wouldn’t the boss of the Sinacore Family want to see me after my husband’s funeral?

  “He’s worried.”

  My smile was sad. “I know.”

  “Come on.” A hand reached out and gently touched my shoulder. “Please. Seeing you like this is killing me.”

  I wanted to respond in anger.

  Tell him to fuck off.

  Go to hell.

  To leave the home I had made with his brother and never come back again.

  I didn’t do any of those things; instead, I jerked away and slapped his face trying to feel something other than sadness. At least the rage would stop the tears, right? Isn’t that what madness did? Took over until all you saw was red? Felt nothing but fucking crimson, bleeding red.

  I was still lost in my thoughts, held captive by these chains around my heart, where Romeo once held the key.

  There was no response from the sting of my hand on his cheek. Not one. He stood in front of me, allowing his expression to speak for itself. I saw a whirlwind of emotions fly through his eyes, making me feel alive yet still so fucking broken.

  He was the first to break the silence between us, stating, “I’ll be whatever you need, Red. If that means I’m your punching bag, then so be it.”

  “Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

  “I know.”

  Unable to hold back, I slapped him again. When I still didn’t see the anger I desired flash through his gaze,
I slapped him again and again.

  “Fucking fight back!” I seethed, feeling abandoned by my husband and the man who, at one time, I thought was my soul mate.

  “Do it, Eden! Fucking hit me!”

  I did.

  “Hit me harder!”

  I didn’t have to be told twice, hitting him harder than I’d ever hit anyone in my life. I slapped him so hard my hand was on fire, mimicking the wrath of my assault.

  “I hate you! I fucking hate you, Romeo!”

  Before I could slap him again, he gripped onto my wrist mid-swing and turned my body around until my back was pressed against his solid, sturdy chest. In one quick, sudden movement, I was now in the arms of the man who’d hurt me in ways I never imagined were possible.

  My body burned from the heat of his embrace. He wrapped his arms around my torso, holding me closer than I’d been to him since the night of my wedding reception. We hadn’t crossed any lines since I said, “I do.” And there I was, ready to go for round two.

  “Let me go,” I gritted through a clenched jaw.

  “Never.”

  “How dare you? After everything! How dare you?”

  He whispered in my ear, “I understand your need to blame someone, and you’ve blamed me for years, so forgive me for not giving a flying fuck about your desire to have me fight you.”

  I gasped. The audacity of this man!

  He let me go but not before he ran his nose along the side of my neck like he was trying to inhale my scent to take with him.

  “Come on,” he demanded, pretending as if I hadn’t noticed.

  Taking a deep breath, I desperately tried to govern my emotions. Reel in the havoc that seemed to be taking over when I least expected it. Hate felt good. Hating him felt right. It was better than feeling…

  Lost.

  Forgotten.

  Forsaken.

  Even though he’d already turned his back to me and was on his way out of the kitchen, I nodded, following behind him. My gaze fixed on his flexed back. He’d taken off his suit jacket; all that remained was a tight white button-down shirt that seemed to move with each step he took.

  He was bigger than he used to be—more fit. Selfishly I wondered if it had anything to do with me—with Tristian, and then I remembered his words that night.

  “I don’t love you. I only came here to fuck you.”

  My body physically jerked as if he was saying it all over again. Tears filled my eyes at the painful memory. He’d still been inside me, filling me, pulsing, reminding me of what we’d just done.

  My heart had been within reach, and rather than hold it, he wrapped his hands around it and squeezed until there was nothing left.

  And then, like every villain, he left me in a pool of my own blood, not caring whether I lived or died because, in the end—he got exactly what he wanted.

  My body.

  He didn’t know that I’d never slept with Tristian, that I’d always kept him at arm’s length even during our engagement.

  I broke that vow with Romeo, and I could never take that back.

  One choice.

  One decision.

  And I’d become his before ever becoming my husband’s, and now my husband was gone.

  Head high, I walked into the dining room and tried to paste a polite smile on my face as Andrei Sinacore leaned back into his chair, his sharp blue eyes seeing too much.

  In his late thirties, he was one of the younger bosses in the Cosa Nostra—also the most deadly. He liked to toy with his victims and found great joy in using dangerous animals in his torture techniques. Rumors spanned far and wide about his tiger cages and the human bones that were cleaned out on a weekly basis, all because he was trying to keep the family safe.

  Myself included.

  Half Russian, half Italian, he was the glue that held the very shaky peace between both families together, and while I’d always been thankful, I didn’t want to see him right now, not when he was already inspecting every movement right down to the way I was breathing.

  Blinking.

  Trying to hold what was left of my life together.

