Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

I closed the warehouse door behind me and stood in the hallway for a moment.

The conversation kept replaying in my head, but not the words themselves. The reactions mattered more.

The man had lied about Rose, then accidentally admitted he knew exactly who she was. He had reacted when I mentioned my father, and again when I asked whether someone close to him had provided the information. Every time, his body had answered before his mouth could.

But one thing bothered me more than the rest.

I can’t.

Not I won’t.

I had heard both before. There was a difference.

People who refused to talk usually believed they had something worth protecting. People who couldn’t talk were protecting themselves.

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

One of my men was waiting near the entrance.

"Boss."

"Get me everything you can on him."

He straightened. "Everything?"

"Everything. Name, history, known associates, businesses, addresses, previous employers. I want to know where he came from before tonight."

"Understood."

I took a few steps before stopping.

"And don’t limit it to him."

The man looked at me.

"I want information on everyone who has been around my father for the last several years."

His expression changed slightly.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

He nodded.

"Yes, boss."

"Start with the people closest to him. His drivers, assistants, security, business partners. Anyone who has had access to him regularly."

He hesitated before asking, "Are we looking for someone specific?"

"No."

I looked back at him.

"That’s the problem."

He nodded again and walked away.

I continued toward the exit.

I wasn’t looking for a name yet. I didn’t have enough information to know whose name I wanted. What I needed first was a pattern.

Something had been happening around my family long before I noticed it, and my father clearly knew more than he was willing to say.

I needed to know how far that knowledge extended.

I stepped outside.

The night air was cooler than before. I stood beside my car for a moment, looking toward the warehouse.

The captive was still inside.

For once, I wasn’t interested in forcing anything out of him.

If he was afraid of someone, pressure would only make him hold tighter.

So I’d do the opposite.

I’d give him nothing to fight against.

I got into my car and drove back toward the estate.

The warehouse became quiet again.

The man remained in the chair, his wrists still restrained behind him.

For several minutes, he didn’t move.

He listened.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No door opening.

He shifted slightly, staring at the floor.

"Hello?"

His voice echoed through the empty space.

Nobody answered.

He swallowed.

"Anyone?"

Still nothing.

He leaned back against the chair.

This was worse.

He’d expected questions.

Threats.

Maybe worse.

Instead, they had left him alone.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there anymore. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour?

Time felt strange when there was nothing to measure it against.

He pulled against the restraints again.

They held.

"Damn it."

He lowered his head.

His mind returned to the conversation.

You aren’t loyal to them.

You’re afraid of someone else.

He clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t meant to say that much.

And the worst part was that the man had noticed every mistake.

He hadn’t shouted.

Hadn’t threatened him.

He’d simply watched.

That was what made him dangerous.

The captive looked toward the warehouse entrance.

Nothing.

Maybe they were waiting for him to break.

He scoffed quietly.

"I won’t."

His own voice sounded unconvincing.

Several hours later, the warehouse door opened.

The captive’s head lifted immediately.

Footsteps approached.

He braced himself.

The door to his room opened.

Reagan walked inside.

Alone.

No guards.

No weapons drawn.

Nothing.

The captive stared at him.

Reagan carried a small paper bag in one hand.

He placed it on the table beside the chair.

The captive frowned.

"What is that?"

"Food."

The man stared at him.

"You’re feeding me?"

"You’ve been sitting here for hours."

Reagan pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.

He opened the bag.

A sandwich.

A bottle of water.

Nothing unusual.

The captive watched him carefully.

"What are you doing?"

"Having dinner."

Reagan took a bite.

The captive stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

"You kidnapped me."

"Yes."

"And now you’re eating?"

Reagan nodded.

The captive waited for something else.

Nothing came.

He shifted in the chair.

"You’re not going to ask me anything?"

"Not right now."

The man frowned.

"Why?"

Reagan took another bite.

"Because you’ve already answered enough questions."

The captive’s face tightened.

"I haven’t told you anything."

"I know."

Reagan took a drink of water.

"That’s why I don’t need to ask."

The man stared at him.

Silence settled between them.

It lasted longer than the captive expected.

Eventually, he looked away.

Reagan didn’t say anything.

The captive shifted again.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

Reagan finished his sandwich before answering.

"Information."

"I told you, I don’t have any."

"That’s not what I asked."

The man frowned.

Reagan leaned back.

"You’ve been watching my organization for a while."

"I haven’t."

"Fine."

Reagan nodded as if accepting the answer.

The captive looked suspiciously at him.

"You aren’t going to argue?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because arguing won’t make you tell me the truth."

The captive didn’t know what to say.

Reagan stood and walked around the table.

He stopped beside him.

"How old were you when they recruited you?"

The captive’s head snapped toward him.

Silence.

Reagan looked down at him.

"I didn’t say you were recruited."

The man’s face tightened.

Reagan smiled faintly.

"Interesting."

"I assumed."

"You assumed?"

"Yes."

"From what?"

The man hesitated.

"Nothing."

Reagan nodded.

"Of course."

He walked back to his chair.

The captive watched him carefully.

"You think you’re clever."

"No."

Reagan sat down.

"I think you’re nervous."

"I’m not nervous."

"Then you’re uncomfortable."

"I’m neither."

"Fine."

The captive’s jaw clenched.

Reagan leaned back.

"You don’t strike me as someone who was born into this."

The man’s eyes shifted.

There it was again.

Reagan noticed.

He didn’t comment.

The silence returned.

After a while, the captive finally spoke.

