Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

"Sierra...?"

The two arms wrapped around my stomach tightened, and for a second, I could only stare down at her. She had practically launched herself at me, catching me so completely off guard that I hadn’t even had time to react properly.

Then I looked over her shoulder.

Reagan was still sitting at the dining table, watching us.

I immediately looked away.

Nope.

I was not dealing with that right now. Not after what had happened upstairs, and definitely not after my stomach had decided to humiliate me in front of him. I’d barely managed to leave my room without thinking about it every five seconds. I didn’t need another reason to be embarrassed.

Sierra pulled back just enough to look at me, and the second I saw her face properly, I knew I was in trouble.

She looked furious.

Not regular furious, either.

Sierra had several levels of anger, and unfortunately, I was familiar with most of them.

"I’ve called you thousands of times."

I opened my mouth.

She didn’t let me speak.

"Thousands, Rose. You never answered!"

"Sierra—"

"I thought you were dead!"

I blinked. "Dead?"

"Yes, dead!" She threw her hands up. "What was I supposed to think? You disappear for days, don’t answer your phone, don’t answer messages, don’t come downstairs, don’t talk to anybody, and then I hear you haven’t even been eating!"

I looked down.

That subject suddenly felt much less funny.

Sierra stared at me.

"You wanted to starve yourself to nonexistence?"

"No."

"Because that’s what it sounded like! You’re already as white as paper. You want to be as thin as one too?"

Despite everything, the absurdity of that almost made me laugh.

Almost.

She wasn’t finished.

"You couldn’t even send me one message? One, Rose. I called you over and over. I was worried sick, and you couldn’t even tell me you were alive."

"I’m sorry."

The words came out quieter than I intended.

Sierra’s expression faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly.

"I mean, seriously, what were you thinking?"

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t really know how to explain it. I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts to think about what anyone else was feeling. At the time, staying in my room had felt easier than facing anyone. I hadn’t wanted questions. I hadn’t wanted sympathy. I hadn’t wanted to explain why I was hurt when I wasn’t even sure how to explain it to myself.

Now that Sierra was standing in front of me, angry because she’d been worried, I realized how selfish my silence must have looked from the outside.

My eyes started burning.

I looked down before she could see them.

"I’m sorry," I mumbled again.

This time, Sierra went quiet.

She stared at me for a few seconds. The anger on her face seemed to pause as she noticed how close I was to crying again.

She sighed.

A long, tired sigh.

"Come on."

Before I could ask where we were going, she grabbed my hand.

"Where?"

"Food."

"Sierra—"

"No." She started pulling me toward the dining table. "Whatever dramatic nonsense is happening can wait. You’re eating first."

I let her drag me along.

I didn’t have the energy to argue, and if I was being honest with myself, I was hungry. I’d only just finished eating upstairs before coming down, but apparently my body had decided three days of barely eating was enough punishment.

Sierra pulled out a chair for me.

"Sit."

I sat.

She took the seat beside me.

And then I remembered.

Reagan.

He was still there.

Of course he was.

He hadn’t moved. He sat across from us, looking down at his phone as though none of this concerned him.

I glanced at him.

Then at Sierra.

Then back at Reagan.

Something about the way Sierra’s eyes landed on him made my stomach tighten.

She was staring.

Not looking.

Staring.

There was a difference.

I picked up my fork and started eating, pretending not to notice.

Maybe she’d stop.

She didn’t.

I took another bite.

Still staring.

Another.

Still.

I glanced sideways again.

Yep.

Sierra was looking at Reagan like she’d personally volunteered to supervise his execution.

I swallowed quickly and focused on my food.

I needed to finish.

Quickly.

Because I knew Sierra, and I knew Reagan. Putting those two in the same room was like putting a matchbox beside gasoline and hoping everyone behaved themselves.

Neither of them was particularly good at backing down.

And Sierra was already in a bad mood.

I started eating faster.

Sierra remained perfectly still beside me.

Her face was completely blank.

That was worse.

Very much worse.

Sierra’s anger had stages. The first was loud. The second was louder. But the third was when she went quiet and started thinking.

