Page 133 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

I’d survived years in that bunker under McKenna’s brutality. Yet three days without Soraya were harder. It felt as if she were everywhere, yet nowhere at all.

I’d noticed the empty coffee cup on the kitchen counter, her lipstick stain still visible. Or the lingering scent of her perfume in a room she’d left before I arrived. I’d hear her voice somewhere in the mansion, turn towards it with my heart racing, only to realise I was imagining it.

I’d even forced myself to be more sociable, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I’d come in for breakfast. She’d already eaten and left. Lunch? Busy with Arianna and Liliana. Dinner? With her mam. The one time we’d passed each other in the corridor, I’d been walking with Giovanni to his office, and she’d walked straight past, eyes cast down. She didn’t even look at me.

It pissed me off far more than it should have. I understood her reasons. Fuck, they made sense. It was self-preservation. It was survival. It didn’t stop me from beating the shit out of the punching bag in the gym multiple times a day, though.

And sleep? That was a thing of the past. Instead, I’d spend my nights on the edge of the pool, hoping she’d sneak in again. She never did. More memories returned every day, making the distance and silence between us feel even louder. Every flashback knocked the wind out of me like a punch to the gut, leaving me with a new sense of loss for something I’d never realised I’d had. Her smile. Her laugh. When I took her virginity. Holding her every night. Her cold feet between my legs. She was always humming a soft, haunting tune as she scribbled on paper. Her fingers ran over my scars and ink as we had deep conversations while the rest of the world slept.

Three days of the worst torture I’d ever been put through, because it already felt like I’d lost her.

The wedding preparations were in full swing. Her family was writing the guest list. Dress designers had been in the house. Flowers had been picked. A date had been set. Next Tuesday. Five days. Five days until she was another man’s wife.

I’d kept telling myself it was what was best for her. I was here for revenge for my family. She was marrying him to save hers. The Russian had money, status and power. He’d keep her safe. Maybe she’d end up falling in love with him. Have his kids. Build a life she loved.

The thought made me want to commit murder. His, preferably.

I took a long drag on my cigarette as I kicked my feet through the pool water. The Russian gave us the location yesterday, and the ambush was planned. Tomorrow, we’ll fly to Belgium. McKenna will be mine. Then I’d do what she asked. I’d leave. I’d let her brothers live. Killing them would hurt her. And no matter how much I wanted them to pay for Connor’s death, I couldn’t kill her family and live with it. Instead, I’d be on a plane to Australia to find Riley.

“Well,” a deep voice boomed from the other side of the pool. “You look considerably less dead than when I last saw you.”

My fingers curled into a fist on my knee. Santino Buccini. I’d seen his face in photographs around the mansion. The man Nolan said had tortured my brother so horrifically that Connor pulled a gun on himself to end his suffering. The asshole who had also apparently yanked me from a gantry when I’d been so close to attacking McKenna. He was the reason I woke up with a fractured skull and no memories of Soraya.

He let the gate close behind him, carrying two beer bottles in one hand, and walked towards me. My jaw pulsed as I let my glare take him in. Wearing an expensive black shirt, sleeves rolled up, he strolled in with all the confidence of a man who’d never waited for permission in his life. He did whatever the hell he wanted.

When he reached me, he handed me a bottle of beer. I glared at it. He raised an eyebrow, a cocky smirk on his face that took every bit of mental and physical restraint not to punch it right off his face.

“A peace offering.”

I moved my gaze back to the pool and grabbed it from his hand without a thanks.

He kicked off his designer shoes and sat down beside me, letting his feet sink into the pool.

“My brother said you weren’t the talkative type.” When I didn’t answer, he bobbed his head and sighed. “Alright. Let’s get this awkward as fuck bit out of the way.”

I took a swig from the bottle, my mind filled with thoughts of shoving him into the pool and drowning him.

“I owe you an apology.”

I scoffed. He owed me more than that.

He sighed dramatically, running his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Look. I’m allergic to making apologies. Ask my family. I break out in a rash and everything, but when I fuck up, I own that shit.”

The silence stretched between us. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s the first time I’ve had to apologise for nearly killing someone.”

“If you’d succeeded, you wouldn’t have to.”

He rubbed his jaw. “True, but… I’d still have felt bad. When I thought I had killed you, I felt… guilty. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me it was a mistake before Gio told me who you are.”

“If killin’ makes you feel guilty, you’re in the wrong profession,” I gritted. My younger brother’s toothy grin and rosy cheeks covered in mud, flashed in my mind.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever felt guilty about,” Santino said, making my blood boil. “That’s the point.”

“Glad my survival inconveniences your conscience.” This asshole needed to get the fuck away from me, quickly, before I did something that would mess up my plans to let her family live.

“You can sleep soundly again.” I flicked my cigarette away and stormed back into the pool house.