Romeo The Mafia Casanova

Eden’s [POV]

NowThe 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, and the 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, and 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.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

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 and 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 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 every week, 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.