Page 47 of Mafia Boss's Fake Wife

I turn, ripping my eyes away from the mirror and staring at her. “What?”

Stassi’s smile falters slightly. “You didn’t know?”

“No. Please tell me,” I say.

She tugs me to the stiff couch. With her hands flitting like birds, punctuating her statements, she starts.

By the time Stassi is done, there’s a knot of rage and sorrow in my chest that feels like it’s blocking my air supply.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down enough to get around it. “Lord have mercy, Stassi,” I breathe. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Her demeanor, which has been fairly sunny until now, droops slightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There, of course, is the problem.

“It might not be my fault, but I still wish it hadn’t happened to you,” I mutter.And I’m still related to the motherfucker who did it.

It’s never my fault.

But I’m still responsible.

Stassi’s face hardens. For a second, the bubbly California girldisappears, and I see a glint of something much, much more serious in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeats, this time with steel coming through her voice. “I need you to know that.”

“I know.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I don’t think you do. I think you’re doing the exact same thing that I do, in situations like this. But you aren’t responsible for the things your brother, or brothers, do.”

My eyes flick to hers. “Brothers?”

I swear to God, if Liam…

“Well. I guess I opted in to one brother. I just didn’t choose the other one,” she says with a smile that’s way too sad.

“Stassi…”

She waves a hand, cutting off my weak attempt at reassurance. “I’m a Novikov, Roisin. I understand what it means to live in a world where my family, and the sins of my relatives, are my own. That’s why I need you to know. It’s not your fault,” she says.

There’s so much conviction in her voice. I want to protest, but as she stares at me in the mirror, I recognize that she’s not just telling me it’s not my fault.

She’s telling herself that as well.

I take a deep breath, meeting her gaze. I crack a smile and give her a wink.

“I think you should probably call me Ro, since you’re going to be my sister in less than thirty days.”

The smile that blooms across Stassi’s face isn’t manufactured in the slightest. It’s genuine, beautiful, and it warms me to my core.

“I always wanted a sister,” she says with a smile.

I nod.

Because. While I never particularly wanted a sister, I’m sure glad to have one now.

There are a great deal of dresses.

And a lot of champagne.

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