TAMED BY MY HOT MAFIA STEPBROTHER (18+)

DELANCEY

“What?” I screeched, my eyes widened. “You’re getting remarried? Why?!”

My chest puffed up, and my posture suddenly turned rigid. I refused to believe what my mother was telling me.

She stepped forward, forcing a smile to mask the obvious embarrassment from the tantrum I was throwing.

“Del, please understand—‘

“—understand what, exactly?” My eyes burned. “That you’re about to get remarried barely six months after my father’s death?”

I didn’t understand her hurry. I wasn’t even done grieving, and somehow, I was the only one who still remembered him.

She glanced away, looking at the wall as if seeking reassurance. Heads were already turning at us, voices whispering in hushed tones. But I didn’t care about any of that.

“Delancey,” her lips quivered, trying to reach for my hands again, but I flinched roughly. “It’s been five months. I’m sorry… but it’s way past time for me to move on. I can’t keep holding on to… the past. It hurts.”

“Wowww,” a tear slid down my right cheek as I raised my hands to her face, clapping mockingly. “This is so great, and I’m going to add it to my list of why I should never get married.”

It sucked. Everything sucked.

My father had been brutally murdered, and while I was on the hunt for the people who’d taken his life, it turned out my mother was already in another man’s bed.

And was about to marry him. A man—I didn’t bother to know if she knew him a few months ago or before my father died.

I picked up my purse from the chair, desperate to get out of there before I did something we’d both regret.

My feet were killing me—the stupid stilettos I’d worn, hoping her announcement was something… exciting.

“Delancey?” Her voice tried to stop me, but I was already walking towards the entrance.

She rushed behind me, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor.

When I felt her hands on my shoulders, trying to get my attention, I lost it. I turned around, pronounced veins throbbing on my forehead as I stared down at her.

“Get your filthy hands off me.”

“Delancey—‘

“—Have your stupid wedding without me,” I spat, my breaths irregular. “Maybe this was what you wanted.”

My voice dropped.

“That’s why you killed my father.”

*

I shouldn’t have said that. I’d gone overboard, allowing my anger to speak through my emotional state.

Mother’s eyes had widened after I’d said that. She looked so broken, so hurt… damaged. And I knew I’d struck something that should never have been touched.

But I was a mess.

I didn’t know how to handle relationships, friendships, or even a conversation. Losing my father meant losing a part of myself that should have remained.

I’d turned into someone else—someone I couldn’t even control.

Mum kept calling me, but despite knowing I’d made a mistake by uttering those words to her, I refused to pick up.

Even when the time was already a few minutes past midnight.

“Another glass, please,” I groaned to the bartender, my eyes half closed.

Drinking had become my coping mechanism. Whenever life hit too hard and I couldn’t handle it, I’d drown myself in alcohol, and it did numb the pain.

He hovered next to me, his rich scent of lavender immediately filling my nostrils. I ignored him, even when he grabbed more than my attention.

Men. I hated them.

My father was the last man I’d ever loved. The only man who’d loved me without hurting me.

Other men I’d ever dated had done nothing but hurt me. Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

My last relationship had ended just weeks ago. I’d caught him cheating, but he’d labeled me crazy after attempting to stab the bitch with a broken bottle.

He’d cheated on me with my best friend, someone who was supposed to be with me.

Yet I was the crazy one? Lol.

The bartender refilled my glass, and I watched through my blurry vision. I couldn’t tell if it was blurred from the tears in my eyes or if it was the alcohol already kicking in.

“Haven’t you drunk too much?”

I turned around to face who’d said that. A snort fled my lips, hating that it was a man talking. I easily got irritated just hearing them breathe.

I grabbed my glass, my grasp tightening around it. I brought it closer to my lips, feeling the sting but gulping it down anyway.

He kept staring, not knowing that I was ignoring him on purpose. I was already half drunk and mad at so many things, and he wasn’t going to make me commit murder.

When I didn’t say anything, he reached over anyway—grabbing my glass like I didn’t exist.

His actions were swift and unexpected, pulling it roughly in a manner that spilled the contents over my blouse.

Which he shouldn’t have done, because that irritated more than just my shirt he’d soiled.

That was when I finally lost it—my cool.

Without thinking twice, I reached for another empty glass, slamming it straight against his head.

He didn’t scream, but the bartender did. As well as a few others that got alerted by the crashing noises of broken glasses.

My vision completely blurred, but before passing out, I saw the blood dripping from the side of his head.

*

Distant voices, like people speaking underwater, woke me up. Rays of sunlight threatened to blind me the moment I opened my eyes.

I found myself on a bed—too soft, too clean. Nothing about it felt earned.

“I honestly don’t know what to do with her anymore.” That sounded like my mother sobbing and complaining.

My face was blank. My head was hurting, and I felt a bitter taste rising at the back of my throat.

That room didn’t look familiar. It was nothing like the house I’d taken a bath in. Everything in there was sophisticated, huge… expensive.

I jumped off abruptly from the bed, suddenly startled by a noise I heard in that same space.

Something crashed to the floor. It sounded like someone was taking a bath and having a drink too.

Maybe I reeked of alcohol, but there was definitely another drink with a strong smell in that room.

“You’ve tried your best, Madeline,” a deep, husky voice was comforting my mother. “Let her be.”

Let me be? I scoffed.

That had to be him.

And I hated him already.

“I—I can’t,” Mum muttered, speaking in between sobs. “She’s the only one I’ve got. And it’s sad to see that Dante’s death affected everything about her greatly.”

My shoulders slumped after she’d said that. She understood me, yet I’d badly failed to even support or understand what she was going through.

Another crash stole my attention, and I knew I had to stop eavesdropping on the conversation and find out what was going on.

I caught sight of the half-empty bottle of wine on the bedside table and grabbed it, raising it slightly above my left shoulder.

If someone was in there as I suspected, then they’d better be ready to get hit.

Slowly, I took steps towards the bathroom, silently inhaling the flowery scent of soap.

The shower suddenly stopped running after I got closer, and it confirmed my suspicions.

As badly as I wanted to remain tough and unshaken, my heart was hammering in my chest.

That wasn’t my house, and I was already bracing myself to scream if it ever got to the point where I couldn’t handle it alone.

I reached for the bathroom door, my hand slightly hovering over the knob. My mouth felt dry, and for a split second, I wanted to run off.

Pushing forward through the fear, I turned the knob open, raising the bottle slightly above my head to strike.

A man—towel slung low on his hips, his back against the door as steam curled around him.

He was muscular and smelled like heaven. I gulped down another swallow, my legs shaking at the sight and thoughts of what he was doing in there.

Before I could think or say anything, he turned around, his eyes half closed. He stretched his hands forward, like an attempt to grab me.

I stifled a gasp, raised the bottle in my hands, and aimed it straight at his head.