Corrupted Heart: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Corrupted Heart: Chapter 16

There’s a kind of whispered white noise constantly running in the background in my mind. It’s always there, like the distant clatter of a train, or the low growl of a truck engine on the highway.

But being this physically close to the woman who stole my childhood turns that whisper into a fucking scream.

I was thirteen when my father dragged me to the hotel suite in midtown. By that point, I was already the size of a college sophomore, and Dad had already spent years trying to mold me into some sort of monster.

Aeneas didn’t just name us all after Greek gods and titans because he had a thing for mythology. He truly wanted us to be the bloodthirsty, conquering gods and demigods of those stories. He didn’t want sons. He wanted soldiers. Killers.

He succeeded with Atlas, our cruel, oldest brother. The divine comedy…or is it Greek tragedy…there is that it was Atlas himself who ended up killing our father in a greedy attempt to seize a throne he was never going to be smart or level-headed enough to actually sit on. Atlas’ reign of terror lasted all of a week before a fight he picked with a powerful man over a woman Atlas thought belonged to him ended with our brother dead and Ares taking over the throne.

We never mourned the death of our tyrant father. Nor that of our cruel, sadistic brother. But while the rest of my siblings celebrate my father’s failure in turning any of us into the twisted, cold monsters he’d hoped to create, deep down, I know he didn’t really fail.

Not entirely.

Not with me.

For years, I ignored the constant verbal assaults as best as I could; the attempts to warp me into his cold, ruthless weapon. He wanted me to be his Goliath: the huge, tough son he could parade in front of allies and enemies alike, to frighten them into either allegiance or submission. I resisted those attempts for so long.

But in that midtown hotel suite, he won.

That’s the night he sat me down and told me I needed to “do something for the family”. For him. For my siblings, because didn’t I want to protect and safeguard my siblings?

There was an FBI agent looking to make “connections” with families like ours. An agent with an eye on a much higher position.

An agent who also had an eye for much, much younger…well, to say men feels like a crime.

I wasn’t a man. I was fucking thirteen. And she was thirty.

Aeneas wasn’t subtle. Before he left me alone with her, he told me exactly what he expected of me.

“Time to grow a pair of balls and be a man. For the family. Be a good boy, Kratos, and do as she says.” He’d chuckled then. “And don’t look so fucking glum, you fucking pussy. You should be thanking me for this.”

After that, he left, and she walked in.

That was the first time I ever met the witch now standing in front of me at my own engagement party.

That was the first time I went to the place where my mind shuts down, and I block it all out. But it wasn’t the last. Not by a goddamn mile.

The roaring in my head only gets louder as I step out of the main ballroom and into a side room, alone with Amaya.

“I’m hurt, Kratos,” she purrs, smirking at me with smug arrogance that makes me want to rip her in half. “I’d think with our history, I’d at least merit an invitation⁠—”

She gasps, her breath hitching as I surge into her. My hand darts out, eager to wrap around her fucking scarred neck and squeeze until I hear the satisfying snap of her spine. But I stop myself short, my hand an inch from her throat.

My jaw grinding. My fury near nuclear in my chest.

Amaya swallows. Then she composes herself, her lips curling snidely.

“You can’t do it, can you?” she hisses quietly.

I suck in air, my blood burning like liquid fire in my veins.

“I wonder…is it the fear of repercussions, given who I work for?”

Yeah… Given her fairly high-level anti-terrorism position within the CIA, she’s powerful, and she knows it.

“Or…”

I stiffen, my mind going a little blank when her fingers brush my arm. Flinching, I yank my hand away. Amaya grins.

“No, you’re not scared of repercussions. Not my Kratos. He’s not scared of anything.”

Nausea and a pain I can’t identify wash over me.

My Kratos.

The words are like chains that never left my wrists and ankles.

Amaya’s eyebrows lift. “No, it’s not fear that keeps you from hurting me.”

My reality bends, like watching heat pulse off a parking lot in July.

“I think it’s that you still care too much,” she purrs. “That’s it, isn’t it⁠—”

With a loud snarl, I wrench myself away, taking a step back as I glare pure hate at her.

It’s not fear of repercussions. And it’s not that I give a single fuck about her.

The only thing stopping me from snapping Amaya’s neck with my bare hands is that I’m fairly sure touching her at all will shove me into a hole so deep I’ll never climb back out again.

“Kratos—”

“Why are you fucking here?” I snarl savagely—so much so that she flinches a little. But she recovers again, smirking haughtily at me.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“And I’ll continue to do so,” I snap. “We have nothing to discuss. Stay the fuck away from me.”

She smiles. “We both know that’s not an option for you. Not when you were such a naughty boy.” She wags her finger at me. “Need I remind you that you sold guns to a United States CIA officer, Kratos? Being naughty like that has its consequences.”

Amaya grins.

“Luckily for you, because of our”…she smirks up at me…“history…”

My head swims again.

Be a good boy for me, Kratos…

We’re not done yet…

You’ll never find anyone like me. No one will love you like me…

My thoughts glitch as I rip myself back into the present.

