Mended Crown Read online

  MENDED CROWN

  MICE AND MEN BOOK 4 (THE WAR OF ROSES UNIVERSE)

  LANA SKY

  ALSO BY LANA SKY

  DARK MAFIA ROMANCE

  Beautiful Monsters

  Crescendo

  Refrain

  Mezzo

  Allegro

  * * *

  El Mundo de Sangre

  Dinero de Sangre

  Blood Money

  Blood Ties

  Blood Bound

  Diamante de Sangre

  Blood Diamond

  * * *

  The War of Roses Universe

  The War of Roses

  XV: (Fifteen)

  VII: (Seven)

  I: (One)

  The Complete War of Roses Trilogy

  Of Mice and Men

  Ruthless King

  Queen of Thorns

  Shattered Throne

  Mended Crown

  * * *

  DARK BDSM BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

  Club XXX

  Maxim: Submit

  Maxim: Obey

  Maxim: Surrender

  Maxim: The Complete Trilogy

  Vadim: Control

  Vadim: Corrupt

  Vadim: Conquer

  Vadim: The Complete Trilogy

  * * *

  DARK ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  Painted Sin

  A Touch of Dark

  A Taste like Sin

  The Complete Painted Sin Duet

  * * *

  Dragon Triad Duet

  Moth

  Flame

  The Complete Dragon Triad Duet

  * * *

  DARK AGE-GAP ROMANCE

  Standalones

  Pretty Perfect

  Crossed Lines

  * * *

  DARK PARANORMAL ROMANCE

  The Ellie Gray Chronicles

  Drain Me

  Chain Me

  The Complete Ellie Gray Chronicles

  * * *

  NEWSLETTER EXCLUSIVE

  Rockstar Rebels

  Dirty Lyrics (Newsletter Exclusive)

  Mended Crown

  Mended Crown By Lana Sky

  Copyright © 2021 by Lana Sky

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Charity Chimni

  Editing by Charity Chimni

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks so much to everyone who supported this draft along the way, including the many beta readers who provided encouragement! Please keep in mind that this story includes dark, graphic, and explicit content matter that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18—or for readers who are uncomfortable with the following subject matter: age gap relationships, explicit sex, mentions of sexual abuse, and graphic depictions of violence.

  CONTENTS

  1. Willow

  2. Don

  3. Evgeni

  4. Don

  5. Evgeni

  6. Willow

  7. Don

  8. Willow

  9. Don

  10. Willow

  11. Evgeni

  12. Don

  13. Evgeni

  14. Don

  15. Evgeni

  16. Willow

  17. Don

  18. Evgeni

  19. Willow

  20. Don

  21. Evgeni

  22. Willow

  23. Don

  24. Willow

  25. Evgeni

  26. Don

  27. Willow

  28. Evgeni

  29. Don

  30. Willow

  31. Don

  32. Evgeni

  33. Willow

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Chapter 1 of XV: War of Roses Trilogy Book 1

  A Word from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Lana Sky

  1

  WILLOW

  I understand just how fragile the world is. So delicate, in fact, that even a simple drop of blood can tip the scales.

  It’s happened before. Seven years ago, blood ties were the catalyst to what turned my life on its head. I lost everything, and in the aftermath, became someone else. These recent events are merely history repeating itself—though, laughably, this time based solely on a mistake.

  I’m sure of that, despite what everyone else thinks.

  Why waste any energy getting upset over a lie?

  Mischa did. Anger was his initial reaction, and he shouted in a voice so booming it reached the furthest wings of the manor. I had no idea what he might do. Ironically, a silence fell afterward, so thick that not even the children seemed willing to break it. For days, that suffocating quiet lingered.

  I was sure it would last forever.

  Finally, a giddy sense of denial broke through. It’s like some internal switch was flipped within everyone, and they all woke up determined to ignore and forget. The past few weeks could have been written off as a crazed, shared nightmare—if it weren’t for the injuries Ellen and Eli still sport.

  And the subtle tension looming over everything like a sharpened knife, waiting to descend at a moment’s notice.

  Even so, I should be the most eager to play along with the shared denial. Ignore and smile and clamor for breakfast like nothing has happened.

  Live on as though Donatello Vanici isn’t lurking somewhere beyond these walls.

  But he is.

  So, I don’t leave my room. Not to eat. Not to mingle with the others. I just sit in a corner by the window and read the same series of crumbled pages over and over. They’ve become worn beneath my fingertips, creased so badly in places the slightest pressure could tear them apart.

  I’ve come to know each passage by heart, anyway. They’re my only tie to reality, reinforcing the darkness lurking beyond these walls. Greedily, I scan the gnarled handwriting and sniff the cologne faintly clinging to the paper.

