Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

The hallway was quiet.

The distant beeping of machines blended with muffled voices behind closed doors, while footsteps echoed steadily from one room to another. I walked through it without a word, my right-hand man following a step behind. He knew better than to interrupt my thoughts.

Only when we were halfway back to the warehouse did he finally speak.

"...Boss."

I didn’t respond.

"He didn’t say much."

"He didn’t."

"But you got something."

I glanced at him briefly.

"I did."

He waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, a small frown creased his face.

"...What?"

"A wife."

His brows drew together.

"The prisoner?"

I gave a single nod.

"I haven’t confirmed it."

"But you think so?"

"I know so."

He looked genuinely puzzled.

"...From two words?"

"One."

"’Her.’"

We continued walking.

"The ring mark was old. Years old. He stopped wearing it, but not by choice."

He remained silent, listening.

"He still touches the finger."

I kept my eyes forward.

"People rarely notice habits like that. They only notice them when they’re about to lose what those habits represent."

Understanding slowly settled across his face.

"...So that’s why he panicked."

"No."

I pushed open the warehouse door.

"That’s why he begged."

The atmosphere inside had changed. Nobody spoke above a whisper, and the men stationed outside the interrogation room instinctively straightened the moment they saw me.

"Boss."

"How is he?"

The guard hesitated.

"...Quiet."

That alone told me enough.

I stepped inside.

The room smelled of blood.

The prisoner remained tied to the chair exactly where I’d left him. His head hung low, his breathing slow but uneven. At the sound of the door opening, he gradually lifted his head.

His confidence wasn’t completely gone.

Just enough remained.

He watched me enter without saying a word.

I dragged a chair across the floor, placed it directly in front of him, and sat down.

Silence settled between us.

The interrogator glanced from me to the prisoner, unsure whether to speak. No one did.

A full minute passed.

The prisoner frowned.

"...Aren’t you going to ask?"

I said nothing.

Another minute slipped by.

He shifted against the restraints.

"...Or are you just going to sit there?"

Still nothing.

His breathing became a little less steady.

"What..."

He swallowed.

"...What are you waiting for?"

Finally, I answered.

"I’m thinking."

His expression tightened.

It wasn’t the answer he’d expected.

Silence returned, stretching just long enough for discomfort to settle in. Long enough for him to start wondering what I was thinking about.

He forced out a laugh.

It sounded hollow.

"...You know..."

His voice was rough.

"I liked you better when you were cutting me."

"I doubt that."

Another silence.

He shifted again, his wrists pulling uselessly against the restraints.

"So..."

The smile returned to his face.

Forced.

"...Have you figured me out yet?"

"No."

I leaned back slightly.

"I’ve barely started."

The smile weakened.

"I’ve been thinking about something."

He didn’t respond.

"You told me not to touch her."

Nothing.

I watched his face.

His pulse quickened.

"A wife?"

No reaction.

I studied him for another moment.

"...A fiancée."

His jaw tightened.

Interesting.

"You wear your emotions poorly."

He laughed again.

"You’ve got quite the imagination."

"Do I?"

I leaned forward slightly.

"The ring mark wasn’t fresh."

Silence.

"You wore it for years."

Still nothing.

"When people lose a ring..."

My gaze dropped to his hand.

"...they usually stop touching the finger."

His eyes instinctively followed mine.

Again.

Too late.

I looked back at him.

"You haven’t."

His breathing grew louder.

"You’ve touched it six times since I walked into this room."

He froze.

"I counted."

The room fell silent.

Even the interrogator found himself staring at the prisoner’s hand.

Slowly, the captive curled his fingers into a fist.

A pointless gesture.

He already knew I’d noticed.

I folded my hands together.

"Does she know?"

No answer.

"Does she know what you really do?"

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Or does she think you come home late because you’re an honest man?"

"...Shut up."

The words escaped before he could stop them.

The room became perfectly still.

I watched him.

"So she doesn’t know."

Realization washed over his face.

His head lowered.

"...Damn it."

I didn’t smile.

Not yet.

"You’ve protected Atlas for days."

My voice stayed calm.

"You’ve protected her..."

I let the silence linger.

