Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

The report lay open in front of me.

I hadn’t turned the page in almost twenty minutes.

The words were there. I could see every line, every number, every signature waiting for mine. If someone had asked what the report was about, though, I wouldn’t have been able to answer.

I’d read the same paragraph so many times I’d practically memorized it, yet none of it had registered.

With a quiet click of my tongue, I shut the file and pushed it across the desk.

"...Useless."

The word wasn’t directed at the report.

Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed a hand over my face before reaching for the coffee sitting beside me. The mug had long since gone cold.

I stared at it for a second.

I couldn’t even remember when I’d asked for it.

Setting it back down untouched, I let my eyes drift toward the rain-covered windows stretching across the office.

The city looked dull beneath the gray sky. Cars crawled through the streets below, their headlights cutting through the rain while people hurried from one building to another with umbrellas over their heads.

Business carried on.

Meetings.

Deadlines.

Shipments.

Somewhere beneath me, hundreds of people were working because I expected them to.

And here I was...

Unable to finish a single report.

I let out a slow breath.

"...Get a grip."

It wasn’t like me.

I was never distracted.

If something needed doing, I did it.

Simple.

Feelings complicated things.

That was why I’d learned a long time ago to ignore them.

Today...

They refused to be ignored.

I stood and wandered toward the window, slipping one hand into my pocket.

The reflection staring back at me looked exhausted.

I’d barely slept.

Every time I’d closed my eyes, I ended up back in that room.

Not during the interrogation.

Not with Father.

With Rose.

Her face.

Her eyes.

The way she’d instinctively stepped backward after I’d slammed my hands onto the table.

The memory hit harder than it had any right to.

I’d seen fear before.

Hell...

I’d caused fear before.

Men twice my age had broken down crying because they thought I was about to kill them.

Women crossed the street rather than walk past me alone at night.

Children hid behind their parents whenever they recognized my surname.

None of it had ever bothered me.

Fear came with reputation.

Reputation came with power.

Power kept people alive.

It was the way the world worked.

So why...

Why did one frightened step from Rose bother me more than everything else combined?

"Damn it."

I closed my eyes.

Father’s voice found me anyway.

*"You’re beginning to enjoy it."*

I’d laughed at him yesterday.

Told him he’d gone soft.

Called him a hypocrite.

At the time...

I’d meant every word.

Now, standing alone in my office, I found myself replaying the conversation whether I wanted to or not.

*"You’re becoming dangerous."*

"I’ve always been dangerous."

*"You know exactly what I mean."*

I frowned.

Did I?

Back then, I’d been thinking about the interrogation.

Now...

I wasn’t thinking about the man I’d questioned.

I couldn’t even remember his name.

All I could remember was Rose looking at me like she didn’t know who I was.

That bothered me.

More than it should have.

I pushed away from the window and walked back to the desk, forcing myself to pick the report up again.

Enough.

Work.

I needed to work.

The first page was shipment schedules.

The second was customs paperwork.

The third...

I blinked.

I’d somehow skipped straight to the fifth page without realizing it.

"...Seriously?"

The report hit the desk harder than I’d intended.

This was ridiculous.

She’d gone home.

I’d made sure of it.

I’d apologized.

That should’ve been the end of it.

There were docks waiting for my approval.

Warehouses waiting for instructions.

Meetings I’d already postponed because I couldn’t be bothered to sit through them.

There were a hundred things demanding my attention.

Instead...

I reached for my phone.

The screen lit up instantly.

I didn’t even need to unlock it.

It was still open.

Still sitting on the same conversation.

Three messages.

**Home?**

**Yes.**

**Good.**

I stared at them.

Then, against my better judgment...

I read them again.

Three words.

That was all we’d exchanged.

Three damned words.

Anyone else would’ve deleted the conversation and moved on.

Instead, I’d found myself opening it every time my mind drifted.

As though reading the same messages again would somehow explain why I couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday.

I locked the phone.

Set it down.

Picked it up again less than thirty seconds later.

"...Pathetic."

The corner of my mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile.

Almost.

If anyone else had been in the room, I’d have denied it.

I unlocked the phone once more before catching myself.

"No."

Enough.

I tossed it onto the desk and walked away before I could change my mind.

This wasn’t obsession.

It wasn’t guilt.

It was irritation.

I didn’t like unfinished business.

