Page 33 of The Mafia Bloodline
Layla laughed softly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Oh, it’s all of them. Roman, Lucien, Draugr, Viking…they’ve always been like this. Always preparing, always protecting. But it’s gotten worse since Caesar resurfaced.”
At that name, Sorcha’s expression tightened. “Lucien hasn’t talked about it, but I can feel it through the bond. He’s… angry. And he’s trying to hide it.”
Layla nodded, her gaze distant. “Roman, too. He pretends he’s calm, but his power hums differently when something’s wrong. I can feel it in the walls.”
I hesitated, then said quietly, “Volken’s been the same. He doesn’t say much, but it’s like he’s… somewhere else lately. I can feel it. The bond pulls tighter when he’s gone too long.”
Sorcha’s hand found mine, warm and grounding. “That’s how it starts. The bond, it’s not just love. It’s energy. It ties your life to his, your emotions to his power. When he’s unsettled, you feel it. When he’s angry, it pulls at you.”
Layla added softly, “And when he’s hurting, it will ache. Even if he doesn’t say a word.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “That sounds terrifying.”
Sorcha gave a small, knowing smile. “It can be. But it’s also beautiful. You’ll learn that, too.”
Before I could answer, a soft laugh echoed from the rug where the children were playing. Aleksander was tugging on Suraya’s curls, earning a high-pitched giggle.
Layla sighed, half amused, half exasperated. “He’s definitely Roman’s son, already starting fights and charming his way out of them.”
Sorcha smirked. “She’s no better. Lucien says she’s already learned how to stare people down until they do what she wants. I wonder where she gets that from.”
Layla and I both laughed, and for a few moments, it felt like the world outside the mansion didn’t exist. Like there weren’t demons, traitors, or dark vampires whispering behind the shadows.
It was strange, how quickly the three of us had fallen into something that felt like family. Maybe it was the shared madness of loving these impossible men. Maybe it was survival. Either way, it was real.
The moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Gideon appeared first, broad-shouldered, his expression as unreadable as ever. The faint shimmer of sunlight that managed to sneak through the curtains cast gold over the scars lining his forearms.
“Ladies,” he greeted with a short nod. His voice was deep, steady…always steady. “Just making sure everything’s quiet.”
“Everything’s fine,” Layla assured him, though there was fondness in her voice that spoke of long familiarity. “You’re worse than Roman when he’s pacing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gideon said simply, his gaze sweeping the room before shifting to me. “Runa.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”
“You should stay inside until sunset. Volken gave orders.”
“Of course, he did,” I muttered under my breath, earning a smirk from Sorcha.
Ivan appeared a heartbeat later, leaning lazily in the doorway, his dark hair tousled, shirt half buttoned like he’d just rolled out of bed though I knew changelings never really slept like humans.
“If she so much as sneezes, Volken will have my hide,” he said dryly. “And I like my hide.”
“Then you’d better keep it out of trouble,” Sorcha teased.
Ivan’s mouth quirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll try, sunshine. Though trouble seems to find you Dragic women without any help.”
Layla threw a balled napkin at him, which he caught easily, laughing as he retreated down the hall.
“Changelings,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Half wolf, half chaos.”
Gideon gave her a pointed look, lips twitching. “And yet you trust us with your lives.”
She smiled. “Because you’ve earned it.”
Gideon inclined his head slightly, then turned toward the children. “Little one, your mother’s coffee is getting cold.”
Aleksander’s tiny head snapped up, eyes wide like he’d been caught in mischief. “Sorry, Uncle Gideon,” he said solemnly, before handing Suraya her toy soldier as if that would make up for it.