"Why aren’t you asking about my boss?"

Reagan looked at him.

"Should I?"

The man frowned.

"I thought that’s what you wanted."

"I could ask you who your boss is."

Reagan folded his hands.

"You’d give me a name."

The captive said nothing.

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

The man looked away.

Reagan continued.

"So I’m not going to ask."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Letting you talk."

The captive scoffed.

"I’ve barely said anything."

"You’ve said enough."

"Like what?"

Reagan’s gaze settled on him.

"You were recruited."

"I never said that."

"You reacted when I said it."

The captive went quiet.

"You know my father."

"I know who he is."

"You reacted when I mentioned him."

"I didn’t."

"You did."

The captive stared at the floor.

Reagan continued calmly.

"And you know the people behind tonight’s attack aren’t ordinary."

The man remained silent.

"How long have they existed?"

"I don’t know."

"Months?"

Nothing.

"A year?"

Nothing.

"Longer?"

The man’s shoulders shifted.

Reagan noticed.

"How long?"

"I don’t know."

"You do."

The captive looked at him.

"You really don’t understand."

"Then explain it."

"I can’t."

Reagan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Again.

That word.

"You can’t."

The man swallowed.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I just can’t."

"Because you’re loyal?"

The man shook his head.

"Because you’re afraid."

The captive said nothing.

Reagan leaned forward.

"Who trained you?"

"No one."

"Military?"

"No."

"Private security?"

"No."

"Someone else?"

The man clenched his jaw.

Reagan watched him.

That reaction wasn’t fear.

It was irritation.

Almost personal.

He filed it away.

"You don’t like that question."

The man looked away.

"There’s nothing to say."

"There usually is."

Reagan sat back.

"How long were you watching the estate?"

"I wasn’t."

"How long were you planning tonight’s operation?"

"I wasn’t part of an operation."

"You were there."

"I was told to watch."

"By who?"

The man immediately went quiet.

Reagan nodded.

"That’s more useful than a name."

The captive frowned.

"What?"

"You were told to watch."

The man realized his mistake.

Reagan continued before he could correct himself.

"Which means someone gave you instructions."

"I—"

"You didn’t act alone."

The man said nothing.

"And whoever gave you those instructions didn’t need you to know everything."

The captive looked up.

Reagan studied his expression.

"That’s why you can’t tell me who your boss is."

The man shook his head.

"No."

"Not because you don’t know."

"No."

"Because knowing is dangerous."

The man stared at him.

Reagan leaned back.

"To you."

Silence.

The captive’s breathing had changed.

Slower.

Heavier.

Reagan let him sit with it.

After several seconds, the man spoke quietly.

"You’re asking the wrong questions."

Reagan’s eyebrows lifted.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"What should I ask?"

The man hesitated.

Then he shook his head.

"Nothing."

Reagan almost smiled.

"That’s what I thought."

The captive looked frustrated.

"You don’t understand what you’re dealing with."

"Then tell me."

"I can’t."

"Again with that word."

The man closed his eyes for a moment.

Reagan watched him.

"You aren’t loyal to them," he said.

The man’s eyes opened.

"You don’t have to be."

"I am."

"If you were, you wouldn’t be this afraid."

"I am not afraid."

Reagan smiled faintly.

"You’re a terrible liar."

The man looked away.

Reagan stood.

The captive watched him.

"That’s enough for tonight."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You’re leaving?"

"For now."

The man stared at him.

Reagan walked toward the door.

"Wait."

He stopped.

The captive looked uncertain.

"You asked about my boss."

Reagan turned slightly.

"Yes."

The man hesitated.

Then he said, "Bosses can be replaced."

Reagan waited.

The captive lowered his voice.

"Founders can’t."

Silence.

Reagan’s expression didn’t change.

But something in his mind clicked.

He didn’t ask what it meant.

Not yet.

He simply looked at the man for a long moment before opening the door.

"Keep him here."

The guards outside straightened.

"No one talks to him unless I say so."

"Yes, boss."

Reagan stepped into the hallway.

The door closed behind him.

He walked slowly through the warehouse, his mind already turning over the captive’s words.

Bosses can be replaced.

Founders can’t.

That wasn’t a threat.

At least, not directly.

It sounded like a fact.

And facts were usually more useful.

He reached the exit and stopped beside one of his men.

"Any updates?"

"Not yet, boss."

"Keep looking."

"Yes, boss."

Reagan stepped outside.

The night had grown colder.

He stood beside his car, staring into the darkness.

The captive had given him no name.

No location.

No organization.

Yet somehow, he’d still managed to give Reagan something more valuable.

A direction.

Someone had built whatever organization they were dealing with.

Someone had been there long enough to become irreplaceable.

And if the captive was right, then whoever Reagan had been dealing with tonight wasn’t the person at the top.

Maybe he wasn’t even close.

Reagan got into his car.

His phone buzzed as he started the engine.

A message from one of his men.

We’re digging into Father’s people. Nothing obvious yet.

Reagan stared at the message for a moment before locking the screen.

Nothing obvious.

He expected that.

People who hid things well rarely left them sitting in plain sight.

He pulled away from the warehouse.

The road stretched ahead, empty and dark.

His father’s secrets were one problem.

The organization watching his family was another.

But somehow, he was beginning to suspect they weren’t separate problems at all.

And that possibility interested him more than it should have.

He pressed his foot down slightly harder on the accelerator.

Sooner or later, the pieces would connect.

And when they did, he intended to be the one holding them.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!