Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

By the time I finally made it downstairs, Sierra was already standing by the front door with her arms crossed.

She looked at me.

Then at the stairs.

Then back at me.

"Finally."

I rolled my eyes. "I said I was coming."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"I was getting dressed."

"You were lying on your bed."

I stopped.

"...How do you know that?"

"Because I know you."

I sighed and grabbed my bag from the table. "Can we just go?"

Sierra narrowed her eyes at me for a moment before stepping aside.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I muttered something under my breath as I walked past her.

The moment we stepped outside, I breathed a little easier.

The house had been unbearable lately.

Not because anything was necessarily wrong. At least, nothing anyone had actually admitted was wrong.

It was just...busy.

People were constantly coming and going. Phones rang every few minutes. Someone was always discussing decorations, food, guests, schedules, clothes, flowers, or some other wedding-related disaster.

And somehow, every time I walked into a room, I felt like I’d interrupted a conversation that had started long before I arrived.

Maybe that was why I had been spending so much time upstairs.

Or maybe I was simply avoiding everything I didn’t know how to deal with.

I wasn’t sure anymore.

Sierra opened the car door for me.

"Get in."

I climbed inside.

She shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

As soon as she started the engine, she glanced at me.

"You’ve been quiet."

"I’m always quiet."

"No, you’re not."

I looked out the window.

"Maybe I’m tired."

Sierra hummed.

She didn’t argue.

That somehow made me more uncomfortable.

The drive was mostly quiet, which I appreciated. I watched the city pass by, trying not to think about the house, the wedding, my mother, Devon...

Or Reagan.

Especially Reagan.

For the past few days, we’d barely spoken.

Whenever we happened to be in the same room, there was always someone else around or something else demanding our attention. But even when there wasn’t, neither of us seemed to know what to say.

It was strange.

We had gone from constantly getting on each other’s nerves to barely exchanging more than a few words.

And somehow, I missed it.

That realization annoyed me.

I turned my face toward the window.

I definitely needed a hobby.

---

The store was already crowded when we arrived.

Sierra practically dragged me through the entrance.

"Come on."

"I can walk."

"Then walk faster."

I laughed despite myself.

The place was beautiful. Bright lights reflected off huge mirrors while rows of dresses filled almost every corner. There were gowns, casual dresses, evening dresses, formal dresses, and enough colors to make my head hurt.

Sierra’s eyes practically lit up.

"Oh my God."

I already knew what that meant.

"No."

She turned to me.

"I haven’t even said anything."

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you’re about to spend money you don’t have."

She gasped dramatically.

"I have money."

"That isn’t the point."

"It is absolutely the point."

Before I could respond, she grabbed my wrist.

"Come on."

I let her pull me toward the dresses.

Within minutes, she’d found the section she’d been talking about.

"Look!"

I stared at the dresses hanging in front of us.

The color was almost exactly the shade we’d been given for the bridesmaids.

My fingers brushed over one of the fabrics.

"These are actually pretty."

Sierra looked offended.

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Rose."

"What?"

"You wound me."

I laughed.

She grabbed one of the dresses.

"Try this."

I stared at it.

"That?"

"Yes."

"It looks like something you’d wear to a royal funeral."

She looked down at the dress.

"...Okay, maybe this one."

She grabbed another.

"This?"

I held it against myself.

"Better."

"Go try it on."

I sighed.

"You’ve become a tyrant."

"And yet you’re still going."

She wasn’t wrong.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the fitting room.

Sierra’s eyes widened.

"Oh."

I looked at myself in the mirror.

The dress was simple but elegant. The color suited me more than I’d expected, and the fabric fell naturally around my body.

"Well?"

Sierra walked around me.

"Turn."

I turned.

"Again."

"Sierra."

"Just do it."

I rolled my eyes but turned again.

She nodded thoughtfully.

"This one."

"You think?"

"I know."

I looked at myself for another moment.

For the first time in days, I actually smiled.

Maybe I did look nice.

Sierra noticed.

"There she is."

I frowned.

"What?"

"That face."

"What face?"

"The one you used to make before you started looking like someone stole your soul."

I scoffed.

"I don’t look like that."

"You do."

"I don’t."

"You absolutely do."

I laughed.

She smiled.

For a moment, everything felt normal.

No wedding worries.

No strange silences.

No wondering what everyone was hiding.

Just me and Sierra arguing over dresses like we always did.

We tried another one.

Then another.

At some point, Sierra found a dress so ridiculous that I laughed until my stomach hurt.

"You are not wearing that," I told her.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

"Why not?"

"Because it looks like a curtain."

"It’s fashion."

"It’s a crime."

She turned toward me.

"You have no vision."

"I have eyes."

She laughed.

And for a little while, I forgot everything.

Then I saw a dress hanging near the entrance.

