Corrupted Heart: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Corrupted Heart: Chapter 2

Hands reach for me out of the darkness. Footsteps pound behind—chasing, hunting, drawing closer. I can hear the rasp of his breath and the dark, cold chuckle signaling he already knows the outcome of this.

That I can run, but I can’t hide.

Not from him. Not from the nightmare I crave.

The promise of darkness and the fulfilment of sinister, deviant desires. Of the bite of rope and the gag of rubber. Of being used by him in whatever way he wants, with or without my consent…

The promise of utter submission. Of pain.

He draws closer and closer, his footsteps right behind me. His fingertips brush my skin before they suddenly catch and tangle in my hair. They yank. They grasp. I crash to the ground where he roughly pins my hands above my head and growls as he takes his pleasure from me as I writhe and scream⁠—

I wake with a start, a real-world gasp lodged in my throat as I sit bolt upright.

My pulse hammers in my ears. Sweat clings to my skin. I force myself to exhale as I slowly rub my face and push a hand through my long hair.

The dream isn’t new. It’s not even infrequent.

It happens all the time, as if I need to be reminded while I’m safe in my bed that I’m never safe from the fucked-up darkness that lives in my head. The kinks and desires you can’t tell anyone about…as if I even have people to tell my kinks to.

And even if I did, as if I ever would.

Fever dreams like these happen all the time. But there was a small difference in the one I just woke up from.

Usually he’s faceless, the man who chases me. Who catches me. Who pins me down and has me waking up sweaty, with a racing heart and slick, quivering thighs. I suppose the one last night was technically faceless, too. Except it was a faceless pursuer I know.

One I’ve met in the real world.

One with a mask.

Just now, in my twisted, fucked-up dreams, I was chased by the huge man in the neon mask. The very same one who melted out of the shadows and killed two men right in front of me in reality last night.

I shiver as the vivid red blood on black tarmac and the horrifying gurgling scream echo in my head.

I don’t feel bad about what happened to them. Not after what they were clearly about to do to me. But even so, I flinch as I replay the sickening sound of the man’s knife slicing their throats open.

My eyes squeeze shut. Even being part of the world I live in, I’ve never seen death happen like that before. I’ve never watched someone die. And even though I did, that’s not what I’m fixating about where last night is concerned.

I’m not thinking about the fact that Alicia dragged me to a massive drug deal. Or that two men tried to attack me last night.

I’m thinking of him.

The beast of a man with the gravel voice, the iron touch, and the absence of eyes.

The one who saved me and then melted right back into the darkness, like an apparition or a vengeful spirit.

Exhaling, I flop back across my bed and look up at the ceiling of the room I grew up in. I chew on my lip as my eyes slowly travel the walls of the room, taking in the posters, the achievements, the memories.

It’s funny how quickly “normal” feels like kid stuff.

For the last two years, I’ve had my own modest apartment on the Upper East Side. Money isn’t an issue, not when you’re from my family. But when I finally told my dad it was time for me to move out, I didn’t want to be just another mafia princess in a glass penthouse that Daddy paid for. I mean, yeah, he covers my rent—it’s not like ballet dancers earn much. And it’s also not like Vito Barone’s bank account would notice it even if I did live in some palatial penthouse or townhouse.

Still, I wanted to fit in a bit more with the majority of the girls I dance with. So, where I live is just a regular, average apartment. Okay, it’s got state-of-the-art security, and a doorman and guards who are on the Barone payroll, because my brothers are all psychotically overprotective of their “baby” sister, even though I’m twenty-one.

But that’s not where I’ve woken up this morning.

After what happened last night in Brooklyn, I came here, to my dad’s townhouse in Little Italy. There were pros and cons to showing up at Dad’s house in an Uber at midnight, covered in bloody scrapes and dirt, white-faced and freaking the hell out, but honestly, I was too scared to go home after what happened. Scared enough that I was willing to chance him still being up and having to explain the state of myself to him.

Mercifully, though, the house was asleep. And Roberto, the guard on duty at the front door last night, was distracted enough by the football scores on his phone that he seemed to buy my explanation that I’d tripped while out on a walk, and that I was fine.

Part of me wants to stay right here in my childhood bedroom and hide from the world all day. But then another, more adult instinct takes control of mine, and it’s one I can’t ignore.

The need for coffee.

I tie my hair up in it’s typical dancer’s bun, pull on a hoodie, and pad barefoot downstairs to the huge galley kitchen dad had remodeled a few years ago when he got really into cooking old-school Italian food.

Note I say into, not “good at”. But hey, it makes him happy.

I can hear his voice as I walk down the hall from the back staircase. As I get closer, I realize this is more of a homecoming than I was expecting.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Carmy, the middle of my three older brothers, grins as I shuffle into the kitchen and head directly to the coffee pot. He’s sitting at the breakfast table with my youngest older brother, Nico, along with our dad.

