Page 9 of The Mafia's Omega Queen

“You’re alright, old man. Thank you for spending time with Haylee while the guys are busy. We were able to make a breakthrough, and there’s a good chance we will be able to find who’s responsible for this.”

His eyes light with hope, his head swiveling to check on Haylee again. It’s not hard to see that the old man looks at Haylee as a daughter figure. His mate died a long time ago during childbirth, and he lost his daughter at the same time. Since then, he’s never taken another, opting to stay faithful to the one woman he loved more than anything. We could learn a lot from him, and I hate that I’m just seeing this all now.

“It is getting late, though, and I’m sure the house staff is lost without me. I’ll call one of the guys to come sit with her while I tend to my duties,” he murmurs, tucking his book under his arm and heading out the door.

“Andre, it’s alright. I’ll stay with her until one of them is done with what they are working on.”

His eyebrows furrow as he looks me over, an unreadable expression crossing his wrinkled face. Finally, he nods his head and leaves the room.

After peeking out the door and seeing him disappear down the stairs, I stride across the room, take the chair Andre vacated, and unbutton my suit jacket before I sit down. Everything in here looks the same as the day they arrived, yet different at the same time. Maybe it’s the girl who’s made it all so different, or perhaps the fact that she hasn’t made this room more personal is throwing me off.

But what was I expecting? She isn’t staying. And neither are they. So why in the world would she put any personal touches into a room she’s only occupying for such a short time? The light gray walls are still bare save for a piece of artwork the designer put up when I had the house redone, the same gray rug covers the hardwood floor, and the same black dresser sits in the corner of the room. The only difference is the clothes in the closet. Nothing else. Nothing that would scream this is her space.

Finally turning my attention to the reason I’m here, Haylee is laid out in the same position as she’s been in every time I’ve snuck in. Her long brunette hair is fanned out across the pillow, inky black eyelashes casting shadows on her bruised cheeks, and a black cast lying above the comforter, healing the break in her arm.

Fuck, Bianca did a number on her.

I can’t wait to get my hands on the fucking cunt. She’s going to regret the day she stepped a single pointed-toe heel into my house.

But even battered, bruised, and broken, Haylee is the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. That first day when Gavin carried her in, I was blown away. Even if I didn’t act like it. Regardless of her being my fated mate, I would still think that. There’s just something about her, something that brightens up the darkest corners of every room.

Leaning forward, I rest my head on the pillow next to her, examining every little thing about her, closer than I’ve ever been to her. Her scent is heady, her pillow absolutely drenched in the smell that is all her—freshly baked vanilla cupcakes slathered in buttercream. I shove my nose in the fabric of the case and take a deep inhale, committing her scent to my memory once again, even though it’s already ingrained in the furthest reaches of my mind.

If any of the guys came in here right now, I’m almost positive they’d take turns beating my ass. And I’d allow them. It’s what I deserve.

My fingers skim lightly over her bruised skin, and regardless of the damage done, her warm flesh is as smooth as silk. Perfect. That’s what she is. Perfect in every way. And I’m a damn fool for taking this long to figure it out. The moment she stepped into the house, I should have knocked my bullshit off. But I didn’t. And I’m paying for it now.

Absent-mindedly, I continue tracing her features. If this is the closest I’ll ever get to her, I want to remember every little detail—the shape of her nose, the curve of her chin, how plump her inviting lips are.

I’ve never been a religious man, but right now, I’m praying to every God, being, and higher power there is that she’ll give me another chance to make things right.

My conversation with Thane plays through my mind, and I know it’s the right thing to do—the right idea. Maybe not the right time, but that time will come.

Regardless if she accepts me or rejects me.

Let’s just hope it’s the former. I don’t think what’s left of my heart could handle the latter.

Soft, calloused fingers brush lovingly across my forehead and down the bridge of my nose. The sweeping motion tries to lull me back into a deep sleep, but the pain filtering through my body revolts at the idea of letting me dream peacefully. My mind draws a blank at why I would be in such a state.

Trying with all my might, I can’t seem to get my eyes to open. They feel crusted over from sleeping way too long, that damned Sandman dumping too much of his crap on my face. After an ungodly amount of time, I finally get one eye cracked open, the grittiness making me stifle a whimper. Then the other one pops open, coming face to face with the one person who hates me more than anything in this world.

What the fuck is he doing in my bed?

Like lightning flashing through a darkened sky, memories assault me from all directions. The naughty panties Hunter wanted me to wear. The phone call about my dad getting shot. Packing a bag to go home. A gasp slips through my lips, alerting Vinny that I’m awake.

Bianca.

That fucking cunt.

Eyeing Vinny in a new light, I croak out the only thing I can think of, hurting my scratchy throat in the process. “You here to finish the job your girlfriend started?” A groan rips through me. Shit that hurts.

He rears back like I slapped him, but what the fuck did he expect? He’s been nothing but a damn prick to me since the moment I showed up in this house. Then his girlfriend tries to kill me, not once, but twice, and he wants to act hurt? Well, fuck him.

“I…uh… Fuck.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as his olive cheeks darken with a shade of pink. I raise a brow—damn, that hurts too—at his flusteredness. “No, I’m not here to finish what she started. And when we catch the bitch, she’ll be in a worse state by the time we’re finished.”

Does he expect me to believe he will take my side this time?

Fat damn chance.

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