Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Reagan’s POV

His smile faltered for only a fraction of a second. Most people would’ve missed it.

I didn’t.

Interesting.

Men always feared the larger instruments. They assumed the biggest blades caused the greatest pain. Experience had taught me otherwise.

Stopping in front of him, I set the instrument back onto the tray.

"Your name?"

Blood stained his teeth as his smile returned.

"...Go to hell."

No answer.

I reached for his hand. The prisoner held my gaze without blinking.

A few silent seconds passed before he finally reacted. Instead of screaming, he sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching so tightly I thought his teeth might crack. The veins in his neck bulged as he fought to stay silent.

Good.

I didn’t like screams.

When I let go, he exhaled slowly through his nose, his breathing uneven but controlled. Sweat rolled down his temple.

"...That’s all?" he asked hoarsely.

I smiled faintly and picked up another instrument, turning it between my fingers before speaking.

"You’ve been very disciplined."

He forced out another laugh.

"I get that a lot."

"Don’t lose that fighting spirit," I said calmly. "Otherwise this might end too soon."

Several quiet minutes passed. Nobody spoke.

The interrogator stood stiffly against the wall, his eyes fixed somewhere above the prisoner’s shoulder instead of the man himself.

When I asked again, his answer didn’t change.

"...Go to hell."

His voice was weaker now, though a ghost of a smile still lingered.

My eyes wandered over him. His left shoulder dipped every time he inhaled, and whenever footsteps echoed somewhere outside, his gaze drifted toward the exit.

Maybe he still hoped to escape.

Maybe he was waiting for someone to rescue him.

The thought earned a quiet chuckle.

There was no one coming.

"You’ve been with Atlas for years."

He smirked.

"Impressive, isn’t it?"

"You weren’t recruited recently."

Silence.

"There’s a mark where a ring used to be."

For the briefest moment, his eyes dropped to his hand.

"So?"

"It means you’ve worn one for a long time."

He shrugged as much as the restraints allowed.

"Congratulations."

"The calluses on your hands aren’t from fighting."

He remained silent.

"They’re older than that. You had another job before Atlas."

His smile twitched.

"You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?"

"No."

I shook my head as I rose from my crouch.

"I’ve barely looked."

He fell quiet. His eyes never left mine, while mine remained fixed on his hands.

"You stopped watching my face."

His brow furrowed.

"You’ve been watching my hands ever since I walked in."

Still nothing.

I picked up the instrument again.

His breathing changed.

Barely.

Enough.

I set it back down.

His shoulders relaxed.

Interesting.

"So that’s what worries you."

He swallowed.

"Scared of this little thing?"

A quiet laugh escaped me as I covered my mouth with one hand.

"You’ve got someone waiting for you."

Nothing.

"A wife."

No reaction.

"A brother."

Silence.

"A sister."

His thumb moved almost unconsciously, brushing the pale strip of skin where a ring had once rested.

The movement lasted less than a second.

Then he caught himself.

Too late.

I glanced at his hand before meeting his eyes again.

"You should stop doing that."

His jaw tightened.

"Touching your finger. It’s a dead giveaway."

I tilted my head slightly.

"Though I doubt you’ll live long enough to correct that habit."

"I don’t know who they are," I said quietly. "But whoever’s waiting for you..."

I let the silence finish the sentence.

"...is the only reason you’ve lasted this long."

His lips parted, but no words came.

The smile he’d clung to since I walked in finally disappeared.

A heavy silence settled over the room before the warehouse door suddenly burst open.

"Boss!"

Everyone turned.

One of the guards stood in the doorway, breathing hard.

"The doctor says Hawk’s awake."

I looked at the prisoner for a long moment before placing the instrument back onto the tray.

"We’ll continue later."

I had only taken a few steps when a ragged voice stopped me.

"...Don’t touch her."

The room froze.

Even the interrogator frowned.

"...Her?"

The prisoner’s eyes widened.

His own words had betrayed him.

I studied him quietly. His body shook with every breath, blood trickled down his hands where they gripped the chair, and the same man who’d been laughing only moments ago now looked utterly defeated.

The corner of my mouth lifted.

