Page 95 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
I pause at the dresser, button half-fastened.
Her voice is even, but there’s something frayed at the edge of it.
She isn’t accusing me.
That’s what makes it worse.
"There’s something I need to handle," I say, turning toward her.
She doesn’t move.
"What kind of something?"
Her question is quiet in its directness.
It lands in the space between us like a stone dropped into water.
I could lie.
I’ve done it before.
But she’s not asking because she wants details.
She’s asking to see if I’ll let her in.
And I can’t.
Not today.
"It’s better if you don’t know," I say.
She nods once and takes another sip of her coffee.
The movement is smooth, but her posture shifts as if she is retreating into herself.
She folds into herself without making a scene.
My heart lurches with how much I want to hold her, explain everything.
But everything is smoke and mirrors right now, and there’s not much to tell unless I’ve gathered all the intel I need to make a point.
The silence feels resigned.
I cross the room and pause at her side.
I want to explain.
I want to tell her this isn’t about mistrust.
It’s about everything else.
About the docks burned to ash, about proving to my brothers that I’m more than the man they let spiral, hoping I’d burn out before I ruined anything important.
This isn’t for them, at least not entirely.
It’s also for me.
For the younger brother no one thought would matter.