“You know, after you move out, especially when you insisted on it, it’s usually a bad look to move back in.”

I wait until the two gulps of black coffee have worked their magic before I turn to wrinkle my nose and give Nico a stink eye.

“I’m allowed to visit, dickhead.”

He grins. Dad gives him a lighthearted cuff upside the head. “She’s welcome back here anytime. You got that, Bumblebee? Any time.”

I grin at my favorite nickname of his for me.

“Why thank you, Father.”

Technically, Vito isn’t my father. At least not biologically. Nor is he Dante’s—my oldest brother, who’s currently leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee. I don’t really have any memories of our real dad, because I was only two when he and Mom died. But he was a close friend of Vito’s—he was his personal tailor, actually. And Dante grew up playing with Carmy and Nico as if they were cousins, or even brothers. Claudia, our older sister, did as well.

So when Mom and Dad passed, Vito immediately took us in as his own and raised us as three other kids in the Barone family.

Dante frowns as his gaze lands on the Band-Aids on both my knees, not to mention the bruises on other parts of my legs. The hoodie’s covering the bruises on my arms from last night. But it’s not like I knew I was crashing at my dad’s house when I left for work yesterday morning, and all I had here were sleep shorts.

“What the hell?” he growls with a mix of accusation and concern. That’s pretty much Dante in a nutshell. A little bossy, a little grumpy, and a lot overprotective. At least he’s mellowed a bit these days since marrying Tempest.

I shrug nonchalantly, trying not to tense when everyone else in the kitchen frowns and studies my bruises.

“Just work. A lift went sideways and I got banged up. It’s no big deal.”

Actually, it might be. I had a ton of missed calls and texts from Alicia when I got in last night. I didn’t feel like talking about what had happened—I’m not sure I could have talked about it last night, since I was shaking so hard. But after I cleaned up, I did send her a text that I was home and okay after running away from the two guys who attacked us.

I’ll deal with the fact that she and Irena left me there later.

That, and the last text she sent me last night that I never replied to:

I have no idea how much money seven bricks of cocaine is worth. But I feel like it might be a lot. That’s between Alicia and Grisha, though.

“What are you all doing here?”

Carmy shrugs. “I was nearby this morning.”

I roll my eyes. “Did you catch her name at any point?”

“Har, har, har,” he drawls. “I was nearby on business, brat. Besides,” he grins. “You know I never actually sleep over.”

“Such a gentleman.”

Carmy snickers as he turns to Dad. “Back me up here, Pop.”

Vito lifts his shoulders. “I mean, sometimes, the ladies… They want you to stay over, you know? A little cuddling, a little pillow talk…”

I make a face and cover my ears. “Oh my God, I am not listening to this.”

Nico laughs and nods his chin at Dante. “I was with this guy. He wanted to show dad the new online portal for Venom.”

Dante is the owner and operator of Club Venom, an ultra-exclusive, members-only club that caters mostly to New York’s most dangerous and elite…and, frankly, most deviant. On the surface, it’s an ultra-cool club decorated somewhere between the glamor of the roaring twenties and the sultriness of Eyes Wide Shut.

It also happens to be a place where its members can act out different, usually fairly aggressive kinks. Names are discouraged, everyone wears these sort of Venetian carnival masks, and members sport different colored wristbands advertising what they’re into.

Or…so I’ve been told. Obviously, I’ve never been. Not because I don’t want to go, but because Dante is a tyrant and the world’s most over-protective older brother in the universe who still treats me like I’m seven. Which means I’m forbidden from entering Club Venom.

I’ve heard of this online portal thing before, though. Dante and Tempest had this idea a few months ago to make some kinks available to…off-site participation.

My skin tingles as I rake my teeth over my bottom lip.

By “some kinks” I mean “my kink”. One of them, anyway. The biggest one.

Primal play.

Being chased and caught. Being forced down and taken, roughly, with or without consent.

There might be more than a few things wrong with me, but I digress.

“Getting your rocks off via the internet,” Vito sighs, shaking his head ruefully. “Hell of a time we live in.”

Nico shakes his head. “Dad apparently has never heard of Tinder.”

“Wanna bet?”

Even my brothers blanch this time, gagging as they laugh. Vito and his wife, Giada Barone, were never exactly a normal couple. They were either at each other’s throats, or in bed with each other—or, more frequently, in other people’s beds. I honestly don’t need to know the specifics of their relationship at all.

But given all that, Giada was pretty frequently out of the picture, sometimes for months on end. When I say Vito raised Claudia, Dante, and I alongside his sons, I really do mean that Vito did. I loved Giada, and of course I mourned when she died six years ago. But she and I were not nearly as close as I am with my dad.

Vito laughs, waving us all off before patting his chest. “Hey, I’m old, not dead. And if there’s still lead in the pencil⁠—”

“Jesus Christ, Pop,” Nico makes a gagging face. “Let’s never mention the fucking lead in your pencil ever again, yeah?”