“I have a way out for you, Kratos.”

I don’t respond. Amaya eyes me steadily.

“It involves your engagement to that silly little mafia ballerina princess.”

Alarm bells whine in my head.

“Tell me, Kratos,” Amaya murmurs quietly. “Does she know what you are? Would you dare show her the darkness I know you’ve still got inside⁠—”

“Careful, witch,” I snarl with a venom that catches even me a little off-guard.

Amaya’s mouth curls.

“I found that bigger fish I was telling you about, Kratos.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your bride-to-be is a direct line to Vito Barone. And through him, all five families of The Commission.”

I bark a cold laugh.

“You’re fucking insane, you miserable cunt,” I snap. “Not in a million years. And as you yourself said…” I snarl into her face. “Your invitation seems to have been lost. So I’d suggest fucking off.”

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.

“Walk away and this deal expires. Immediately. And you won’t have to worry about marrying that girl you clearly don’t give a shit about, because you’ll be in prison, along with the rest of your family.”

Pure rage consumes me. In a flash, I’m whirling, storming over to Amaya, grabbing her by the high neck of her gown, and slamming her back into the wall.

I relish the flicker of real fear that burns in her eyes as I snarl down into her face with my teeth bared.

“Listen to me very fucking carefully, you miserable piece of shit,” I spit. “I do not take threats against my family lightly.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you take what I’m saying a bit more fucking seriously,” she snaps back. “You’re going to do this for me, Kratos. Use the girl to get to her father, and get me access—a bug, a mole, anything—to the Barone family and The Commission. If you make me happy, maybe I can forget about those pesky gun charges.”

I go cold as her hand wraps around my wrist, her eyes locking with mine.

“And you remember how good you were at making me happy, don’t you, Kratos…?” she breathes.

My mind goes numb. My vision turns white as the oxygen leaves my body.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Her tone is sharp and icy. But even so, Bianca’s voice behind me pulls me out of the black abyss I’m drowning in, a lifeline thrown in a storm. I cling to it, sucking in air as I drop my hand from Amaya’s gown, yanking away from her touch with a nauseous feeling.

Swallowing my revulsion, I turn. Bianca’s standing in the doorway behind us, her mouth small, her hands balled at her sides, a cold glare leveled at me.

Instantly, I understand how bad this looks.

“Bianca,” I growl, cracking my neck. “This is…”

“Amaya, hi,” Amaya sneers with all the friendliness of a wolf with bared teeth.

“Bianca, hi,” Bianca hurls back in the same cold tone. “His fiancée. And you are…?”

“Amaya is an old family friend,” I say icily, emphasizing “old” in a way I hope grinds Amaya’s gears.

“Well, thank you so much for coming,” Bianca says in an unsmiling tone.

Amaya grins like a shark. “Of course. Kratos and I go way back, after all.” She levels a smug look at Bianca. “Lots of history.” She turns to me. “Isn’t that right, Kratos?”

I say nothing.

“Think about what we discussed, won’t you?”

She pats my chest. I flinch. Then she strolls past Bianca, barely breaking her stride as she mutters “Happy engagement”.

When she’s gone, Bianca levels a withering look at me.

“Old family friend?” she says icily.

My eyes narrow. “Jealous, prinkípissa?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Start answering my questions when I ask them.”

Her lip curls.

“No.”

My brow lifts in amusement. “No, you’re choosing to defy me? Or no, you’re not jealous? Because that’s obviously a fucking lie.”

Bianca glares at me, gritting her teeth. “No, I’m not jealous. I just think maybe it’s bad form to have your ex or your fuck buddy or whatever the hell she is at your engagement celebration.” Bianca purses her lips. “I mean, have a little fucking class.”

She whirls to walk away, then fires a parting shot over her shoulder.

“Or at the very least, a little respect⁠—”

Bianca gasps as I grab her arm, yanking her around and then to my chest.

Time stops for a millisecond. The roaring quiets in my head. I feel her pulse under the silky skin of her arm. I feel the muscles of her dancer’s body ripple against mine as she presses flat against my body.

I made damn sure my skin never touched Amaya’s just now. The very thought of that happening makes me want to explode, screaming, into ash.

With Bianca, all I want is to touch her.

To feel her squirm against me. To feel the heat of her skin and the shiver of her fear and excitement under my fingers.

A different roar fills my head. One I don’t want to push away, one I don’t want to escape from. It thrums louder as I pull her tighter to me, relishing the hitch of her breath and the roundness of her big blue eyes. The heat in her cheeks, and the feel of her nipples hardening to points against my chest.

Bianca trembles as I cup her jaw, lifting her chin. Our eyes lock.

A camera goes off in our faces, blinding me for a second. When I blink away the stars, I glare, snarling, at the photographer I’m guessing Ya-ya hired for the event.

“Now that is a keeper!” he gushes. “The happy couple, lost in their own⁠—”

Bianca pulls away. Her eyes snap to mine, full of some emotion I can’t pinpoint. Then, without another word, she’s whirling and bolting away back to the main ballroom. I turn to level a savage look at the photographer.

