Page 42 of The Mafia Bloodline
“I am dealing with him,” Volken shot back, his voice like thunder. “He wants war? He’ll get it.”
Layla’s voice rose next, softer but trembling. “Roman…Aleksander…I’m going to go up to see him.”
Roman’s head snapped toward her immediately. “He’s fine,” he said, but I could hear the edge in his voice, the fear buried under the calm.
“I just, need to see him.” Layla’s voice cracked on the last word, and that was enough.
Without another word, Roman took her hand and led her inside, his movements fast, protective, almost desperate.
Across the courtyard, Sorcha was already moving, her fingers gripping Lucien’s arm. “I need to see our daughter,” she said, voice tight.
Lucien gave a curt nod, his eyes hard. “We’ll go now.”
And just like that, the women disappeared into the house, heading for the nursery wing, mothers chasing proof that their children were safe.
Volken stood frozen for a moment, his fury clashing with the hollow silence that followed. He looked down at me, still pale, still weak in his grip, and something inside him seemed to break.
He lifted me easily, one arm under my knees, the other around my back, carrying me toward the house. “We’re going upstairs,” he said, his voice a low promise. “You’re not leaving my sight again.”
I didn’t argue. I was too tired, too sick, too aware of how his chest trembled against mine even as he tried to steady me.
As we passed through the mansion doors, I caught sight of Draugr and Viking speaking in low, urgent tones. Their eyes were like dark fire, and I knew every one of them was thinking the same thing.
The demons weren’t done. Caesar wasn’t done. And neither were they.
Chapter 15
The mansion was quiet, too quiet for my liking. The kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, watching the slow rise and fall of Runa’s breathing as she slept. Her skin was still pale, too pale for my peace of mind, the faint traces of exhaustion shadowing beneath her eyes. The bond between us pulsed faintly, a rhythmic whisper in my chest that should’ve calmed me. It didn’t.
I’d fought demons, burned empires, faced death a thousand times over without flinching, but the sound of her heartbeat faltering for even a second had me unravelling.
Every instinct in me screamed to keep her close, to lock every door, to tear apart the world until there wasn’t a single threat left standing.
But I couldn’t do that. Not without losing the war outside.
The war Caesar had brought to our doorstep.
I stood, pacing to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to see the shadows crawling along the tree line. The guards patrolled in pairs, their movements sharp, precise. My men knew what was at stake. Still, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Behind me, Runa stirred, murmuring something soft in her sleep. The sound hit me like a knife, she is so fragile, so human.
I turned, my chest tightening.
She shifted, her golden hair spilling across the pillow like liquid light. Even in sleep, she looked fierce, defiant. She didn’t belong in this world of blood and monsters, but she’d walked straight into it anyway. And now she was bound to me by more than just instinct.
By choice. By bond, by the madness that tied my soul to hers. There was a light knock on the door, which has me moving towards it before it wakes Runa up. The door creaked softly before I step out.
“Still awake?”
Roman’s voice carried through the low light. He stood before me, broad shoulders filling the frame, his usual calmness muted by the steel in his gaze.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I muttered.
Roman takes a step back and leans against the wall opposite me. “You’re not the only one. None of us have.”
He lifts his hand to rub across his face, his presence grounding like a storm that had learned patience. “Draugr’s downstairs with Viking, reviewing the attack again. Lucien’s been digging through every contact we have for Caesar. So far, nothing.”
