Mafia Casanova - M. Robinson Page 0,38

emotion behind her gaze. I knew they mirrored mine; there was no need for words. Our eyes spoke for themselves as I took her face between my hands and caressed the sides of her cheeks with my thumbs.

My thoughts.

My words.

They all seemed to be fucking intertwined with one another. Pushing and pulling like a game of tug of war that never ended and was impossible to win.

“If we were stuck there, then you wouldn’t have married my brother.”

“What do you want from me?” she whispered, peering into my chest. I lifted her chin so I could once again look into her beautiful eyes. The pain in her voice was so tangible like I could reach out and touch it, obliterate it with my bare hands and replace it with something else—anything else.

“Whatever you have to give me,” I answered simply, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

“Tristian is inside, Romeo.”

“It’s never stopped me before.”

Her lips started quivering, unable to form words. I kissed her forehead, resisting the urge to claim every last inch of skin. I knew I shouldn’t have been there, but I had to see her. It had been way too fucking long.

One of my biggest regrets in my life was giving her to my brother.

“I can’t lose you again,” I stated the truth, hating that I sounded weak as hell.

“You don’t have me now.” I’d forgotten how adorable she was when she lied.

“You’re in my arms, so I’ll take you any way I fucking can.”

A frown pinched her face as she pulled away from me, shaking her head. Breaking our connection. I stepped toward her but was quickly interrupted by a toddler’s voice shouting, “Mama!”

Both our stares darted in the direction it came from. Two chubby legs came barreling down the path like a drunken sailor. Barreling footsteps followed behind him, Tristian chasing after their son.

His glare flew from her to me while mine stayed on the little boy by her feet. His arms were extended sky high, begging to be picked up.

Eden assumed I was gone for half his little life. She didn’t know that there wasn’t a breath he took without me watching over him, like an avenging angel.

Tristian spewed, “Am I interrupting?”

Still, I couldn’t get my gaze to move.

Refocus.

Connect with my brother, whom I hadn’t seen since he kicked me out of his house.

His life.

Theirs.

Hers.

My nephew’s.

With wide eyes, I stepped back, replying, “I was just leaving.” Needing to get the hell out of there before I screamed our blatant truths with her staring right at me.

Tristian spoke up. “You should go inside, Romeo. Say hello to the family, and then you can find someone to go home with. You know, use women who are at your disposal until you’re bored and throw them away. I think you’ve done enough damage here for the night.”

I nodded.

He was right.

I walked away from her that night, leaving her with my brother.

And this time, with my nephew.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“The Villain is the person who knows the most but cares the least.” —Chuck Klosterman

Romeo

Now

It was almost comical. A week ago, I was washing blood off my hands.

This morning I was dropping off a six-year-old who didn’t understand the concept of taking a breath in between words and fighting traffic with multiple minivans and angry moms in head-to-toe high-end yoga garb.

“…so then I told Jude that his Magnatiles were newer than mine, so they were better, and then I asked Mom for more Magnatiles, and she said I had to earn them, so I cleaned my room but got in trouble for shoving my Lunchable under my bed and forgetting about it, and that’s how I got grounded— Hey, Uncle Romeo, do you think that—”

I clapped my hand slowly across his mouth as I maneuvered the car into the drop off lane.

The clever little heathen was still attempting to talk even with my hand in place.

I removed it.

“—do you think that it’s fair that Mom—”

I put my hand back again. “Fascinating,” I chuckled to myself. “Since it’s boy day and I’m a boy, shouldn’t I get to talk?”

Naz let out a dramatic sigh. “Sure, I guess. Even though you’re a man.”

“Your mom said to wait until you made it into the school. Do you have your backpack?”

“Check” He grinned and held up his blue and orange backpack.

“Lunch?” I put the car in park.

“Yup!” He shot me another toothy grin.

“And homework?”

His face fell. “I hate homework.”

“Yes, well, we all have our crosses to bear,” I murmured. “Yours is homework, and mine is