Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

The moment we reached my room, I pulled Sierra inside and shut the door behind us. I leaned against it for a second and breathed out, wondering why I felt like I’d just escaped a crime scene.

Maybe because I had.

A very strange, emotionally unstable crime scene involving Reagan, Sierra, and several levels of eye contact that could probably have started a war.

I turned around. Sierra stood in the middle of my room with her arms crossed, staring at me.

I stared back.

Okay. This was worse than I thought.

This wasn’t her loud anger or even the sarcastic anger she’d had downstairs. This was the quiet kind—the kind where Sierra was actually thinking. And Sierra thinking while angry was dangerous.

"So..."

Her eyebrow lifted.

I immediately regretted speaking. "So?"

"I was just—"

"You dragged me out of there."

"I know."

"You literally dragged me away from the table."

"I know."

"You asked me if I wanted a tour of your room."

I looked around as though the answer might be written somewhere. "Yes."

Sierra stared at me. "Why?"

"I panicked."

"I noticed."

I sighed. "You’re welcome."

"For what?"

"Preventing a murder."

Her expression didn’t change.

"Rose."

"Yes?"

"You think I’m joking?"

"No."

"Good."

I sat on the edge of the bed. Sierra remained standing for a few seconds before finally sighing and sitting beside me.

The moment she did, the atmosphere changed. She wasn’t looking at me like she wanted to yell anymore. She was looking at me like she was trying to figure out how badly I’d actually been hurting.

That somehow made me feel worse.

"Why didn’t you answer me?"

I looked down at my hands. "I didn’t want to talk."

"To anyone?"

I nodded.

"For three days?"

"Yes."

Sierra looked away. "I was worried."

"I know."

"No, you don’t." She rubbed her hands together. "I kept calling because I thought maybe something happened. Then I’d tell myself you were probably fine, and then I’d call again because I couldn’t convince myself of that. Then I heard you weren’t eating."

I looked down.

"I was eating."

She gave me a look.

"Rose."

"A little."

"That’s not better."

I sighed. "I know."

She shook her head. "I don’t care if you need space. You can tell me you need space."

"I know."

"You could’ve sent one message."

"I know."

"One."

"I know, Sierra."

My voice cracked slightly. I stared at my lap, feeling my eyes burn again.

"I’m sorry."

She went quiet.

I could feel her watching me, but I didn’t look up.

"I wasn’t angry because you didn’t answer me," she said eventually. "I was angry because I was scared. I thought something happened to you."

"I’m sorry."

"I know you are."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she looked at me. "What happened?"

I knew exactly what she meant.

I didn’t answer immediately. My fingers twisted together.

"Reagan."

Sierra’s expression changed.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Rose."

I sighed. "It’s not just one thing."

She waited.

I looked toward the floor. "I just got tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Of him."

Sierra didn’t interrupt, which helped. I didn’t know how to explain everything without sounding ridiculous.

"I don’t understand him. He does things without thinking about how they affect me."

"Like?"

I hesitated.

"The kisses."

Her eyebrows lifted. "The what?"

I closed my eyes. "Don’t."

"You said kisses."

"I know what I said."

"Plural?"

"Sierra."

"He kissed you twice?"

I nodded.

"When?"

"That’s not important."

"It sounds important."

"I don’t want to talk about the exact details."

She studied me for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

I looked down. "He surprised me both times. He just... decided he could."

Sierra’s face hardened.

"That’s the problem. He didn’t ask. He didn’t even stop afterward and ask how I felt. We just moved on like it never happened."

She said nothing.

"I hated that. I kept thinking maybe he’d eventually say something. Maybe he’d apologize. Maybe he’d acknowledge that he’d crossed a line."

"And he didn’t."

"No." I rubbed my fingers together. "He just acted like everything was normal."

Sierra shook her head.

"And you kept pretending it was normal too."

"I know."

I looked at her. "That’s what makes me angry at myself."

"Don’t."

"What?"

"Don’t blame yourself for his decision."

I stared at her.

"You didn’t kiss yourself."

I almost laughed. "That’s a horrible way to put it."

"But you understand what I’m saying."

I did.

"I just wanted him to care about how I felt."

Sierra’s voice softened. "Rose, you don’t have to forgive him just because he apologized."

"I know."

"And you don’t have to pretend you’re okay because he finally noticed you were hurting."

"I know."

I took a breath.

"But..."

She waited.

"When he came into my room..." I hesitated. "I was relieved."

Her eyebrows lifted.

