Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

**Reagan’s POV**

His smile faltered for just a moment, Most people would’ve missed it.

Interesting.

Men always feared the larger instruments. They assumed the worst pain came from the biggest blades.

Experience had taught me otherwise.

I stopped in front of him and set the instrument down.

"Your name?"

Blood stained his teeth as the smile returned.

"...Go to hell."

I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached for his hand.

The prisoner held my gaze, refusing to blink.

A second passed.

Then another.

The first sound wasn’t a scream. It was a sharp intake of breath. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack, the veins in his neck standing out as he fought to stay silent.

Good.

I never liked screams.

When I let go, he slowly exhaled through his nose, his breathing uneven but controlled. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"...That’s all?" he asked hoarsely.

I rolled another instrument between my fingers.

"Scared of this?"

His breathing hitched.

"...Interesting."

I tilted it slightly.

"It hasn’t even touched you... enough times."

Minutes passed, and the room fell unnaturally quiet. No one spoke. The interrogator stood rigid against the wall, staring somewhere above the prisoner’s shoulder instead of at the man himself.

When I asked again, the answer hadn’t changed.

"...Go to hell."

His voice was weaker now, but the smile still lingered.

"You’ve been very disciplined."

He forced out another laugh.

"I get that a lot."

"Don’t lose that fighting spirit," I said, meeting his eyes. "Or this might end too soon."

Silence settled over the room as I studied him.

His left shoulder sagged every time he drew a breath. His eyes drifted toward the exit whenever footsteps echoed outside.

Not escape.

Expectation.

He was waiting for someone.

A faint chuckle escaped me.

"There’s no one."

His eyes flickered back to mine.

"You’ve been with Atlas for years."

He smirked.

"Impressive, isn’t it?"

"You weren’t recruited recently."

Silence.

"There’s a mark where a ring used to be."

For the briefest instant, his eyes dropped to his hand.

"So?"

"It means you wore one for a long time."

He shrugged as much as the restraints allowed.

"Congratulations."

"The calluses on your hands aren’t from fighting. They’re older."

I studied them for another moment.

"You had another life before Atlas."

His smile faltered.

"You think you’ve got me figured out?"

"No."

I rose slowly from my crouch.

"I’ve barely looked."

He fell quiet.

His eyes never left mine.

Mine never left his hands.

"You’ve been watching them ever since I walked in."

He didn’t answer.

"Not my face."

I picked up the instrument again.

His breathing changed.

Barely.

Enough.

I set it back on the tray.

His shoulders eased.

Interesting.

"So that’s what worries you."

He swallowed.

I rolled the instrument lazily between my fingers.

"You’ve got someone waiting for you."

Nothing.

"A wife."

No reaction.

"A brother."

Silence.

"A sister."

His thumb brushed unconsciously against the pale band where a ring had once rested.

The movement lasted less than a second.

Too late.

I looked down at his hand, then back into his eyes.

"You keep touching your finger."

His jaw tightened.

"...Interesting."

"I don’t know who they are," I said quietly. "But whoever’s waiting for you..."

I let the words settle.

"...is the only reason you’ve lasted this long."

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

The smile he’d fought so hard to keep finally disappeared.

The warehouse door burst open.

"Boss!"

Everyone turned.

One of the guards stood in the doorway, breathing hard.

"The doctor says Hawk’s awake."

I looked at the prisoner for a long moment before placing the instrument back onto the tray.

"We’ll continue when I return."

I turned toward the door.

I’d only taken a few steps when a ragged voice stopped me.

"...Don’t touch her."

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned back.

Nobody moved.

Even the interrogator frowned.

"...Her?"

The prisoner’s eyes widened.

His own words had betrayed him.

I watched him quietly.

His body shook with every breath. Blood ran down his hands as they gripped the chair. The same man who’d been laughing moments ago now looked utterly defeated.

For the first time that evening...

I smiled.

The interrogator stiffened.

He’d worked beside me for years.

It was the first time he’d ever seen me smile.

"...I see."

I turned toward the door again.

"I’ll return after I speak with Hawk."

I paused.

Without looking back—

"...Try not to choke on your own blood."

"I’d hate to loose our progress."

Then I walked away.

Hawk’s room was heavily guarded.

The doctor straightened the moment I entered.

"Boss."

"Leave us."

He nodded and quietly slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Hawk looked worse than I’d expected.

Bandages covered most of his body. One arm was wrapped from shoulder to fingertips, and every breath seemed to hurt.

His eyelids fluttered open.

"...Boss."

A chair scraped quietly across the floor as I sat beside the bed.

"You look terrible."

A weak laugh escaped him before turning into a cough.

"...You should see the other guy."

Silence settled between us.

After a while, I asked, "How long?"

"...Three days."

His voice was barely audible.

"They wanted routes... names..."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"...Everything."

"And?"

"They got nothing."

I gave a small nod.

"I figured."

Another quiet laugh.

"They got creative."

Neither of us spoke after that.

There wasn’t much to say.

After a while, Hawk broke the silence himself.

"I escaped when they moved me."

"I know, I saw the camera."

A tired smile tugged at his lips.

"...Wasn’t sure it’d still work."

"Luckily, it did."

He let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

"Really lucky."

A few moments passed before he looked at me again.

"Has he been caught?"

"Mmn."

The relief on his face lasted only a second before fading.

After a while, he spoke again.

"...Boss."

"Hm?"

"If he escapes..."

"He won’t."

"I know."

He closed his eyes for a moment before letting out a slow, weary breath.

"...I wasn’t worried about me."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"...I’ve got a daughter."

His voice softened.

"She still thinks I repair ships."

The smile lingered for only a second before fading.

"...Don’t let her see me like this."

I held his gaze for a long moment.

"Okay."

Relief flickered across his face and for the first time since I’d entered the room. He looked at peace.

I stood.

"Get some rest."

As I reached the door, I paused briefly before walking out.

Now I knew exactly where to continue.

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