Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

"You’re going anyway, aren’t you?"

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. My right-hand man had been with me long enough to know when I’d already made up my mind.

He sighed quietly. "Sir, that’s exactly what they want."

I turned my head and gave him a cold look.

"Then they’ll be disappointed."

He didn’t argue. The cars continued deeper into the slum, following the trail we’d been given. I wasn’t stupid enough to walk straight into whatever trap had been prepared for us, though. I’d already ordered the men to keep their distance, watch everything, and touch nothing. No one approached the vehicle. No one tried to find the people behind it. We watched.

If the car was bait, whoever had placed it there would eventually want to know whether we’d taken it. And when they came looking, we’d be waiting.

"You want them to think we haven’t taken the bait," my right-hand man said.

"Exactly."

I leaned back, my eyes moving over the streets outside. The place looked almost dead, too quiet, too empty. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure we’d find this trail. I wasn’t about to reward them by rushing in blindly.

We’d been there for some time when my phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen and answered.

"Speak."

"Sir."

The voice on the other end was hesitant. I immediately frowned.

"What?"

"One of the men just reported something from the estate."

My attention sharpened.

"What happened?"

"They spotted a car parked a few walks away from the estate."

My heart gave a hard, sudden beat. I didn’t understand why. I kept my expression neutral.

"What kind of car?"

"A dark vehicle, sir. They didn’t think much of it at first because it wasn’t directly parked in front of the estate."

"What?"

The word came out sharply. The man went silent.

I sat forward. "What did you just say?"

"Sir, they—"

"You saw a suspicious car near the estate and decided to ignore it?" My voice rose. "Are you all fucking fools? Why don’t we abandon our guns and start making spears out of your bones while we’re at it? Maybe that’ll be more useful than having guards who see something suspicious and decide it’s none of their business."

The poor bastard on the other end sounded like he was struggling to breathe.

"Sir, if you could please allow him to finish," my right-hand man said carefully.

His tone was respectful, almost painfully cautious.

I looked at him. He didn’t meet my eyes.

I took a slow breath. "Continue."

"Yes, sir."

The man’s voice shook.

"The car moved closer to the estate after some time. That’s when the guards became suspicious."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

"Why?"

"There was a reflection near one of the upstairs windows."

I frowned. "A reflection?"

"Yes, sir. One of the guards noticed a small glint. It looked like light catching against the glass of an optical sight."

My body went still.

The kind of glass you looked through with one eye. The kind attached to a rifle.

My voice dropped.

"Which window?"

There was a pause.

"Miss Rose’s room, sir."

Something inside me dropped. My heart hammered once against my ribs, hard. I stared ahead, my face giving away nothing.

"Continue."

The man swallowed.

"The guards realized someone was watching the house. They started moving into position."

"And?"

"They must’ve noticed."

My grip tightened around the phone.

"They fired a shot."

Silence filled the car.

My right-hand man looked at me. I didn’t look back.

"What happened?"

"The shot missed the window."

My jaw clenched.

"How close?"

"Only a few inches, sir."

For a moment, I didn’t breathe.

"A few inches?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did it hit?"

"The wall beside the window."

I closed my eyes briefly.

A few inches.

That was all.

A few inches between a bullet and the glass of Rose’s window. A few inches between her and—

No.

I opened my eyes.

"Continue."

My voice was colder now.

"The guards immediately tried to track the vehicle, but by then it had started moving away."

"Did she notice?"

The question came out quieter than I intended with the tiniest crack.

"We don’t think so, sir."

I waited.

"By the time the guards looked back toward the window, Miss Rose was no longer there. She may have stepped away before the shot was fired."

I exhaled slowly. Only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath.

"Are you sure?"

"We can’t say with complete certainty, sir, but we don’t believe she saw anything."

I looked down at my hand. My fingers were still wrapped tightly around the phone.

"And the shot?"

"The weapon appears to have been fitted with a suppressor."

I looked up. "So?"

"It would’ve reduced the sound considerably. If Miss Rose was inside the room and away from the window, she may not have heard anything clearly enough to know what happened."

I nodded once.

"Good."

The word was almost a whisper. Another tiny crack.

Another thing I didn’t notice.

My mind was still stuck on that window. Her window.

Someone had been watching her. Someone had put a rifle on her. And they’d fired.

I felt something dark moving beneath my skin. Not anger. Not entirely. Something worse.

I wanted to find them. I wanted to know who had decided they could put a bullet anywhere near her and walk away.

My jaw tightened.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke. I stared through the window, trying to get my breathing under control, but the image wouldn’t leave my head. A rifle. Her window. A few inches.

"Fuck."

It slipped out quietly.

My right-hand man shifted in his seat but wisely said nothing.

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek and looked down at my phone again. Why the hell did I care this much? The old man had told me to keep an eye on her because of the situation. That was all. Rose wasn’t my responsibility beyond that.

So why had my heart nearly stopped when I’d heard her name?

Why was I sitting here imagining a bullet tearing through the glass?

Why did the thought of someone hurting her make my hands itch for a gun?

I clenched my fist.

"And the dead men?"

The man on the phone hesitated.

I frowned.

"The men who fired."

"They’re dead, sir."

I paused.

My right-hand man looked at me.

I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear, stared at it for a second, then placed it back.

"Did you men kill them?"

The man immediately started stammering.

"N-no, sir."

I stared through the windshield.

"Then why did you say they’re dead?"

"Because they are, sir."

Silence.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Explain."

"Before we could launch a pursuit, they’d ended their lives."

I said nothing.

Neither did anyone else.

The man’s voice continued carefully.

"They’re dead, sir."

My right-hand man blinked.

I blinked once.

For a moment, nobody seemed to know what the hell to say.

Then I leaned back slowly.

"How?"

"During our pursuit, they must have figured they had no way out so they shot themselves."

My fingers loosened around the phone.

I looked out at the slum again.

The streets were still quiet.

Too quiet.

Men who were willing to shoot at an estate and then take their own lives rather than risk being captured weren’t ordinary men. They had been prepared. Prepared to fail. Prepared to die.

Which meant whoever had sent them hadn’t expected them to come back.

Or perhaps they had expected exactly this.

I rubbed my thumb slowly against the edge of my phone.

The trap in front of us suddenly seemed much more interesting.

"Understood."

My voice was eerily calm, the kind of calm that came right before something broke.

I looked toward my right-hand man.

"Tell the others to keep watching."

He nodded.

I turned my attention back to the road.

Someone had put a rifle beside Rose’s window. Someone had fired. And now the men responsible were dead before we could even reach them.

I didn’t know who was behind it yet.

But I would.

And when I found them...

My lips curved into the faintest smile.

They were going to regret ever getting close.

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