"...for less than thirty seconds."

His breathing became ragged. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though refusing to look at me would somehow erase everything he’d already revealed.

"...You’re wrong."

"Am I?"

He didn’t answer.

I reached for the steel tray beside me, letting my fingers drift lazily over the neatly arranged instruments.

I wasn’t choosing one.

I simply wanted him to watch.

His eyes tracked every movement.

Interesting.

Earlier, he’d watched my hands because he feared what they held.

Now...

He feared what they might never need to hold.

I picked up the same slender instrument as before, turning it once between my fingers before setting it back down.

His shoulders stiffened.

The tension never left him.

"You’ve spent the last two days proving how much pain you can endure."

My voice remained even.

"I believe you."

Silence.

"I don’t think you’d betray Atlas to save yourself."

His eyes slowly rose to meet mine.

For the first time since we’d met...

There was confusion.

"So why are we still here?" he asked hoarsely.

"Because you’re no longer protecting yourself."

I held his gaze.

"You’re protecting someone else."

His jaw tightened.

"You’re wasting your time."

"You think so?"

I stood and began circling him, each slow step echoing through the room.

"You know..."

I stopped behind him.

"...it’s remarkable."

He remained perfectly still.

"Two days."

"No names."

"No locations."

"No routes."

A quiet chuckle escaped me.

"I’m beginning to wonder if you could outlast even my best interrogator."

I leaned down just enough for only him to hear.

"But one sentence..."

I paused.

"...and suddenly I know exactly where to begin."

He jerked violently against the restraints.

"Stay away from her."

This time the words came out louder, stripped of the confidence he’d worn since the interrogation began. There was only desperation left.

I walked back into his view.

"I don’t know her."

He stared at me.

"I don’t know her name. I don’t know where she lives. I don’t know what she looks like."

I took another step before stopping in front of him.

"But you do."

Silence.

"And that’s enough."

His breathing became uneven.

"You’re bluffing."

"I haven’t lied to you once."

His eyes searched mine, looking for anger, cruelty, even excitement.

He found none.

Only calm.

That frightened him far more.

"I don’t have to find her today."

I adjusted one of my gloves.

"I don’t even have to look."

He swallowed.

"You’ll think about her for me."

His brow creased.

"Every hour. Every minute. Every second you stay silent, you’ll wonder whether my men have found her."

Horror slowly spread across his face.

"You’ll imagine footsteps outside your home. A knock at the door. A car slowing outside."

I watched every subtle change in his expression.

"You’ll wonder if she’s safe... if she’s frightened... if she’s crying."

"Stop."

His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"You’ll torture yourself far better than I ever could."

"Stop."

I ignored him.

"You won’t sleep. You won’t think. Eventually, you won’t even remember why you stayed loyal."

His restraints rattled violently as he struggled.

"I said stop!"

The shout echoed through the warehouse before silence settled over the room once again.

He lowered his head, breathing so hard that his entire body trembled.

I waited.

Most people rushed moments like these.

I never did.

Eventually...

He spoke.

"...She doesn’t know."

His voice cracked.

"She thinks I..."

He caught himself.

Too late.

I remained silent.

A weak, broken laugh escaped him.

"I held out for two days..."

His shoulders slumped.

"...and all you did..."

Another hollow laugh.

"...was ask about her."

Neither of us spoke for a long while.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were bloodshot.

"...If I tell you my name..."

I waited.

"...will you leave her out of it?"

The room fell silent.

Even the breathing behind me seemed to stop.

I studied him for several long seconds before answering.

"I’ll decide that after you answer my questions."

His face fell.

He already knew what that meant.

Slowly, he closed his eyes.

"...Damir."

The name barely escaped his lips.

I gave a small nod.

"Damir."

For the first time since we’d met, he looked truly broken.

Not because of the blood.

Not because of the pain.

But because he’d surrendered the one thing he’d sworn he’d never give.

His name.

I rose from the chair.

"Have someone bring him water."

The interrogator blinked.

"...Boss?"

"He’s talking now."

I turned and walked toward the door.

Behind me, Damir spoke one last time.

"...I hate you."

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.

"I know."

Then I walked out, leaving nothing behind but silence.

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