“Get out.”

I storm after Bianca. But by the time I get back to the ballroom, she’s disappeared into the crowd. I get stuck talking to Ezio Adamos, the head of one of our tributary families who’s deep in his drinks tonight, for a good ten minutes or so before I can extricate myself.

By then, there’s no sign of Bianca anywhere.

Why are you even looking for her?

I know why.

She never should have been in that alley. But she was. And like it or not, she caught the attention of my monster.

His full attention, in a way no woman ever has before.

I don’t know how I feel about our game turning into a marriage, and what that means for us and our dark play.

I don’t even know how I feel about the fact that Bianca is clearly a virgin, given my own fucked-up history involving sex and “first times”.

But I do know that once my beast’s attention has been caught, there’s no evading it. No escaping it, like the jaws of a crocodile.

Come what may, Bianca is mine now.

So where the fuck is she.

She’s not with her family. She’s not in the restrooms, or at the bar. She’s vanished.

Until I step outside onto the deck overlooking the East River, that is, and hear her voice coming from around the corner, in the shadows of the restaurant.

“Stop it, Grisha.”

Scowling, my jaw set, I prowl toward the corner of the deck, pausing behind a wall of climbing ivy to listen.

“Ah, but we have history, beautiful.”

Something venomous and toxic spills like black ink inside my chest.

Rage explodes through my veins.

What fucking history does she have with fucking Grisha Lenkov?

“Please, get away from⁠—”

“But the thing is, shlyukha,” Grisha mutters, “you owe me. And you owe me a lot. Now, you can go ask your new fiancé for the money and tell him why his little wifey needs four hundred grand. Or you can be a good little whore and get on your knees, and start paying me back right now⁠—”

I think he actually pisses himself when I storm around the corner at full speed, my face a mask of rage. Grisha sputters, dropping his grip on Bianca’s wrist as she backs away.

“Now listen, Kr⁠—”

“No.”

My fist smashes into his face, hard. He screams as his nose breaks, blood exploding across his face and streaming down his chin as he stumbles backward.

I turn to Bianca. Our eyes lock—mine full of fury and wrath, hers wide with fear.

And something else.

Danger-lust.

Sin and temptation.

Excitement.

“Kratos, I…”

“Wait here.”

I turn just as Grisha starts to reach inside his jacket. I punch him again, relishing the sound of his orbital cracking as he drops to the ground, squealing. The gun tucked into his waistband clatters to the ground, and I immediately kick it off the deck into the river.

“Do you know who my uncle is?!” he screeches from the decking.

I do. But I also don’t give a single fuck that Artem Lenkov is high up in the Chernoff Bratva. Or that Grisha himself has a the title of avtoritet. This little fuckstick just laid his hands on what’s mine.

That will not go unpunished.

My eyes go to his hand—the one that was grabbing Bianca’s wrist.

Grisha screams as I stomp down hard on it, breaking a few of the bones. He’s sucking in ragged breaths when I stoop down to yank him up by his collar into my face.

“I don’t give a fuck if your uncle is Jesus fucking Christ himself,” I snarl. “If you ever come near her again, I’ll cut your balls off and enjoy watching you choke on them when I ram them down your fucking throat.”

I hurl him down to the deck and turn to grab Bianca’s hand, but the little fucker springs up behind me. I whirl as his blade flashes, hissing when it gets me on the arm. Bianca screams as I wrestle the knife out of Grisha’s hand and toss it into the river to join the gun before I start to beat the ever-living fuck out of him, roaring.

Footsteps and shouting thunder behind me. Arms grab me, yanking me away.

“ENOUGH!” Ares hisses in my ear. Hades is suddenly standing in front of me, too, shaking his head as he plants a hand on my chest.

“We’ll get rid of him, brother,” he growls. “But no matter what he did, I can’t let you kill him.”

Deimos and some of our men are dragging the whimpering, bleeding Grisha away. I shake off my brothers, nodding curtly before I spin.

I grab Bianca’s hand and storm away, pulling her behind me.

We head around the corner and toward a side exit before she suddenly yanks her hand free of mine.

“Let go of me!”

I turn to her. Bianca’s mouth is a tight line.

“I can handle my battles myself!”

I take her wrist again. “Clearly. Let’s go⁠—”

She yanks her hand back, shaking her head. “I said can take care of myself, Kratos! And you had no right⁠—”

“I had every right!” I roar.

“Why?!” she hurls back. “Because you own me now, since we’re getting married? Or because⁠—”

She gasps as I yank her against my chest again, grab her chin, tilt her face up to mine, and let my gaze eviscerate her on the spot.

“Because you’re going to be my fucking wife! And no one…” I hiss through clenched teeth. “No one touches you but me.”

In a heartbeat, I eradicate the distance between her mouth and mine. And suddenly, for the very first time, I’m kissing her.

Not just our first kiss.

My first kiss.

Ever.

And when I taste the soft sweetness of Bianca’s lips, I’m not sure I’ll ever come up again for air.