Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

The warehouse had been quiet for almost an hour.

At first, I’d left the man alone with enough time to make noise. He shouted, cursed, threatened everyone he was sure was listening, and demanded to know where we’d taken him. When none of that worked, he started pulling against the restraints until the chair scraped loudly against the concrete floor.

Eventually, even he seemed to realize how useless it was.

Now he sat with his head lowered, his wrists tied behind the chair and a black sack covering his face. The only sounds were his breathing and the occasional hum of the lights overhead.

"My people are going to find me," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "You idiots don’t know what you’ve gotten yourselves into."

Nothing.

He shifted in the chair.

"They’ll come."

Still nothing.

He tugged at the restraints again, then winced when they dug into his wrists. "If you’re going to kill me, just fucking do it."

For a few seconds, the warehouse remained silent.

Then I heard footsteps.

His head lifted immediately.

The sound came from somewhere beyond the room, slow and unhurried. There was no rush in my steps, no hesitation either. I knew exactly where I was going.

The door opened.

I stepped inside with two men behind me, and the door shut.

"You seemed pretty confident your boss would find you."

The man’s jaw tightened.

That voice.

He’d heard it before. Not in person, but enough to recognize it.

He said nothing.

"Take the sack off."

One of my men pulled the fabric from his head, and he immediately squinted against the harsh light. He blinked a few times before his eyes adjusted, then looked up.

Reagan.

For the briefest moment, recognition flashed across his face.

I caught it.

The man quickly looked away.

"You’ve heard of me."

"I don’t know who you are."

I almost smiled. It wasn’t amusement. More like I’d expected the answer.

"That’s unfortunate."

I pulled a chair from nearby and turned it around before sitting, resting my arms across the back. The two men remained behind me, watching the captive without saying a word.

The captive glanced between them before looking back at me. "What do you want?"

"Answers."

"About what?"

I studied him for a moment. He looked older up close, probably somewhere in his thirties, with a thick build and a small scar running from the edge of his eyebrow toward his temple. His clothes were ordinary enough, but they were too clean for someone who’d spent the night hiding around the slums. There was also a faint mark on his wrist, mostly hidden beneath his sleeve.

A tattoo.

I filed it away.

"How long?"

The man frowned. "What?"

"How long have you been feeding them information?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"How long have you been watching the estate?"

"I haven’t."

"How did you know the security rotation?"

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

I continued before he could answer. "How did you know when the guards changed positions? How did you know which entrance was being used tonight? And how did you know when Rose would be vulnerable?"

"I don’t know any Rose."

I went quiet.

The man seemed to realize his mistake a second too late.

He’d been careful not to say her name before.

I leaned back slightly, keeping my expression neutral.

"Interesting."

"I’ve never seen that woman before."

"I didn’t say you had."

The man’s mouth closed.

I watched him for a moment before looking down at his hands. I’d expected him to be trained enough to avoid obvious mistakes. That was why I wasn’t going to push too quickly. People became careful when they knew they were being questioned. Give them enough time, though, and they started trying to control the conversation themselves. That’s when they slipped.

I looked up again. "Let’s start over."

The man stared at me.

"How long have you been watching the estate?"

"I haven’t."

"Fine. How did you know the security?"

"I don’t."

"How did you know about Rose?"

"I already told you. I don’t know her."

"And yet you knew exactly who I meant."

"I guessed."

"From what?"

The man shrugged.

I waited.

He looked irritated. "You said a woman’s name. Maybe I assumed."

"Maybe."

I didn’t argue.

That seemed to bother him more.

The man shifted in his chair. "Are you going to ask me the same questions all night?"

"If that’s what it takes."

"You think I’m going to talk?"

"I think you’re already talking."

The man scoffed.

I kept my eyes on him. "You just haven’t realized how much you’ve said yet."

For the first time, his confidence seemed to falter.

Only slightly.

I leaned back again. "Who gave you the information?"

"I don’t know."

"Someone inside your organization?"

"No."