It was elegant. Soft. Simple.

Something my mother would’ve liked.

The thought came so suddenly that my smile faded.

I imagined her standing beside me, commenting on every dress, telling me I looked beautiful even if I disagreed.

I swallowed.

I wished she were here.

And immediately, the guilt returned.

I should’ve been spending this time with her.

I should’ve been helping.

I should’ve been excited.

Instead, I’d spent days hiding upstairs and avoiding conversations because I couldn’t figure out what was happening inside my own head.

"Rose?"

I blinked.

Sierra was watching me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

She didn’t believe me.

I could tell.

But she didn’t push immediately.

Instead, she picked up another dress.

"Come on. Try this one."

I smiled faintly.

"Okay."

---

We eventually sat in a small café inside the shopping center with drinks between us.

My feet were tired, but my mind was worse.

Sierra stirred her drink for a while before looking at me.

"You’re not fine."

I looked up.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I’m fine."

"You’ve said that three times today."

"Because it’s true."

Sierra gave me a look.

I sighed.

She leaned back.

"You’ve been weird for days."

"I know."

Her eyebrows lifted.

I hadn’t meant to say that.

"What?"

I looked down at my drink.

"Nothing."

"No. You said you know."

I sighed again.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

Sierra’s expression softened.

"Then tell me."

I stared at the table.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"Because I don’t even understand it."

She was quiet.

I picked at the edge of my napkin.

"I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel."

"About what?"

"The wedding."

Sierra didn’t answer immediately.

I continued before I could change my mind.

"Everyone is so excited. Mum is getting married. Everyone’s running around making plans. Devon seems happy. Everyone keeps talking about how beautiful everything is going to be."

I swallowed.

"And I’m just..."

"Confused?"

I nodded.

"I should be happy."

"You don’t have to force yourself to feel something just because everyone else does."

"But it’s my mum."

"I know."

"I should be happier for her."

Sierra reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"Rose, being confused doesn’t mean you don’t love your mother."

I looked away.

"I know."

"Do you?"

I didn’t answer.

She sighed.

"You’ve been carrying this around by yourself for too long."

I rubbed my thumb against the side of my cup.

"I keep wanting to talk to her."

"Then talk to her."

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"I don’t know."

That was the worst part.

Every time my mother came into my room, I wanted to tell her everything.

I wanted to apologize for being distant.

I wanted to ask her what was happening.

I wanted to tell her that something about the wedding felt strange.

But then I’d look at her face and the words would disappear.

And she’d eventually sigh and leave.

Leaving me staring at the door after she’d gone.

"I feel like I’m disappointing her," I whispered.

Sierra shook her head.

"You’re not."

"I am."

"You’re struggling. That’s different."

I looked at her.

She gave me a small smile.

"And besides, you’re allowed to be a rainy cloud sometimes."

I blinked.

"What?"

"You literally said you’re supposed to be the happiest person in the house."

"I know."

"Well, sometimes the rainy cloud just needs to rain."

I stared at her.

Then laughed.

"That made absolutely no sense."

"It made perfect sense."

"It really didn’t."

"Shut up."

I laughed again.

It felt good.

Maybe I hadn’t realized how badly I needed someone to make me laugh.

---

By the time we returned home, the house was still buzzing.

Someone was carrying flowers through the hallway. Two people were arguing about where decorations should go, and a phone was ringing somewhere upstairs.

I stepped inside and immediately felt that familiar heaviness return.

Sierra glanced at me.

"You okay?"

I nodded.

"A little better."

"Good."

She squeezed my arm before heading toward another part of the house.

I stood there for a moment.

Then I saw him.

Reagan was across the room, speaking quietly to someone.

His expression was unreadable.

Until his eyes found mine.

Everything around me seemed to fade for a second.

He didn’t look away immediately.

Neither did I.

There was something in his expression.

Something I couldn’t place.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

My heart gave an annoying little jump.

I almost walked toward him.

Almost.

Then someone called his name.

Reagan’s attention shifted.

He looked away from me and turned toward the person calling him.

Just like that, the moment was gone.

I watched him walk away.

I could’ve followed.

I could’ve called his name.

I could’ve asked the question that had been sitting in the back of my mind for days.

What’s wrong with you?

But what would I say after that?

Why do you look angry whenever someone mentions the wedding?

Why do you barely talk to me anymore?

Why does it bother me when you do?

I didn’t have an answer to the last one.

And maybe that was why I stayed where I was.

I watched Reagan disappear down the hallway, then slowly looked around the house.

The decorations.

The calls.

The preparations.

The strange tension.

My mother’s silence.

Reagan’s mood.

All of it.

I’d spent days telling myself it was just wedding nerves.

Maybe it was.

Maybe everyone was simply stressed.

But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Something was wrong.

I just didn’t know what.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep pretending I didn’t notice.

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