Page 42 of Corrupted Heir (Mafia Kings: Corrupted 1)

I could hear the amusement in his tone.

Now, I was just going to look like an idiot if I didn’t eat.Fine.But eating didn’t mean talking. He wasn’t getting one damned word out of me.

I stomped across the living room and into the kitchen. There was a small wrought-iron table for two set off to one side, and he’d placed two plates of pancakes down on it.

I raised my eyebrows. I’d never pictured scary mafia guys with aprons on in the kitchen.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, seemingly reading my mind. “My mother was very particular about raising her children right, and apparently ‘right’ meant making sure her sons knew their way around a kitchen.”

I scoffed. Raising her children right? I could just imagine it: cooking lessons at nine, gun practice at eleven, and how to be a big, scary asshole at noon.

“You can say whatever you want about me, Fallon. She’s off-limits, understand?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me expectantly.

I nodded, more because he’d caught me off-guard than out of any sense of agreement.

“Good.” He sat down at the small table and waited for me to take the seat opposite him.

I waited for him to dive in before turning my attention to the food on my plate. The pancakes were warm and buttery with just the perfect amount of crisp around the edges. It pissed me off that it seemed he really could cook. At least his mother had done something right, even if she had raised her son to be an animal.

“I’ll be away for the day.” He spoke between mouthfuls, and my hopes soared. “But don’t worry, there will always be someone close by,” he finished, dashing my hopes to shreds.

The food in my stomach turned to lead. I pushed away from the table and stood up. He made no move to stop me.

“Fallon,” he called when I reached the doorway.

I paused but didn’t turn around.

“That man could have killed you. I won’t take that risk again no matter what you may think of me.”

I didn’t bother to respond. What was the point? If he’d really been so concerned about me, he would have stayed the hell away from me from the beginning. I returned to the guest room and closed the door, then just stood there, listening to the clatter of dishes, the footsteps down the hall then back to the living room, the sound of the front door closing.

Finally, I was alone. It should have been a relief. It should have been the closest to normal I’d felt since he’d dragged me out of my apartment last night. But the click of the door had gone off like a switch in my head, opening the floodgates, and it all came pouring out.

Sobs wracked my body, clambering up my chest and out my throat. The sound came out loud and harsh in the silence of the apartment, but I couldn’t hold it back. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks as I sunk to the floor in the middle of the room. I wrapped my arms around my knees, tucking them close to my chest like somehow, if I could hold on tight enough, I could hold myself together. But I couldn’t. More sobs, more tears. He’d stolen my life. How was I supposed to be okay with that?

I cried until my body ran out of tears and my chest hurt from the sobs that had wracked it relentlessly. I mourned for the life that had been taken from me until everything inside me gave way to a cathartic numbness that started in the core of me and worked its way out to the tips of my fingers and toes.

I didn’t feel angry anymore, or hurt. My heart felt like it had been anesthetized. This wasn’t acceptance, it was indifference. A temporary reprieve that would wear off just as surely as the numbness that came from lidocaine.

The apartment was still silent. I stood up on unsteady legs and crept out into the hall, listening, but he hadn’t returned. I walked into the living room, taking stock of my surroundings, but it didn’t feel like enough. I could see the tall, dark wood entertainment cabinet against the wall, but I wanted to know what was inside it.

It wasn’t really curiosity that compelled me to open it, or to wander throughout the apartment, snooping through every drawer and cupboard I came across. Nor did I harbor any real hope of finding something that would help me out of my predicament. It felt more like I was orientating myself to my surroundings.

The kitchen, the dining and living room. The linen closet in the hall and the bathroom. When I came to Dominic’s bedroom though, I stopped, hovering with my toes on the threshold. To become familiar with my surroundings was one thing; to look through his private things felt too personal, and I had no interest in getting personal with him. So, I moved on, continuing my investigation in the second spare bedroom.

The sun had begun to wane by the time I’d finished exploring, and still, he hadn’t returned. I was tempted to try the front door again, but whether because I was smart or a coward, I dismissed it.

I looked down the hall into the open bathroom door. I was warm, and my skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat from all my exploring, and I really needed a shower. But to use his shower?

I shrugged. If he didn’t want me using the shower, he should have put one of his stupid lackeys in front of it.

Chapter Fifteen

Dominic

“They shot up her apartment.”

Leo was on the other end of the line, but he’d chosen a bad time to call. I’d just left Fallon’s apartment with eleven bullets in my pocket. Eleven bullets I’d found on her floor and buried in her walls. No shattered windows. It meant that the Novas’ lackey had walked right into her apartment and started firing.

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