"Someone outside?"

Silence.

I waited.

The man looked away.

That was enough.

"Someone close to my father?"

The reaction was small, but it was there.

His fingers twitched against the restraints.

His eyes moved toward me, then away again.

I didn’t say anything. I simply watched him.

The man shifted.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you already know."

My mouth curved slightly. "I don’t."

The man stared at me.

"That’s why we’re talking."

The captive scoffed and looked toward the floor.

I let the silence sit for a few seconds before speaking again.

"You know who my father is."

"I know who he is."

The answer came too quickly.

My expression remained unchanged.

"Interesting."

The man cursed under his breath.

"You said you didn’t know anything about him."

"I said I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about."

"You know exactly what I’m talking about."

"I don’t."

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees. "Then let’s make this easier. You’ve heard his name."

The man didn’t answer.

"You’ve probably seen him."

Nothing.

"You might even have met him."

His eyes flickered.

I caught it.

I sat back.

"Have you?"

"No."

"You’re lying."

"I’m not."

"You looked away."

"So?"

"So you do that whenever you don’t like the question."

The man stared at me.

I continued, almost conversationally, "You’ve done it three times since I walked in. Once when I mentioned Rose, once when I mentioned my father, and once when I asked who gave you the information."

The man said nothing.

"That’s not a coincidence."

The captive swallowed.

I noticed the movement.

I’d expected resistance. What I hadn’t expected was how quickly his confidence was beginning to crack without me having to threaten him.

That was useful.

Very useful.

"You aren’t afraid of me," I said.

The man looked up.

"Not really."

His expression tightened.

"You’re afraid of someone else."

"I told you, I don’t know anything."

"And I’m telling you that’s not true."

I paused, then glanced toward his wrist. His sleeve had shifted slightly, revealing more of the tattoo I’d noticed earlier.

"What does that mean?"

The man immediately pulled his arm back.

I looked at him.

There it was again.

Another reaction.

"It’s nothing."

"Didn’t look like nothing."

"It isn’t your business."

"Everything about you is my business right now."

The man gave a humorless laugh. "You think tying me to a chair makes you dangerous?"

"No."

My answer was so calm that the man stopped smiling.

"I think the fact that you were willing to come after my family makes you dangerous."

I leaned back.

"But dangerous isn’t the same thing as important."

The man’s face hardened.

I watched him carefully.

"You’re expendable, aren’t you?"

Silence.

"That’s why you haven’t given me a name."

"No."

"You know if you tell me who sent you, you’re finished."

"No."

"Not because of me."

The man’s jaw clenched.

"Because of them."

The man looked away.

I nodded slowly.

That was closer.

I had no idea who they were yet, but I was getting closer.

"How many people were involved tonight?"

The man didn’t answer.

"Five?"

Nothing.

"Ten?"

Nothing.

"More?"

The man finally looked at me. "I don’t know."

"How many did you see?"

"I wasn’t counting."

"You’re lying again."

"I wasn’t."

"You were part of the operation. You knew the route, the timing, the target, and the security. You knew enough to get everyone into position. Don’t tell me you weren’t counting."

The man remained silent.

I studied him.

"How long were you planning it?"

"Planning what?"

"The attack."

"I wasn’t part of an attack."

I gave him a flat look.

I tilted my head. "You don’t seem like someone who panics easily."

The man looked away.

"Who trained you?"

No answer.

"Military?"

Silence.

"Private security?"

Nothing.

"Someone else?"

The man’s jaw tightened.

I leaned back, thinking.

There was something different about the way the man responded to questions about his training. He hadn’t reacted with fear this time. It was more like irritation, almost personal.

I filed that away too.

"Your organization has been watching us for a while."

The man remained quiet.

"How long?"

Nothing.

"Months?"

No response.

"A year?"

The man shifted.

My eyes narrowed.

"Longer?"

The man finally looked up. "You don’t understand what you’re dealing with."

My expression barely changed.

"Then explain it."

"I can’t."

