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HE'S BEEN HERE ALL ALONG?

Author: MAFIA FANATIC
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-01-29 00:03:16

(CARLTON’S POV)

Ducking behind the pillar, I watch Yosef stride toward the garage, Tristan’s hounds trailing after him like he owns them. Like he owns everything here.

Yosef looks great tonight, nothing like the Archdemon he is, the kind of conventionally handsome that makes people stop and stare. Black leather jacket, tight white tee, with black boots and a face cap. All muscles and chiselled features. Now I see why Damon fell for him.

But he's missing the spice that makes Tristan ‘Mad-Bisho
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  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    FLASHBACK 5

    [TRISTAN’S POV] The mannequin's head is gone.Has been gone for eleven rounds. I keep shooting anyway, putting bullets into the empty metal pole where the skull used to be, the sound cracking off the concrete walls of the range like something trying to escape.Brass casings litter the floor around my feet. The air smells like gunpowder and rubber and the particular sweat of men who have been standing too still for too long, pretending not to watch me.I put three more into the pole."Tristan."I put two more."Tristan!"Aurora's hand comes over mine and wrenches the gun down. She is not gentle about it. She never is. She takes the Glock from my grip with the efficiency of a woman who has been handling weapons longer than most men in this room have been alive, drops the magazine, racks the slide, and sets it on the table beside us like she's putting a child to bed.Then she turns and looks at the men.One word in Russian. Out.They go. Sixteen men in black filing through the range doo

  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    FLASHBACK 4

    WEEKS LATER[TRISTAN’S POV] Aurora's study smells like her. Jasmine and ink and that particular cold that clings to women who have never needed warming.I sit behind her desk because someone has to. She left for the Maldives today, a weapons negotiation that required her face and her signature and her particular talent for smiling at men she intends to kill. She trusted me with the Brotherhood's paperwork in her absence, which means she trusts me with her empire, which means I am signing documents at midnight while my daughter sleeps two floors above me and Moscow freezes solid outside the window.I don't mind the work. I prefer it to thinking.The door opens quietly.Yosef closes it behind him. No knock. Yosef never knocks in rooms he considers his, and he considers every room his.He looks well.That is the first thing I notice. Not pale, not weak, no shadows under his eyes from three days of reported fever. He drops into the chair across the desk with the loose ease of a man who h

  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    FLASHBACK 3

    [TRISTAN'S POV]I wake to the smell of antiseptic and copper.My mouth tastes like I've been chewing on rust. Every breath pulls at something deep in my abdomen—not quite pain, more like a promise of pain if I move wrong.The ceiling above me is white. Unfamiliar. Not the warehouse. Not the car.Home.Aurora's estate. The safe house where she keeps the people she wants alive.I turn my head slowly. The movement sends a spike of discomfort through my torso, sharp enough to make me suck air through my teeth.Bandages wrap my middle. Tight. Professional. An IV line snakes from my left arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside the bed. The tube catches the light, casting thin shadows across my skin.Outside the glass door, voices carry. Russian. English. Back and forth like a tennis match played with grenades.Aurora and Yosef.I can see them through the frosted glass, two silhouettes gesturing with the kind of restrained violence that means they're arguing about something that matters.

  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    FLASHBACK 2

    [TRISTAN'S POV] The warehouse reeks of diesel and old blood.I duck behind a rusted shipping container, shoulders pressed against corroded metal that's probably older than my marriage. Cigarette smoke drifts through the air, thick enough to taste on the back of my tongue.From here I can see everything.Yosef stands in the center circle of light, arms crossed over his chest. His posture reads bored, but I know better. I've known him long enough to catch the slight tension in his jaw, the way his right hand hovers near his holster.Around him, Aurora's men fan out in a loose semicircle. Russians. Built like brick shithouses with scars that tell stories and eyes that have seen too much. They smoke cheap cigarettes and check their weapons with the casual efficiency of men who kill as easily as breathing.The Chinese are opposite. Triad soldiers in expensive suits that can't quite hide the bulk of body armor underneath. Their leader—a thin man with silver threading his hair—gestures with

  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    FLASHBACK

    FLASHBACK FROM YEARS AGO. [TRISTAN'S POV] MOSCOW, RUSSIA - WINTER The knife scrapes across porcelain. I stab the steak again. Watch the juice bleed out, pooling red against the white plate like a crime scene waiting to happen. "I'm ready to attack the Family Pact." The words drop into the silence like stones into still water. Aurora doesn't look up from cutting Amanda's chicken into smaller pieces. Her hands are steady, practiced, maternal in a way that makes my chest ache. "I'm ready to take the Brotherhood mark." I push the meat around my plate. "I want to be a made man." Yosef's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. He sets it down slowly, deliberately, green eyes flicking between me and his sister. Aurora finishes with Amanda's plate. Wipes her hands on her napkin. Still hasn't looked at me. "Mama?" Amanda's voice is small. Uncertain. "Is Papa angry?" Aurora's face transforms. The ice queen melts into something softer, warmer, purely mother. She leans down

  • MY TABOO STEP DADDY    PTSD

    [CARLTON'S POV]I wake to cold sheets.My hand reaches across the mattress, searching for warmth that isn't there. The space beside me is empty, the indent in the pillow the only evidence Tristan was ever here at all.My body aches. Good aches. The kind that remind me exactly what we did and how many times and how thoroughly he wrecked me.I sit up, wincing.The room is dark except for moonlight spilling through the open balcony door. Curtains billow in the night breeze, ghostly and pale.I catch movement outside.A silhouette against the railing. Broad shoulders. The orange glow of something burning.I drag myself out of bed, naked and sore and stumbling like a newborn deer. Grab a discarded shirt from the floor—his, judging by how it swallows me—and pull it on.The balcony is cold under my bare feet.Tristan sits in one of the wrought-iron chairs, sprawled like a king on a throne that's seen better days. He's wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, the fabric clinging to his thighs

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