Page 35 of The Mafia Bloodline
Gideon’s sigh was part warning, part surrender. “Just… keep the exits clear. And keep your phones with you.”
We left the sitting room with lists, calls already half-made, and the fragile, fierce hope that for one night we might give them, and ourselves something that wasn’t war.
Even as we moved, I felt the bond tug lightly at my ribs, Volken’s presence coiling in the dark somewhere out of sight. He would hate this. He would be furious and amused and impossible. But for once, maybe, he’d come and maybe, just maybe, for a night he’d remember how to laugh.
Chapter 13
The mansion felt different the moment the sun slipped below the horizon.
Normally, that hour came with silence and discipline, the smooth rhythm of waking, dressing, preparing for whatever mess the night would bring. Tonight, it came with… chaos.
I could hear it before I even left my room. Laughter. The sharp click of heels on marble. Sorcha’s voice carrying up the hall, followed by Layla’s lighter tone, then Runa’s unmistakable muttered cursing, probably arguing with whatever shoes she’d decided to wear.
My boots hit the stairs just as Draugr came around the corner, pulling his hair into a rough knot at the back of his neck. He gave me a look that said what fresh hell is this?
Before I could answer, Viking strode in from the other hall, grinning ear to ear. “I heard rumours,” he said, his voice a growl full of amusement. “And by rumours, I mean your mate is staging a coup.”
Lucien appeared next, buttoning his black shirt, expression already tight. “They want to go out,” he said flatly, as if the words themselves were blasphemy. “To Havoc.Together.”
Roman followed last, calm and collected as always, but his jaw flexed once. “Layla told me it’s been too long since any of us ‘had fun.’” He made air quotes, the word sounding foreign in his mouth. “Apparently, that’s our fault.”
Viking snorted. “Well, she’s not wrong.”
I opened my mouth to ask why Havoc, of all damned places, but then they appeared. And for a moment, all rational thought went straight to ash.
Layla was radiant, her black dress a smooth second skin that made even Roman blink. Sorcha followed, red silk hugging her frame, her red curls spilling down her back. And then there was Runa.
My Runa.
Her honey-gold hair was loose, catching the low light, a shimmer of liquid fire that made it hard to think. She wore a simple fitted dress the colour of midnight, not revealing, but deceptive in how it hinted. The hem stopped mid-thigh, and her legs… Gods.
My teeth clenched. I could hear my brothers reacting. Viking’s low whistle, Draugr’s approving grunt, Lucien’s sharp inhale as his eyes darted to Sorcha. But I didn’t care about any of them.
Because every man in this room had just looked at my mate.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growled, voice low enough to make the nearest candles flicker.
Runa’s lips curved. “Oh, relax. You look like you’re about to start a war.”
“Maybe I should,” I muttered, stepping closer until the scent of her perfume hit me, sweet honey. “You think you’re going anywhere dressed like that without me?”
“I don’t think,Volken,” she said sweetly, eyes glinting with mischief. “I know.”
Viking laughed outright. “She’s got you pegged, brother.”
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “insubordination,” while Roman folded his arms and stared at Layla like he could will her back into the room.
“You can’t all be serious,” Draugr said, his tone heavy, unimpressed. “A night out? Now?”
“Yes,” Sorcha answered firmly, her chin tilting up. “Now. Before you all eat yourselves alive.”
Roman’s lips pressed together in a hard line. “Layla.”
“Roman,” she answered back, her voice too gentle to be defied but too strong to be ignored. “You trust me?”
He didn’t answer right away, just looked at her for a long moment. Then he sighed and said, “Always.”
Lucien’s jaw ticked, and then he groaned, muttering, “Fine.”
