Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

By the time everything was finally packed, I was exhausted.

Not the regular kind of exhausted where I could collapse onto a bed and immediately fall asleep. More like the kind where my arms felt weak, my hair was sticking to the back of my neck, and I was seriously considering throwing the next box out of the window instead of carrying it downstairs.

I dragged the last box out of my room and set it against the wall, taking a moment to look around.

My room looked strange.

Not empty exactly, but different. The little things that had made it mine were mostly gone. The books I’d left on the shelf for years had been packed away. The small decorations on my dresser were missing. Even the corner where I’d usually dump clothes I was too lazy to fold looked clean.

I hated it.

I didn’t want to admit that I hated it.

"Rose?"

I turned.

Mom stood at the end of the hallway.

"You ready?"

"I mean..."

She laughed. "Come on. We’re leaving."

I followed her downstairs and eventually out of the house.

I didn’t say much during the drive. Mom was busy talking about the wedding, the move, and a dozen other things I only half listened to. My mind was still somewhere between the house I’d just left and the fact that I was apparently moving into Devon’s home.

When we finally arrived, I stared through the car window.

The house was huge.

Really huge.

There were more windows than I cared to count, wide steps leading toward the entrance, and enough space around the property to make our old house look almost modest.

Almost.

I stepped out of the car and looked around.

"Wow."

Mom smiled. "You like it?"

"It’s... big."

She laughed. "That’s your first observation?"

"It was the first impression."

I followed her toward the entrance, looking around as we walked.

But the longer I looked, the less impressed I became by the size.

Our house wasn’t small either. I’d grown up in a place that had more rooms than we actually needed, so having a massive house wasn’t exactly something that would make my jaw drop.

It was the quiet that got me.

The place was peaceful. It wasn’t empty and neither was it cold. It was just... peaceful.

The garden stretched around the back of the house, and the trees moved gently with the breeze. Even with people coming in and out carrying boxes, there was something strangely calm about the whole place.

I glanced toward Mom.

"This isn’t stuffy."

She looked at me.

I shrugged. "Surprising."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. They didn’t really give off my walls are neutral color. I was expecting a penthouse house with black and white decor."

Her shoulders shook as she lowered her head trying to stifle her laughter. "This isn’t going to be black and white."

I looked around again.

She was right.

There were books lying on tables, a jacket thrown over the back of a chair, flowers in vases, and little signs that actual people lived here instead of some rich family in a television drama.

"Come on," Mom said. "I’ll show you your room."

I followed her upstairs.

The hallway seemed to stretch forever.

Mom stopped at one of the doors and opened it.

"This is yours."

I stepped inside.

My boxes were already being brought in, but I barely noticed them.

The room was beautiful.

Spacious without feeling ridiculous, with tall windows overlooking part of the garden and enough room for all the furniture I’d brought from home.

I walked toward the window.

"This is mine?"

"Yes."

I smiled slightly.

"Okay. I can work with this."

Mom laughed.

"You haven’t even seen the bathroom."

"Do I need to?"

"Yes."

She dragged me around the room like a realtor trying to sell a house I already owned.

By the time she finally left me alone, I was standing in the middle of the room wondering where I should even begin.

I decided not to begin anything.

Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed.

Five minutes later, I remembered there were still boxes in the hallway.

I groaned.

I got up and started dragging one inside.

It was heavier than it looked.

"Come on..."

I pulled harder.

Nothing.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I was about to give the box one final murderous tug when footsteps passed the open doorway.

I looked up.

Reagan.

He glanced inside.

His eyes dropped to the box.

Then to me.

Then back to the box.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

He said nothing.

He just kept walking.

I stared after him.

"Seriously?"

He didn’t stop.

I looked down at the box.

Then toward the hallway.

"Prick."

I dragged the box inside myself.

And for the next five minutes, I mentally insulted him in every creative way I could think of.

Not one of those insults made me feel better.

Mostly because I knew exactly why he’d walked away.

He’d seen me struggling and decided to leave me there.

I was going to remember that.

I dropped the box beside the wardrobe and wiped my forehead.

"Unbelievable."

I had barely started unpacking when I heard voices downstairs.

Mom’s.

And a man’s.

I stepped into the hallway.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

He was dressed far too well for a man who was apparently just walking around someone’s house. His hair was slicked back, his suit was fitted, and he had a thin, perfectly shaped mustache that somehow made him look like the villain in a cartoon who was one evil laugh away from announcing his master plan.