  I tell myself that the pain I feel stabbing through my chest with every breath is just a necessary evil in a quest to know more. The truth? Some sick part of me has grown addicted to the agony aroused by anything connected to him.

  Masochism alone explains why I keep re-reading these letters more than anything else. The fact is, despite days of study, I still haven’t deciphered their meaning in full. At the same time, they remain my only clue to the past, and what really served as the catalyst to the downfall of Donatello Vanici.

  I used to think my memories held the answers, but I was wrong. This stack of crumpled letters does, because Olivia, Donatello’s wife, wrote them to another man—my biological father, Gino Mangenello. They lack the emotional passion of her letters to her husband. They’re blunter, more honest, conveying stark desperation that strikes me to my core.

  I parse through the potential explanations, ignoring the obvious answer. Maybe she was lonely and desperate enough to seek out the companionship of her husband’s closest ally? Perhaps Donatello disapproved of their friendship?

  Or she betrayed him by sleeping with his righthand man behind his back.

  I keep picturing her, that beautiful face and hazel eyes. I can’t ever recall seeing deception in them. Just sadness. A sadness so heavy a child could never comprehend it.

  Years later, I’m only getting
a mere taste of that despair. It’s emptiness. A hollow agony you can only feel after loving someone so much it desolates you by the end. Then, to top it off, you watch them throw that love away. Throw you away as if you never mattered. In the grand scheme, you were worth nothing.

  And you’d do anything in the world to fill the gaping wound left behind. Anything. Even tell yourself that you hated him from the very start. If you have to turn that man into a monster, you will. No matter how you distort the past to believe it, you do until it becomes the only truth.

  Until the pain can diminish to the point that you can breathe again and even dream of saying his name without screaming.

  He’s already taken so much from me, and yet it feels like this is his final, cruelest game played at my expense. Take from Mischa something he can never, ever erase and rub his nose in their twisted feud.

  I want to believe that. Over the past few days, I’ve convinced myself that it might be true. Revenge is all that drives him. That and hate. He hates me…

  Then I remember that Donatello wasn’t who pushed our relationship past that invisible boundary.

  I did.

  In this instance, he isn’t the monster.

  I am. Only my victims are far more numerous, and unlike Donatello, I didn’t have the decency of leaving them behind. Every day, I serve as a living reminder of the damage I’ve caused, and nothing assuages the guilt.

  “Willow?” A tiny knock on the door heralds the presence of the only person more persistent than Ellen in striving to visit me every day. He sounds winded as if he ran here, forsaking playtime with the others. Still, I hear the thud of him resolutely claiming his place in the hall, most likely sitting cross-legged with a puzzle or book to pass the time.

  For a moment, he’s as silent as always. Then he sighs.

  “Willow… Are you sick? Is that why you’re going to a hospital?”

  A hospital. I haven’t heard of such a trip directly, and I can’t ignore a sense of dread prickling down my spine.

  “I hope you feel better soon,” he adds. “But I don’t want you to go away. Okay?”

  I don’t move to reassure him. Deep down, I can’t ignore the small voice in my head warning that my going away might be the best option for everyone involved.

  The only option.

  “Willow?” A stern series of knocks rattles my door.

  I must have drifted off, because at some point, Eli was replaced by a taller figure who isn’t content to hold their vigil in silence.

  “Willow?” The doorknob is tested once more before the door itself opens from the outside, revealing Ellen, framed in the doorway.

  I barely manage to shove the letters under my bed before standing to take her in. This isn’t a regular visit. She looks tired. Her hair is loosely piled atop her head, her plain blue dress overbearing amid the gray daylight filtering in from outside. With a sigh, she wipes her hands on her skirt and enters the room, closing the door behind her.

  I stiffen. She isn’t one to barge into a situation unannounced. For days, she’s let me hold my silent vigil, respecting the unspoken boundary of a closed door.

  One look at her face, and I know that whatever drove her to break that truce is serious. Serious enough that her forced, thin smile doesn’t even reach her eyes.

  “You haven’t been eating,” she says tiredly, glancing at the plate left on my bedside table. The untouched oatmeal looks ice-cold now, flanked by a bowl of sad-looking fruit and deflated toast.

  “Willow…” With a sigh, Ellen turns the full brunt of her gaze to me. Her lips part, only to purse before parting again. Finally, she swallows as if gathering up the nerve to speak. “Tomorrow, we’ve arranged an appointment with a doctor,” she says softly.

