Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

The study was quiet again.

Shards of broken glass lay scattered across the marble floor, whiskey slowly spreading between them while the handkerchief wrapped around my palm grew darker with blood. I barely noticed either.

My jaw was still tight from the conversation with Wallace.

"The boss’s boy."

I could hear his voice as clearly as if he were still sitting across from me, cigar between his fingers and that smug fucking smile on his face.

I poured another drink.

Didn’t taste it.

Didn’t care.

Wallace had spent years sitting at that table, building his little empire while convincing everyone around him that age made him untouchable. The worst part wasn’t that he’d questioned me.

It was that he’d enjoyed doing it.

He’d looked at me like I was a child playing dress-up in my father’s chair.

I set the glass down harder than necessary.

Wallace.

Eli.

Father.

Their voices had taken turns replaying in my head until they blurred into one endless irritation.

*"You’re still just the boss’s boy."*

I let out a slow breath and closed my eyes.

"...Enough."

It wasn’t.

I’d exposed months of falsified reports. I’d cornered the man responsible. I’d proven exactly what was happening inside the company.

Yet somehow...

None of that mattered.

The only thing anyone would remember was Wallace smiling across that table like he’d already won.

My fingers tightened around the glass.

It cracked.

I stared down at the fracture running through it.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

Then I threw it against the wall.

The sound echoed through the study.

Glass exploded across the floor.

Better.

At least the noise drowned out his voice for a few seconds.

I looked at my palm.

A thin line of blood had appeared where one of the broken pieces had caught me.

I wrapped the handkerchief around it and turned toward the windows.

The city stretched beneath me, bright and distant.

Thousands of people moving through their lives without knowing or caring what happened inside this house.

I envied them for about three seconds.

Then I heard a knock.

I ignored it.

Another knock followed.

"...Reagan?"

Rose.

Of course.

I closed my eyes.

Not tonight.

The last person I wanted to deal with was her.

The handle turned before I could answer.

The door opened quietly behind me.

I didn’t look.

The city lights beyond the glass were easier to face than another conversation.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

I could hear her breathing.

A faint rustle of fabric.

Then her voice came carefully.

"Is everything alri—"

"Get out."

Silence.

I saw her reflection faintly in the window.

She hadn’t moved.

"...Excuse me?"

"I said get out."

I kept my eyes on the glass.

The last thing I wanted was company.

Especially hers.

"What the hell is your problem?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Rose."

"No."

Her voice hardened immediately.

"No? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?"

I heard her step farther into the room.

I turned my head slightly.

She was looking at the broken glass.

Then at my hand.

Then back at me.

"You think I’ve forgotten everything?"

I stayed silent.

"The kiss."

Nothing.

"The weeks you ignored me."

Still nothing.

"The way you slammed your fists onto that table in the club and scared the life out of me."

My jaw tightened.

Every word landed harder than the last.

"And after all that..."

Her voice wavered.

"...I still came in here."

I frowned.

"I heard something break."

Another step.

"I saw the blood."

Another.

"I thought something had happened to you."

She laughed bitterly and shook her head.

"Can you believe that? After everything you’ve done, I still cared enough to check on you."

I turned away again.

"You shouldn’t have."

The words came out colder than I intended.

She went quiet for a second.

Then—

"Right."

There was something different in her voice.

Not sadness.

Anger.

"I shouldn’t have."

She took another step.

"I should’ve stayed in my room."

Another.

"I should’ve let you bleed all over your expensive floor."

I said nothing.

"But I didn’t."

Her voice cracked.

"I came here because I heard something break and thought maybe you were hurt."

She looked at the bloodstained handkerchief.

"And you can’t even look at me."

I finally turned.

Her eyes were already shining.

I hated that.

Not because I cared.

Because it made everything harder.

"I don’t need you checking on me."

"Clearly."

Her laugh was humorless.

"You don’t need anyone, do you?"

I said nothing.

She shook her head.

"You know what? I actually tried to understand you."

Her voice grew louder.

"I kept thinking maybe there was something going on. Maybe you were angry about something. Maybe you were dealing with something you didn’t want to talk about."

I looked away.

"But apparently you’re just an asshole."

"Rose."

"No."

She wiped quickly beneath one eye.

"You don’t get to shut me up now."

I stared at her.

"You kiss me."

Her voice dropped.

"Then you ignore me."

Silence.

"You scare me."

Her eyes hardened.

"And somehow I’m still the one standing here worrying about whether you’re okay."

The room felt smaller.

"I walk in here because I think you’re hurt..."

She looked at the broken glass, then back at me.

"...and this is how you treat me?"

Her eyes glistened.

"You ungrateful piece of shit."

Something inside me finally gave way.

"Get..."

I turned fully toward her.

"...OUT!"

The word cracked through the study.

Silence followed immediately.

Even the anger on her face seemed to falter for half a second.

She should’ve left.

Anyone else would’ve.

Instead...

She started walking toward me.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Each step echoed across the marble floor.

I watched her approach, my temper burning hotter with every second.

"What..."

My voice came out lower now.

"...are you doing?"

She didn’t answer.

One step.

Then another.

She kept coming until only a few feet separated us.

I didn’t understand her.

Most people knew when to back away.

Rose had never been particularly good at doing what she was told.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her again.

Then I looked at her properly.

Every word I’d been ready to throw at her disappeared.

Tears.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just silent tracks running down her cheeks while she stared back at me with equal parts anger and hurt.

I hadn’t expected that.

For the first time all night...

I didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t wipe the tears away this time.

She just stood there, breathing hard, staring at me like she couldn’t decide whether she hated me or hated herself for still caring.

Something in my chest tightened.

I ignored it.

Then—

**Smack.**

The slap echoed through the room.

My head turned with the impact before slowly settling back.

Neither of us moved.

The sting spread across my cheek.

She was breathing hard now, fists clenched at her sides, tears still falling freely.

"You son of a bitch..."

Her voice shook.

"...you don’t deserve one ounce of care."

I looked at her.

For a moment, I didn’t even feel the pain.

Instead...

Another memory surfaced.

The first time she’d slapped me.

She’d looked horrified afterward.

Almost guilty.

Like she’d surprised herself more than she’d surprised me.

I’d expected that same look now.

It never came.

This time...

There wasn’t a trace of regret on her face.

She meant it.

That realization amused me far more than it should have.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

Her expression changed immediately.

She stared at me as though she’d just discovered something deeply wrong with me.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

I raised my hand and wiped the thin line of blood from the corner of my mouth with my thumb.

I looked at the blood for a second.

Then back at her.

"Mean swing."

Her eyes narrowed.

I let the faint smirk linger.

"Don’t get used to it."

Whatever sadness had been on her face disappeared as her eyes hardened again.

"You motherfu—"

Her hand came up again, intent on landing another blow.

I caught her wrist before it could reach me. With one sharp pull, I dragged her toward me, and she collided with my chest with a soft thud.

The fury in her eyes flickered. Confusion replaced it for a heartbeat, followed by a flash of realization that made her go still.

My other hand slid into the back of her hair, fingers curling through the strands as I pulled her closer. She gave a small wince at the tug, but neither of us moved away.

Then I closed the distance and crashed my mouth against hers.

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