I immediately looked away. "Don’t make that face."

"What face?"

"That face."

"I’m not making a face."

"You are."

She smiled slightly.

"I was angry at him," I continued.

"I know."

"I still am."

"I know."

"But when he came in, I didn’t want him to leave."

Her smile disappeared.

"Why?"

"I don’t know." I stared at my hands. "I just... didn’t."

I remembered him sitting in that chair, not demanding anything, not forcing me to talk. Just staying.

"I think I wanted him to notice me. Not because I wanted him to fix everything. I just wanted him to know that I was hurting."

Sierra nodded slowly.

"And he did."

"Eventually."

"Still."

I looked at her.

She shrugged. "Late is late, but he came."

I didn’t answer because that was exactly what made everything more complicated.

I could be angry with him. I could be hurt by him. I could still think he’d treated me unfairly. And somehow, I could still feel relieved when he showed up.

Those things didn’t cancel each other out.

That was the part I hated.

Sierra leaned back against the headboard. "You know what I think?"

I immediately became suspicious. "What?"

"I think you’re confused."

"Very helpful."

She laughed softly. "I’m serious."

"So am I."

"You don’t have to figure everything out right now."

I looked at her.

"You can be angry and still care about someone."

My stomach twisted. "I don’t know if I care about him like that."

"I didn’t say you did."

"You were thinking it."

"I was thinking nothing."

"You were absolutely thinking it."

She smiled.

"Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything."

"Your face did."

She laughed, and I shook my head.

"You’ve been spending too much time with me."

"Maybe."

She nudged my shoulder.

I looked down at my hands again.

"I don’t know what I feel."

"Then don’t name it."

I looked at her.

"Just feel it."

That sounded annoyingly reasonable.

I hated when Sierra did that.

She reached over and squeezed my hand.

"And about the other thing..."

I knew immediately what she meant.

"The way he scared you."

My smile disappeared.

I nodded.

"I told him."

"What did he say?"

"That he wasn’t going to hurt me."

Sierra’s expression tightened.

"But?"

"But I told him I knew that now. I didn’t know then."

I swallowed.

"I didn’t know what he was going to do."

Sierra’s hand tightened around mine.

"That’s enough."

I looked at her.

"You don’t have to prove that you were justified in being scared."

"I know."

"And you don’t owe him comfort because he’s upset about what he did."

"I know."

She studied me.

"Good."

The room fell quiet.

For the first time since she’d arrived, I didn’t feel like I needed to defend myself. I didn’t need to explain why I’d stayed in bed, why I hadn’t answered, or why Reagan’s apology had mattered to me while still not being enough.

Sierra already understood. Maybe not everything, but enough.

I leaned back against the headboard.

She did the same.

We sat there quietly for a while before she looked at me.

"You know you’re allowed to eat normally now, right?"

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

"I’m just checking."

"I ate."

"You ate because your stomach embarrassed you."

My face heated.

"Can we never speak about that again?"

"No."

"Sierra."

She laughed.

I covered my face. "Oh my God."

She nudged me again. "At least you ate."

I sighed. "Unfortunately."

She smiled.

I lowered my hands.

For a moment, everything felt almost normal.

Not completely. There were still questions downstairs. Questions about Reagan, questions about my family, questions about why everything around us suddenly felt so wrong.

But for the first time in days, those questions weren’t crushing me.

I wasn’t alone with them anymore.

I looked at Sierra.

"Thank you."

She glanced at me. "For what?"

"For being angry."

She frowned. "What?"

I smiled faintly. "For being angry enough to worry."

She rolled her eyes. "Don’t get sentimental."

"I won’t."

"Good."

I rested my head against the headboard. My eyes drifted toward the closed bedroom door.

Somewhere downstairs, Reagan was probably still sitting at the dining table.

I wondered if he’d noticed how quickly I’d dragged Sierra away.

Of course he’d noticed.

Reagan noticed everything.

The thought made me smile despite myself.

Then I remembered his eyebrow twitching when Sierra stared at him.

My smile widened.

Maybe I’d been a little unfair.

Just a little.

Because watching Reagan sit there and take Sierra’s silent fury without knowing what to do with it had been strangely 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 looked at Sierra.

She caught me smiling.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes.

I smiled wider. "Nothing."

She shook her head. "You’re weird."

"Look who’s talking."

She laughed.

And for the first time in three days, I laughed too.

It wasn’t loud or enough to fix everything, but it was real.

And right now, that was enough.

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