  I don’t know how to process that—though at least Eli’s statements make sense. It seems he’s been eavesdropping again, though at least he felt fit to tell me. Apart from knocking on my door throughout each day, neither Mischa nor Ellen has spoken more than a handful of words to me directly.

  Not that I can blame them. I’ve buried myself in old love letters and silence—but they can’t escape reality so easily. My heart pangs as I meet Ellen’s gaze and examine her delicate features in full.

  It kills me to see the hurt in her eyes. At the same time… I can’t feel anything. It’s like I’m numb, an observer unconnected to unfolding events. I merely watch.

  “I know that this isn’t a comfortable conversation, but it’s one we need to have,” Ellen continues. “Whatever decision… We should get confirmation.”

  There is no mention of whether Donatello will be there.

  Because, even if invited, he wouldn’t come.

  2

  DON

  “You look like hell,” a voice declares, startling me awake. “Don’t tell me you’ve slept here all night, Don.”

  If the speaker is referring to the hard as hell leather chair I’m slumped in currently, they’re right. Groaning, I open my eyes to a dimly lit room where a scowling figure watches me from beyond an open door. “Fabio? You decided the first fucking thing you wanted to do at the ass crack of dawn was visit me?”

  Apparently so, not that this is shaping up to be a pleasant visit. He’s standing with his arms crossed, that judgmental look on his face. The same one he’s been sporting for the past two weeks, in fact—not that I can blame him.

  The truth is, I’m lucky he hasn’t cut me off completely.

  Still, I bristle at his arrival, feeling like a child on the verge of a scolding.

  “Why are you here? Let me guess. Mischa’s decided to launch another attack on my life? Let’s hope he doesn’t go after Vin at least.”

  I’m only half joking.

  Thankfully, Fabio doesn’t seem like someone desperate to prevent an assassination attempt. If anything, he looks more like a man dragged here against his will.

  “There have been some developments,” he says, utilizing the stern tone he prefers to deliver bad news in. “Gregori Saleri is dead. Best to get the good news out of the way before giving the bad.”

  “Good news,” I say, swiping at my eyes as I sit upright. My brain sluggishly processes the bombshell. Unlike Fab, I don’t consider it good news at all.

  “What happened? It seems too much of a coincidence if the old man dropped dead of a heart attack.”

  “It happened last night, apparently,” Fabio says grimly. “There aren’t too many details out now. The only bit of information we can be sure of is that Mateo is now solely in charge.”

  “That is bad fucking news.” I brace my hands over the desk before me, scrambling to get my bearings. As Fabio insinuated, I fell asleep here—again. If sleep is even the right word for maybe an hour of unconsciousness. “You’re only this morbid when you’re stressed. Even if he was working with our enemy, I don’t see how his death is a good thing. Especially for the girl—” I jerk my chin in the vague direction of the room where Kisa Salvatore is sleeping. First her father, now Gregori.

  “Good news is relative,” Fabio says with a shrug. “In comparison to the bad, at least. Keep in mind, Don, that I’m not telling you this because you deserve to know,” he adds to preface this unannounced worse news than the death of my enemy. “Call me naïve, but I still think you should have a heads-up…”

  To heighten the drama, he sighs before pursing his lips in disapproval.

  “Any minute, Fabio,” I snap.

  “Word is the Stepanovs have booked a private appointment at the hospital for some time this week—”

  “When?” I’m on my feet as my brain jumps to the obvious conclusion as to what that private appointment could mean. Son of a bitch, I was hoping even Mischa wouldn’t go that route. “What time? Tell me!”

  Fabio sighs again. “I’m not telling you when. Not even which day.”

  “But you know?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Could be tomorrow. Could be ten days from now. It doesn’t really matter. Don’t get the wrong idea, Donatello. This is
n’t a heads-up so you can intervene. If anything, I want you to show restraint. This is just so that you can prepare yourself in case…”

  His low tone alludes to an outcome even he has the tact not to voice.

  “In case they terminate the pregnancy.” Saying it out loud guts me. Could Mischa really be that cynical? Though, hell, if I had a daughter, would I encourage her to do any different?

  “Don…” Fab frowns, wringing his hands together. He’s wearing a suit as usual, but the tie is crooked. He probably rushed here to make sure I heard it from him first. “I honestly don’t know the details. We’re lucky that one of my contacts at the hospital thought to notify me. But if it is to… At least this way, it won’t come as a shock.”

  “A shock?” I hiss and slam a fist against the desk, so hard pain shoots through my knuckles. So much for restraint. “Do you even hear yourself?”

  “Do you?” Fabio counters, crossing his arms. “I’m trusting you to handle this maturely. Barging into the hospital will only result in you having some startled nurse alert the authorities. This is for the best, Don.”