Page 10 of Broken Prince

I sighed and finally turned around in my chair, finding my former best friend and current head of security detailing me critically but also with a concern he didn’t manage to hide no matter how much he wanted to, and it aggravated me. I didn’t deserve or want his concern.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re busy doing what?” He looked pointedly at my empty desk. “Wallowing in self-hatred and self-pity?”

“Don't forget self-destruction,” I added, taking a large sip of my drink. “It’s a full-time job.”

He leaned forward. “It’s ten a.m., Luca.” He reached for my glass. “It’s not a bit early to destroy your liver?”

I growled, moving my hand away from him. “It’s my body, my life. I’ll do what the fuck I want. You’re my head of security, not my brother nor my friend. Remember. Your. Place,” I snapped.

The hurt that flashed in his dark eyes added to the agonizing weight of guilt I already carried around every day.

“We used to be,” he replied almost wistfully.

“Things change, people change.” Lord knew I had. I was not even remotely the man I’d been and I liked it that way. I went from the terrifying, gorgeous, and adulated Gianluca Montanari, underboss of the East Coast's most powerful Mafia family—maybe even the country—to the clinical alcoholic beastly wreck of a man—human garbage wishing that each of his breaths would be the last.

He sighed, standing up. “I think I’ll go thank her if you don’t.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “And I should care because?” I scoffed with a mocking smile. “Is Domenico crushing on Snow White?” I sighed, shaking my head in fake contrition. “If she is as innocent as she seems, I highly doubt she’s for you. Your kinks are…hard to swallow.” I added, smiling into my drink and finishing it in one gulp.

His previous concern and pain turned into anger. “Mangia merda e muori!” he barked.

Eat shit and die…how original. I reached for the bottle on the floor and filled my glass. “I’m working on it. Bye now.”

He swirled around and exited the room, slamming the door behind him for good measure, in case I didn't know how angry I was making him.

It was always the case these days. Actually it had been like that for the past few years. Fighting with Dom was much easier than acknowledging the extent of my fuck-ups.

I shook my head and looked at the closed laptop on my desk…my window to the world and to Cassandra West. She’d been here three days now and she’d been the only one following the rules, and I had to admit her cooking is delicious.

I rolled my eyes.Fuck you, Dom!

I opened the laptop and logged in to the HCS.

‘Thank you for the meals; they’ve been delicious. Especially the strawberry tart.’ I let my finger hover on top of the send button. Should I do that? She was paid for it and handsomely, I might add. Why would I need to thank her for something that was literally her job? I moved my finger to the delete button, but somehow, I couldn’t press it.

I rolled my eyes and pressed ‘send’ before thinking better of it.Why did I even listen to Dom?

The reply came almost immediately like she’d been waiting in front of the screen. Maybe she was bored.

‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure what you’d like. So glad you enjoyed it. I’m getting the grocery list ready; is there anything else you would like to eat?’

I shook my head. The old Luca would have answered ‘your pussy’ in a heartbeat and saw where that led us…which I was positive would have been her, naked and wet, on the kitchen table and me eating her like she was my last meal.

My dick stirred and I looked down, surprised. It had been a while since my dick stirred from its long-term coma. It was usually on life support—just like me, not feeling anything except my constant self-hatred. That was what happened when you were a bona fide walking dead.

‘Anything, I don’t care.’

‘Oh, okay. You’ve got a lovely house and the gardens are amazing. I’ve been exploring.’

I knew that; of course, I did—there wasn’t anything happening on this estate that I wasn’t aware of.

I sighed and stood up, staggering on my feet a little. I was not going to chat with her. I barely handled chats with Dom—it was not to chat with Astraea, goddess of innocence.

I scratched at my beard as I turned toward the window, and for the first time I noticed my reflection. I’d taken down all the mirrors I had access to—I didn't need the reminder of who I’d become. How long had it been since I'd seen myself now? Six months? A year? I wasn’t sure, but not long enough.

The beard and long hair didn’t hide who I was, what I’d done. I wore my shame, my sins on my skin, and there was no forgetting, no moving on from that—not that I wanted to.

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