Mafia Casanova - M. Robinson Page 0,67

you needed to know. There is nothing left for me to say to you. You can go.”

“I’m not finished.”

“I have business to attend to,” he informed in a calm voice that basically said, leave as polite as possible.

“Dad… please.” I peered deep into his eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on… I’m going crazy over here.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

I could barely even stand.

My eyes pooled with tears, taking in the memories flooding my mind. Each one unfolding in front of me, playing out one by one as I made my way around the room. He wouldn’t answer.

Give me the truth.

Tell me anything I desired to know.

This was my life…

Men protecting me from the monster who lurked in the shadows. But what happens when the monster lurking is also the prince? The hero? The one you want to save you? How do you even begin to protect yourself from that?

“Please… first it’s Romeo with taking everything from Tristian’s office away from me, then I go to his penthouse to find files of Tristian on his computer. What is going on? Please…”

My request was cut short when my mom started calling for him from the speaker in his office.

He pressed the intercom button. “I’ll be right there.”

“Daddy…”

“I’ll be right back.”

He left, leaving me alone. It couldn’t be any more perfect. My feet were moving on their own, and before I knew what I was doing, I opened one of the drawers, seeing nothing that would be of use to me. I reached in, moving everything to see if I could find something that may answer all my insecurities.

Nothing.

Nowhere.

I couldn’t find one fucking thing.

Staring up at the ceiling, I breathed out, “God, please help me.”

As if answering my prayers, a cellphone dinged with a text message. Not just any cellphone…

My father’s.

I walked toward it, feeling like this was the moment where the truth would make itself known. I didn’t know why, but each step that brought me closer to his phone had me questioning everything. Until finally, I picked up his phone. Swiping it over, unlocking his screen with the code he had used since I was a little girl.

Written in plain sight was the truth.

Never in a million years did I think…

The truth wouldn’t set me free.

Instead, it buried me alive.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Stuck in a generation where loyalty is just a tattoo, love is just a quote, and lying is the new truth.” —Mr. Villain Quotes

Romeo

She was late.

And I was turning into one of those annoying as hell people who constantly checked their phone and looked out the kitchen window for her SUV.

Nothing.

Naz’s school had been over for hours, and it wasn’t like her to just keep him out.

He was always starving after school, so unless she took him to eat and then shop, which he hated, something was wrong. I’d called her father only to get a grunt on the other line, which made me wonder if I should put on a cup and pray she didn’t have good aim.

Things had been better.

When I had found her in my apartment, I was more surprised at first that she’d taken the initiative to look into things, and then annoyed that the only thing my brain could focus on was that we’d been alone in my apartment and that my bed hadn’t seen any female in it—ever.

I never brought women back to my place.

The very thought that Eden had been a mere few feet from my bedroom, from christening that mattress, had me both unsteady with need and fucking hard as nails.

Hell, even her yelling at me hadn’t made the lust go away. If anything, I wanted her all the more for it.

I loved her anger.

Missed it.

Missed the fire I used to see behind her eyes, the fight that somehow lessened every year she was married to my brother like he somehow stole pieces of her personality until there was nothing left.

At this point, I’d probably welcome a good kick to the balls. At least then I’d know she still felt, she still cared, she was still my Eden.

Mine.

Headlights flickered in the distance.

I bolted toward the door only to stop a few feet away from it. What the hell was I doing? With a curse, I turned away and braced my hands against the kitchen counter, counting the seconds until the car’s engine turned off.

I measured the steps she took to get to the door—nine.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the twist of the lock.

Tried like hell not to look up when