Mafia Casanova - M. Robinson Page 0,45

was a wire transfer for twenty-five million dollars into a savings account with Naz’s name on it. More money that I couldn’t trace, that I didn’t know about it. When would it end?

In what world did an accountant make that sort of money? And why put it in Naz’s name?

We were wealthy.

But not that wealthy.

Not even close.

“Tristian,” I whispered to myself. “What the hell have you done?”

I jolted out of my skin when I heard Romeo roar, “What are you doing?”

Like a kid caught doing something wrong, I hid the paper behind my back.

“Goddamn it.” He stalked toward me and held out his hand. “Now.”

“You didn’t say please.”

He narrowed his gaze at me. “Please give me the paper that made your face turn white so I can fix whatever the hell my brother fucked up.”

With a sigh, I handed the paper over.

If he was surprised at finding more incriminating evidence, Romeo didn’t show it; instead, he folded the paper and moved past me, his eyes searching documents on the desk before he dumped out one of the Lego containers that Naz had pulled in there and shoved every last piece of paper into it.

“Wait!” I grabbed his arm.

“No.” Romeo’s jaw clenched. “Information is guilt; if you know, then you’re part of it. I’m not going to stay up all night and read these to you; I’m not going to tell you what they mean. Especially when it’s not any of your business.”

He walked out of the office. A cold chill took over my body.

Romeo didn’t come back to bed.

I wondered all night where he went. If he wasn’t in my bed, then it meant he was in someone’s.

Was it for pleasure or information…

On what I just stumbled upon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“I wanna be the villain. Villains have fun.” —Donal Logue

Eden

Then: One year later

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Naz! Happy birthday to you!” the whole family sang to our son, who was growing at a rapid speed.

I blinked, and he was turning three years old, reminding me more of his father day after day. He was the cutest, most kind-hearted little person I’d ever met. Everyone was obsessed with him, especially his grandparents. Despite the fact that my father was a made man, you wouldn’t think so if you saw him with his grandson. Don’t get me started on Tristian’s mother. She babysat every opportunity she could get, often scheduling things for me like a massage or a day at the spa just to have some alone time with Naz.

I welcomed the love they brought into our son’s world.

“Mama!” Naz exclaimed, kissing my face, getting cake frosting all over my cheeks.

I happily finished cleaning him up before I searched around the room, finding his father at the bar, serving himself a drink.

Shit. I thought we talked about this, Tristian.

“I’ll take him.” Tristian’s mom grabbed Naz out of my arms. “Go handle your husband,” she announced, catching me off guard.

I didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand. All I thought about was how I was going to handle this in front of all these people. It was getting harder to hide this side of Tristian that no one was supposed to know about. At least that was what I thought, but there was his mother proving me wrong.

“Tristian,” I muttered under my breath, bringing his gaze to mine. “I thought you weren’t going to drink today. You promised, remember?”

He didn’t hesitate in his brute reply, “You promised a lot of things too, Eden. In front of God, remember?”

He tilted the rest of the drink back, the large solitary ice cube bumping against his lips before he wiped them with the back of his hand in one familiar movement.

I shook my head, not understanding. This was what my husband had become, throwing jabs at me every chance he got. Most of the time, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about because he was belligerently drunk. What did he need to get drunk for when, according to him in public, he had the perfect life?

I opened my mouth to respond, though I caught myself when I followed his curt nod behind me. In one swift turn, I was locking eyes with his brother, who was greeting a few associates by the door.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I spoke the truth, facing Tristian again. “You’re drinking because Romeo showed up to his nephew’s third birthday party? How old are you right now? You’re acting