  “Sit.” He nodded toward one of the chairs. My father was on his right, Romeo’s father to his left. A few associates were scattered around the room, pretending to stare out the window or look at their phones when we all knew they were watching, waiting, ready to pounce if need be.

  Romeo pulled out the wooden chair, his long elegant fingers a welcome distraction because I remembered what those fingers could do.

  They brought pleasure, pain, heartache, hate.

  Slowly I lowered myself to the chair, back straight, eyes locked on one of the most powerful bosses in the world. He was almost too pretty to be ruthless—but we all knew the truth. Sometimes the prettiest things in the world were far more warning than invitation.

  He was the former, with his golden blond hair, light eyes, chiseled jaw, and full lips, but Andrei was all fallen angel, no chance of redemption, not that he would want it in the first place since he actually enjoyed his seat in Hell and welcomed sin like a long lost lover.

  It’s how he kept everyone safe.

  At the end of the day, these men were ruthless, feared, monsters in plain sight but family over everything.

  It was everything.

  No matter what.

  Family always came first.

  “We have a few questions.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “I know this is difficult but, you were the last person to see Tristian…”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered. “Yes, he was in a hurry.” I left out the part where he smelled like cheap perfume or how he’d slapped me so hard across the face it’d taken me a whole hour to try to cover the bruise that was still faintly on my cheek. The guilt in his eyes would haunt me for an eternity until he decided to bait me, betray me, put his hands on me, not with a lover’s touch. “We had been…having some communication issues.” That sounded better than fighting. “And honestly, I was so thankful that he was smiling and acting like himself that I didn’t ask when I should have.” I lied through my teeth; it was better than the truth.

  Why ruin the perfect image of a man I started to think I didn’t know?

  Andrei bit back a curse. “I believe I already know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway—who’s in charge of the finances?”

  I frowned. “He’s the accountant; I’m horrible with numbers.”

  The entire room tensed as Andrei leaned back and lowered his head like he was about to make a human sacrifice and felt guilty about it. “Show her.”

  My father shared a look with Romeo, who was still standing behind me, then slowly slid a folder toward me. With shaking hands, I grabbed the manila folder.

  How could something so plain terrify a person so much?

  I reached into the folder and pulled out a stack of papers—bank statements, to be exact.

  Highlighted at the very top was the sum of all of our accounts.

  My stomach rolled. “Th-this— it isn’t. It can’t be right.”

  He wouldn’t.

  There was no way.

  We were well off for sure; he’d been paid extremely well, and I had a trust fund from my father… But this? This enormous amount?

  “Twenty-five million dollars,” Andrei said it slowly like I had a learning disability or maybe because I was having trouble believing it myself.

  Twenty-five million?

  Oh Tristian.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  What have you done?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you know, Eden,” Andrei said with a smirk, “how valuable information can be?”

  A chill ran down my spine as I tried to defend him in vain, maybe it was one last attempt to salvage his image. “He would never—”

  Andrei pounded his fists against the table, causing me to jump a foot.

  As he spewed, “HE DID!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “There are no villains
or heroes. There’s just what I want and how I’ll get it.” —X-Men

  Eden

  “I don’t know what he told or who he told it to; we have no leads, only evidence and a shit confession from Tristian himself when he got in too deep,” Andrei confided.

  My head jerked up. “He confessed?”

  Andrei sighed. “In a way.” He schooled his features again. “We’re still looking. But because both families, the Petrovs and the Sinacores, are aware of his…indiscretion.”

  I flinched.

  “You need protection.”

  “I have a gun.” I scowled. “I know how to use it.”

  “Sweetheart.” My dad spoke for the first time since sitting down. “You don’t understand the ramifications. Tristian has put the entire family in jeopardy. At this point, we have no idea who he was working with, but it left every single one of us exposed; not only are we having to worry about new information getting discovered—the old information has already spread like wildfire throughout the Cosa Nostra. The Five Families have long memories, and they like their pound of flesh.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Sounds to me like they already got it.”

  “One would think,” Andrei snapped.

  My dad shot me a look so sad, so horribly telling, that I wanted to puke. It was the first time in years that I noticed the hard lines on his face, the wrinkles near his mouth, the death in his eyes. If the mafia didn’t kill him—the job certainly would, wouldn’t it? His massive hands flexed and unflexed as he laid them on the table in a way that looked like surrender.

  My father was a strong man; it was weird to see him appear weak, even for a second.

  Andrei patted him on the arm. “We will take care of this; you worry too much. I’ll stay in New York until she’s dealt with.”

  “She’s all I have.” Dad sighed again, and I never wanted the ground to swallow me whole more than I did in that second.

  “She’s more important alive than dead,” Andrei added, simply like they were talking about the weather or the latest soccer game. They spoke as if I wasn’t in the room like I was a child, or worse…

  A victim.