Why does this man walk like he has springs in his hips?, It’s giving barbie villains.

I watched him disappear into the sitting room.

I probably shouldn’t have stared, but i did anyway.

Then I heard Mom call my name.

"Rose, come down for a second."

I headed downstairs.

The man was standing beside Mom with a folder tucked under his arm.

"Rose, this is Mr. Sweel."

Damn. Your parents sure did like sweets and eels.

He smiled.

"Pleasure to meet you."

I smiled politely. "Nice to meet you too."

His smile widened.

"We were just discussing the wedding."

Of course.

Wedding planning.

Apparently, my mother’s wedding had become the main event of everyone’s lives overnight.

Mom gestured toward the folder in his hands.

"We’re still deciding on the decorations."

Sweel opened it immediately.

"I’ve brought a few samples. For the ceremony, I’d recommend the Grand Ballroom. It’s spacious enough for the guest list and gives us plenty of room to work with."

Mom leaned closer to look through the pictures.

"I like this one."

"I thought you might. Ivory, champagne and a touch of soft gold."

She smiled.

"And the reception?"

"We could have that at the estate."

Mom looked up.

"The garden?"

"Exactly. Once the ceremony is over, the guests can return to the estate. We’ll have the garden prepared for dinner and the reception."

Devon appeared from the other side of the room.

"The garden sounds good."

Mom looked at him.

"You agree?"

"Of course."

Sweel flipped to another page.

"We’ll keep the floral arrangements consistent between both locations. Roses would work beautifully for the ballroom, then we can carry the same theme into the garden."

Mom’s eyes moved over the photographs.

She looked happy.

Really happy.

I hadn’t seen that expression on her face in a while.

"We’ll also need to discuss the entrance, seating arrangement, reception tables, lighting and entertainment," Sweel continued. "I’ll need your final guest count before I can confirm everything."

Mom nodded.

"Of course."

I stood there quietly, watching her.

She looked completely absorbed in it.

She was happy.

For a moment, I forgot about the move. The wedding. Everything.

I watched her expression change as she looked through the pictures.

I hadn’t seen that expression on her face in a while.

Sweel continued talking.

"We’ll also need to confirm the seating arrangement, the entrance, the reception table, and whether you want the ceremony indoors or in the garden."

"The garden," Mom said immediately.

Devon appeared from the other side of the room.

"The garden."

Mom looked at him.

"You agree?"

"Of course."

She smiled.

I stood there quietly.

They looked comfortable.

Like they’d already been doing this for years.

I didn’t know whether that made me happy or uncomfortable.

Probably both.

Sweel flipped another page.

"For the reception, I was thinking long tables rather than individual round tables. It would make the room feel more intimate."

Mom nodded.

"I like that."

"And the cake?"

"Simple."

Devon glanced at her.

"Simple?"

She looked at him.

"Elegant."

He smiled.

"That’s better."

I rolled my eyes.

Of course they were already finishing each other’s sentences.

I wandered away before I had to witness anything else.

I eventually ended up in the kitchen, climbing onto one of the bar stools beside the counter.

From there, I could still hear Mom and Sweel talking in the next room.

Names, Flowers, Invitations, Music, Guest lists, Dates, Things I never thought I’d hear my mother discussing again.

I rested my chin against my hand and listened.

Every now and then, Mom laughed.

A small smile touched my lips.

She was happy.

That mattered.

I watched her from across the room as she spoke animatedly about the wedding, and for a moment, the house didn’t feel strange anymore.

It felt warm.

Lived in.

Almost like home.

Then the thought came.

Dad.

My smile faded.

It was still too soon.

Far too soon.

A few months wasn’t enough time to stop grieving someone and start planning another wedding.

At least, that’s what I’d always believed.

Maybe there wasn’t supposed to be enough time.

Maybe life simply didn’t care about the timing of things.

I looked down at my hands.

Mom had lost him too.

She had her own grief.

Her own memories.

And somehow, she had found a way to keep living.

I wasn’t sure I understood it yet.

Maybe I didn’t have to.

I looked back at her.

She was smiling again.

I smiled faintly.

"Sorry, Dad."

My throat tightened.

"I know it’s quick."

I swallowed.

"Forgive us."

I stayed there quietly, listening to my mother talk about flowers and wedding decorations while the rest of the house slowly settled around us.

For the first time since we’d arrived, I let myself believe that maybe this new house could become home.

Even if getting there meant leaving pieces of the old one behind.