"Can’t or won’t?"

The man didn’t answer.

I sat quietly for a moment.

There was something about those words.

Not I won’t.

I can’t.

That distinction mattered.

"You aren’t loyal to them," I said.

The man’s eyes flicked toward me.

"You don’t have to lie."

"I am loyal."

"Then you wouldn’t be afraid."

"I am not afraid."

I smiled faintly. "You’re a terrible liar."

The man looked genuinely frustrated now.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Acting like you already know everything."

"I don’t."

"Then why aren’t you asking me who my boss is?"

My eyes settled on him.

The man seemed to realize what he’d said.

A slow silence followed.

I leaned back.

"Why would I ask you that?"

The man stared at me.

I continued, "If I asked you who your boss is, you’d give me a name."

The man said nothing.

"Maybe it would be true. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, you’d think giving me a name means the interrogation is over."

The man’s face tightened.

"So instead, I’m going to let you keep talking."

I paused.

"You’ll eventually tell me something useful."

The man shook his head. "You won’t get anything from me."

"Maybe."

I stood.

The captive watched me.

I walked a few steps away, then stopped.

"One last question."

The man didn’t answer.

"Who told you Rose would be there tonight?"

"I don’t know."

I turned around.

The answer had been immediate this time.

Too immediate.

"You’re sure?"

"Yes."

"You don’t know?"

"No."

I nodded slowly.

Then I smiled.

"All right."

The man looked confused.

I walked back toward him.

"That’s all for tonight."

The captive blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You’re just leaving?"

"For now."

The man looked toward the door, then back at me. "Wait."

I stopped.

The man seemed unsure whether he actually wanted to say anything.

I waited.

After a few seconds, the man looked down.

"You said someone close to your father."

My expression changed almost imperceptibly.

"Yes."

The man swallowed.

"I didn’t say anything about that."

"You reacted."

"That’s not the same thing."

"No. It isn’t."

The man hesitated.

Then he looked up.

"Your father isn’t the only person with secrets."

I stared at him.

The man’s expression had changed. There was no smugness now. No attempt to intimidate me. Just a warning.

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"No."

"Then what is it supposed to do?"

The man looked toward the floor.

"Keep you from asking the wrong questions."

I was quiet.

I could have pushed him then. Demanded a name. Demanded an explanation. But something told me not to.

The man had already given me more than he’d intended to.

And whatever had made him say that last sentence, it wasn’t loyalty.

It was fear.

I turned toward the door.

Behind me, the captive spoke again.

"You don’t know what your father is involved in."

I stopped.

For a moment, I didn’t move.

Then I looked over my shoulder.

"Neither do you."

The man didn’t answer.

I opened the door.

"Keep him here," I told the men outside. "No one talks to him unless I say so."

I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind me.

The noise of the warehouse faded as I walked away.

I leaned against the wall for a moment, replaying the conversation in my head.

The man knew about Rose. He knew about the estate. He knew enough about my father’s name to react to it, and he knew enough to understand that whatever information he’d been given hadn’t come from some random source.

But the part that bothered me most was his warning.

Your father isn’t the only person with secrets.

I’d spent years thinking I knew exactly who my father was. I knew his temper, his habits, the people around him, the rules he expected everyone to follow. I knew when he was lying, or at least I thought I did.

But lately, there had been too many things that didn’t fit.

His reaction when I mentioned the men.

The warning to stay away from them.

The way he’d looked at me when he’d said it.

And now this.

I pushed myself away from the wall and continued down the hallway.

I still didn’t know who the man’s boss was. I didn’t know how many people were involved, how long they’d been watching us, or what they actually wanted.

But I knew one thing.

This wasn’t random.

Someone had been watching my family for longer than I’d realized, and somehow, they knew things they shouldn’t have known.

The man was hiding something.

That much was obvious.

The question was whether he was hiding it because he was loyal to his organization, or because he was afraid of what would happen if he told me.

Either way, I had time.

And sooner or later, he’d talk.

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