And somehow...

Rose had become exactly that.

I remained where I was, staring out at the rain until the silence became almost unbearable.

Maybe Father had been right.

The thought came so suddenly I almost laughed.

No.

He wasn’t right.

He’d been trying to compare me to himself. Twenty years ago, maybe he’d stood where I was now, wondering where the line between necessity and cruelty had disappeared. Maybe he’d crossed it without realizing.

I wasn’t him.

At least...

I’d always believed that.

A dry chuckle escaped me.

Yesterday, I’d watched a man bleed across a warehouse floor without losing a second of sleep.

Last night...

One frightened look from Rose had kept me awake until dawn.

The difference annoyed me.

I turned away from the window and wandered aimlessly around the office. My eyes landed on the whiskey cabinet tucked against the far wall. Normally, I’d have poured myself a glass without thinking.

Today, I opened the cabinet, stared at the bottle for a moment, then shut it again.

It wouldn’t help.

Nothing would.

Dropping back into my chair, I spun a pen between my fingers before setting it down again almost immediately.

Restless.

That was the only word for it.

My gaze drifted toward the framed photograph sitting on one of the shelves. It had been taken years ago at one of Father’s charity events. We were both in suits, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a crowd of cameras.

Anyone looking at it would think we were just another respectable family.

I almost laughed.

Appearances really were expensive things.

The office phone buzzed.

I ignored it.

A few seconds later, it buzzed again.

Then my office door opened just enough for my secretary to peek inside.

"Sir?"

I looked up.

She hesitated the moment she met my eyes.

"I’m sorry to interrupt, but the board meeting starts in fifteen minutes."

"I know."

"...Should I tell them you’ll be late?"

"No."

She waited.

I didn’t move.

"...Sir?"

I looked back down at the report in front of me.

"Cancel it."

She blinked.

"Cancel..."

"The meeting."

"...Yes, sir."

The door clicked shut.

Another meeting postponed.

If Father found out, I’d probably hear another lecture before the day was over.

The thought didn’t bother me.

Nothing seemed particularly important right now.

I leaned back again and closed my eyes.

Almost immediately...

The memory returned.

"Why do you care?"

Such a simple question.

She’d asked it like she genuinely wanted to know.

At the time, I’d been too angry to answer.

Now...

I wasn’t sure I had one.

Why did I care?

She wasn’t mine.

She wasn’t even supposed to matter.

We argued every time we saw each other. Half our conversations ended with her threatening to hit me.

She was stubborn.

Mouthy.

Impossible.

And somehow...

She’d become the first person whose opinion of me actually mattered.

That realization sat heavily in my chest.

"...That’s troublesome."

I opened my eyes and reached for my phone again.

This time, I didn’t unlock it.

I simply turned it over in my hand.

The temptation to send another message crossed my mind.

Something simple.

Did you sleep?

How are you?

Anything.

I scoffed at myself.

Since when had I become the kind of man who worried whether someone had slept well?

Ridiculous.

She’d probably be annoyed if I texted her again anyway.

Or worse...

She’d think I was checking up on her.

I slid the phone back into my pocket before I could do something stupid.

There.

Problem solved.

Except...

It wasn’t.

Because even without the phone in my hand, my thoughts found their way back to her.

The way she’d laughed after reading my message.

I hadn’t seen it.

But somehow...

I could picture it perfectly.

A small shake of her head.

That quiet little smile she tried to hide whenever she found me particularly irritating.

"...You’re unbelievable."

I could almost hear her saying it.

Without realizing it, the corner of my mouth lifted.

It disappeared just as quickly.

I stood once more, grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on.

Sitting here wasn’t accomplishing anything.

Neither was standing.

Neither was thinking.

Life hadn’t stopped because I’d had one bad night.

There was work waiting for me.

People relying on me.

Eventually...

This feeling would disappear.

Eventually...

I’d stop replaying the fear in her eyes.

Eventually...

She’d stop occupying every spare corner of my mind.

I stepped toward the door before pausing.

One last time...

I pulled my phone from my pocket.

The conversation was still there.

**Home?**

**Yes.**

**Good.**

My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

For one brief, reckless moment, I almost typed another message.

Instead...

I locked the screen, slipped the phone back into my pocket, and walked out of the office.

I told myself I was finally getting back to work.

For some reason...

I didn’t believe it.

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