The interrogator shifted uncomfortably.

He’d worked beside me for years.

It was the first time he’d ever seen me smile.

"...I see."

I turned toward the door again.

"I’ll return after I speak with Hawk."

The prisoner lurched violently against the restraints.

"No..."

His voice cracked.

"No, don’t..."

I left anyway.

When the door shut behind me, silence swallowed the room.

The interrogator glanced from the closed door to the broken man before him.

The prisoner’s breathing became ragged. He squeezed his eyes shut as though refusing to look at me would somehow erase what he’d already revealed.

"...You’re wrong."

"Am I?"

He said nothing.

I rested my fingers on the steel tray, lazily brushing over the neatly arranged instruments.

I wasn’t choosing one.

Not yet.

I simply wanted him to watch.

His eyes followed every movement.

Interesting.

Earlier, he’d watched my hands because he feared what they held.

Now...

He feared they might never need to.

I picked up the same slender instrument, turning it once before setting it back down.

His shoulders remained tense.

"You’ve spent three days proving how much pain you can endure," I said. "I believe you."

His eyes slowly met mine.

For the first time...

There was confusion.

"So why are we still here?"

"Because you’re no longer protecting yourself."

I held his gaze.

"You’re protecting someone else."

His jaw tightened.

"You’re wasting your time."

"I don’t think I am."

I walked slowly around him, each step echoing through the warehouse.

"You know... it’s remarkable."

Stopping behind him, I lowered my voice.

"Three days. No names. No locations. No routes."

I leaned in slightly.

"But one sentence..."

A pause.

"...and suddenly I know exactly where to begin."

He jerked violently against the restraints.

"Stay away from her."

The desperation in his voice was impossible to miss.

I walked back into his view.

"I don’t know her."

He stared at me.

"I don’t know her name. I don’t know where she lives. I don’t know what she looks like."

I stopped in front of him.

"But you do."

Silence.

"And that’s enough."

His breathing grew uneven.

"You’re bluffing."

"I haven’t lied to you once."

His eyes searched mine, looking for anger, cruelty, even excitement.

He found none.

Only calm.

That frightened him far more.

"I don’t have to find her today," I said as I adjusted one of my gloves. "I don’t even have to look."

He swallowed.

"You’ll think about her for me."

His brow creased.

"Every hour. Every minute. Every second you stay silent, you’ll wonder if my men have found her."

Horror slowly spread across his face.

"You’ll imagine footsteps outside her home. A knock at the door. A car slowing outside."

I watched every tiny change in his expression.

"You’ll wonder if she’s safe... if she’s frightened... if she’s crying."

"Stop."

His voice was barely audible.

"You’ll torture yourself far better than I ever could."

"Stop."

I ignored him.

"You won’t sleep. You won’t think. Eventually you won’t even remember why you stayed loyal."

His restraints rattled violently.

"I said stop!"

The shout echoed through the warehouse before silence returned.

His head hung low, his entire body trembling with every breath.

I waited.

People always rushed moments like these.

I never did.

Eventually he spoke.

"...She doesn’t know."

His voice cracked.

"She thinks I..."

He stopped himself.

Too late.

I remained silent.

A broken laugh escaped him.

"I held out for three days... and all you did... was ask about her."

Neither of us spoke for a long while.

Finally, he lifted his bloodshot eyes.

"If I tell you my name..."

He swallowed.

"...will you leave her out of it?"

The room fell silent.

Even the interrogator forgot to breathe.

After several long seconds, I answered.

"I’ll decide that after you answer my questions."

His face fell.

He already knew what that meant.

His eyes closed.

"...Damir."

The name barely left his lips.

I nodded once.

"Damir."

For the first time since we’d met, he looked truly broken—not because of the blood or the pain, but because he’d surrendered the one thing he’d sworn never to give.

His name.

I stood.

"Have someone bring him water."

The interrogator blinked.

"...Boss?"

"He’s talking now."

I headed for the door.

Behind me, He spoke one last time.

"...I hate you."

I paused without turning around.

"I wouldn’t prefer any other emotion."

Then I walked out, leaving nothing behind but silence.