The Mafia King's Regret
As much as I wanted—needed—to know, I also was under no illusions as to how damn much the truth could hurt.
A sudden warmth at my shoulder told me Aldo had leaned forward. Words could never describe how much that simplest of movements meant to me—how the heat of him, the soft scent of his cologne, felt like everything.
Safety. Home.
“She was kidnapped by a warring branch of the Russian mob,” Dmitri said, his voice carefully neutral in a way that spoke of tucking emotions beneath a mask. “Raised as their daughter for nearly five years, until she was fifteen.”
My throat felt too thick. My breath caught, the oxygen struggling to find my lungs. Aldo’s warm hand curled comfortingly around the cre