And every stage after that became progressively harder to diffuse.

I was beginning to suspect we’d already reached stage three.

I tapped her thigh underneath the table.

"Sierra."

Nothing.

I leaned slightly closer and whispered, "Stop staring at him like that. If he was a candle, he’d be melted by now."

She didn’t even blink.

I sighed and returned my attention to my plate.

"Sierra."

Still nothing.

She just kept staring.

I looked over at Reagan.

He seemed completely unbothered. He was scrolling through something on his phone, his expression calm enough to be irritating.

For a second, I wondered if he even felt her stare.

Then his eyebrow twitched.

Just once.

I almost smiled.

Oh.

He felt it.

He absolutely felt it.

I looked back at Sierra, who hadn’t changed her expression at all.

Despite the fact that I felt like a king and queen of the jungle were about to collide if I didn’t intervene, I couldn’t help the tiny chuckle that escaped inside my head.

Because for once, Reagan was the one sitting on the receiving end of someone’s heat.

And, admittedly, it was a little satisfying.

I’d spent the last few days feeling like everything was happening to me. I was tired of being scared and confused, tired of feeling like I was the only person in the room who didn’t know what was going on.

Seeing Reagan sit there while someone else stared him down almost made me feel like I had a tiny piece of my dignity back.

I immediately felt guilty for thinking that.

Only a little.

I continued eating.

Fast.

Very fast.

I was practically shovelling food into my mouth now. I needed to finish before Sierra decided that whatever conversation she was having with Reagan in her head needed to become an actual conversation.

I glanced at her again.

Still staring.

Her aura was like a mother cat waiting for an excuse to pounce. At this point, even an eyelid twitch from a rat would probably have been enough to set her off.

I looked at Reagan again.

He finally put his phone down.

His eyes lifted.

They met mine.

I immediately looked away.

Nope.

Don’t involve me.

I was innocent.

Mostly.

I took another bite.

Then Sierra sat up straight.

I froze.

Slowly, she turned toward me.

Her expression was blank.

Completely blank.

"Sierra?"

She looked at me.

"Rose."

My soul practically left my body.

Oh no.

That tone.

I knew that tone.

She wasn’t just angry anymore.

She was furious.

And the fact that she looked so calm somehow made it worse.

My mind immediately screamed, Oh no. She’s about to do some Harley Quinn shit.

I swallowed.

"Yes?"

Sierra’s eyes moved away from me and toward Reagan.

I almost stopped breathing.

Then she called him.

"Reagan."

Reagan looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

Sierra’s brow twitched.

Actually twitched.

I watched the visible dissatisfaction and rage cross her face in that tiny movement, and that was all the warning I needed.

I stood up so fast the friction between my chair and the floor could probably have lit wood.

"Sierra!"

She looked at me.

"I’m done eating."

She blinked.

I didn’t give her time to question it.

"Want a tour of my room?"

Her eyebrows pulled together.

"What?"

"Come on."

I grabbed her hand.

"But—"

"Nope."

I started dragging her away from the table.

She resisted for half a second, clearly confused by my sudden enthusiasm for interior decoration, but I didn’t give her a chance to think about it.

I was saving lives here.

Or at least preventing a very unnecessary argument.

As I dragged her toward the stairs, I glanced back over my shoulder.

They were still looking at each other.

Reagan hadn’t moved.

Sierra hadn’t moved.

They were locked in an intense, unyielding stare that somehow felt louder than an actual argument.

I tightened my grip on Sierra’s hand.

"Come on."

She finally started moving, but even then, she kept looking back.

I pulled her toward the stairs.

I glanced back one last time.

Still staring.

Neither of them looked remotely interested in surrendering.

It was almost impressive.

Almost.

I really didn’t want to know what would happen if I wasn’t standing between them.

I sighed internally.

Thank God.

I turned forward and kept dragging Sierra upstairs.

At least I’d gotten her away from him.

For now.

Hopefully, by the time we reached my room, she’d have forgotten whatever she had been planning.

Hopefully.

Because if she hadn’t...

I really didn’t want to find out what stage four looked like.

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