Deviant Prince [Romano Brotherhood, #2]

4 | Vivienne

I crack my door open and paste the side of my face to the wall in order to eavesdrop on the confrontation next door. My heart pounds, adrenaline and anger roiling in my stomach.

A few officers file into his apartment, and I hear the soft hum of conversation before the door clicks shut. Growling in frustration, I step back and begin pacing.

The most beautiful thing about my life is that it's mine.

I spent so much of my childhood and teenage years floundering, trying to figure out how to balance the life I wanted for myself with the one my family worked so hard to give me. For the longest time, I didn't know what that looked like. I didn't know it was okay to struggle. 'Daughter of two second-generation immigrants' doesn't exactly imply 'identity crisis' to most people. 

Realizing I'm the happiest doing the things that make my family the unhappiest forced me to come to terms with who I am. I'm not contrarian for the sake of it. I can be my parents' daughter, respect the hard work of the generations that came before me, and remain an individual who lives for herself.

And so the more I think about my new neighbor, the angrier I get. The more desperate I feel to figure him out before he wreaks havoc on my job, my friends, my life. 

Something is off about that man. He's a member at my club, he lives next door, he's targeted my friend—and now me?

I can't let this rest. I won't. 

It's like setting a slab of meat in front of a starved lion and trying to keep the creature from devouring it. I get overly protective; I'm too defensive. I act impulsively when the things and people I love are involved. I know this to be true. I jump to defend myself against people who might be invalidating me because my family has always done that very thing. I'm too eager to go to bat, to start a fight.

I've always wondered when I'd get into real trouble for it. 

A light knock interrupts my thoughts. I practically wrench my door open, coming face to face with a bored looking officer. He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and gives me a look that immediately sets me on edge.

It's a look reeking with superiority.

"Well?" I can hardly contain my eagerness. "Did y—"

"Seems this was a misunderstanding, miss. Mr. Romano has an alibi for all of last evening, including the time of your attack. Rest assured, we'll be looking for the man who threatened you, and—"

"What?" Indignation spills from me in the single syllable, and Nik yowls his agreement from behind me somewhere deep in my living room. The fucking coward has left me alone to face off with the officer.

His eyes narrow on me in annoyance. "If I could, I'd advise you to stay off the streets so late at night. All kinds of unsavory characters are out. You wouldn't want to increase your chances of something happening to you."

"Noted, officer. And how did you advise the man who attacked me? What did you tell him? 'Don't let her get away next time'?"

Now he's full-on glaring at me. I can tell when I've lost, and I see that this man is unmovable. He's going to look the other way and not feel bad doing so.

"Thank you for your time," I snap, slamming the door in his face.

I know what happened last night. And as if to mock me, I can almost catch remnants of his fragrance, that spiced whiskey scent intermingling with expensive leather. So distinctly man. And I remember it overwhelming every one of my senses, poked through with the disruption of his heavy breaths that pressed our bodies together as we stood so close in the darkness.