Page 29 of Broken Prince

I’d made her an amazing offer! The kind of offer I never made. She was a fool to overthink it.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the irritation at bay; snapping at her would clearly not be the right way to act.

Was she online now? Reading about all of my sins? Was it what was taking so long? She was bound to leave after all she’d read. I was a monster inside and out.

I stood up. I was done waiting like a lovesick puppy in front of a screen for a message that might never come.

I walked down the corridor to Arabella’s room, and as every time as I stepped in, my dead heart squeezed in my chest.

The room had remained untouched. Everything was where it was supposed to be. I took in the bright floral wallpaper, floral bedspread, all the plush animals on her bed.

I sat at the foot of the bed and looked at the pink unicorn plush resting against her pillow. It had been a Christmas present and she loved it so much she was sleeping with it every night.

I grabbed the unicorn, resting it against my chest. I missed her so much.

I heard the floor creak in the corridor but it was much too subtle and light to be Dom. I knew it was her. I should have stopped her from coming in and yet, I didn’t. I squeezed the unicorn against my chest.

“You’re not allowed here,” I said, keeping my back to her.

“I think we’re past that,” she replied gently.

I nodded. Yes, we were past that, we passed so many barriers I never intended her to cross.Stupid, beautiful, brave girl.

At least she didn’t run away disgusted or terrified.

“So you’re Mafia.”

I almost laughed at that. Leave it to her to let that out so casually, like it was not a big deal.

“So you’re the monsters’ daughter,” I replied with the same tone.

“I am.”

“I am Mafia. At least I used to be,” I replied, not ready to get into details.

She took a couple of steps into the room, but I kept my back to her, not ready to meet her eyes yet—not knowing what her face would reflect.

That woman was easy to read; everything she felt was right there in her face. It was so different from the women I used to be with, so different from Francesca.

“This was her room—Arabella.”

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about and I appreciated the honesty.

“Is this her?”

I glanced at her and the photo she was looking at. It was the last good real photo of Arabella, at Carter’s wedding. She was standing beside the bride—Nazalie. She’d been so proud to have been the flower girl that day.

I nodded.

She grabbed the frame carefully and came to sit beside me on the bed.

“She was a very pretty little girl,” she said, gently running her forefinger on my sister’s smiling face.

“She was an angel.” I put the unicorn back on the bed but I didn't turn toward her. I’d rather she only saw my good profile.

“Tell me about her.”

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