“Amen to that, fuck,” Carmy mutters. He runs his hand over the scruff on his jaw before he turns to our dad again. “By the way, I got the updated financials from Ares’ team last night for the West Side development.”

Vito nods slowly. “We still good there?”

“Golden. Projections changed a little, but not significantly. If you’re still sure you want to sell, Ares is still in for the agreed-upon amount.”

The development they’re talking about is an old, unused, fifteen-story building on the West Side of Manhattan, projecting over the Hudson River. Dad picked it up for a bargain over ten years ago, though he never developed it. But since then, the value has skyrocketed. And when Vito made it known he’d be entertaining offers, they poured in.

For the last few months, there’s been a crazy bidding war between the Drakos family, who are Greek mafia, and Davit Kirakosian, the head of an Albanian crime family. But recently, the Drakos family aggressively upped their offer, ending the Albanian’s interest.

The Drakos’ plans for the property apparently include a luxury boutique hotel, high-end condos, retail, and a restaurant space. So yeah, long term, yeah, the property is going to be worth a fuck of a lot more than it is now. But that’s after the upfront costs, the years it’s going to take to build, and all those expenses. Not to mention the headache of running the place once it’s up. To Dad, taking a gigantic lump sum right now instead of dealing with all that b.s. looked like a better option. Plus, Ares is okay with letting the same local ironworkers union who was working on it continue to do so. Which makes dad look like a superhero.

It’s a total win win. Which is surprising, given that our dad actually hates⁠—

“That fuckin’ family,” Vito grumps. “I’m telling you, the second that check clears, that’s the last time I wanna talk to or even see a single one of those fuckin’ barbarians.” He sighs. “Anyway, I gotta get my ass to the office.”

“Same,” Dante sighs. He turns to catch my eye. “You sticking around here for a while?”

“Eh, I should head home soon and get some stuff done before heading to the theater.”

“You ready now? I can give you a ride if you want.”

I grin. “That’d be perfect, thanks.”

I say goodbye to my dad, Carmy and Nico, get my stuff, then follow Dante outside to his Range Rover. After I climb into the passenger seat, he frowns as he turns to me.

“What?”

“You wanna tell me why you slept over at Vito’s last night?”

It’s a weird quirk between us. I call him “Dad” because Vito is the only father I ever really knew. But Dante was fifteen when our parents died. He still loves Vito like a father. But he already knew another man way too well as “Dad” ever to call Vito that.

I get it.

I find myself shrinking a little from his question. Putting walls up, as if hiding guilt. Dante and I are close. But I don’t think I’m ready to tell him what actually happened last night.

Once again, weirdly, my thoughts don’t focus on the danger and the horror of last night. Instead, they settle on the faceless beast with the neon eyes and mouth. The enormous monster who killed two men right in front of me, put his hands around my throat, and sent a spark of something vicious deep into my core. A masked man who then proceeded to run rampant through my dreams last night⁠—

“I had a hard day.”

I mean, it’s not a total lie.

“I guess I was just homesick?”

Dante’s brows knit as he slowly nods. “And the bruises?”

“I already told you: happened at work.”

“You don’t usually get banged up like that, though.”

I roll my eyes, huffing loudly to cover the panic in my chest. “Well, I didn’t expect I’d be facing the Spanish Inquisition.”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he grins, quoting the Monty Python movie we’ve both seen a gazillion times.

“Actually, common misconception. Everyone expected the Spanish Inquisition. They used to send notices months in advance before someone was questioned.”

“Amazing. You do read more than just those creepy true crime books.”

“Ha ha ha,” I toss back dryly.

Dante turns to grin at me before a shadow crosses his face. “Hey—speaking of which, do me a favor.”

My brow arches. “Okayyy?”

“No going out late by yourself right now.”

I frown. “I mean, I don’t, but why?”

He shrugs. “Just lookin’ out for you. I can put some of my guys or some of Vito’s men on your detail⁠—”

“Hard pass,” I shake my head. “I don’t need bodyguards, and I definitely don’t need any big goons following me around. Not that Madame Kuzmina would even let them into the building during a rehearsal.”

Dante’s mouth turns up a little at the corners, but his demeanor stays scowly.

“What’s going on, Dante?”

His mouth twists. “I just want you to be safe.”

“Bullshit. You’re keeping something from me.” I frown. “You know if you hold out on me, I’ll just get Tempest to flip.”

My older brother exhales heavily. “Fine. There’s just been some reports of…” He lifts a shoulder, his eyes firmly on the road. “There might be a new player in town.”

I swallow uneasily. “Oh?”

Dante frowns. “Yeah. Someone took out two former enforcers for the Carveli family last night.”

My pulse skips. I usually stay out of most things “family”—by which I mean “criminal”. But it’s been impossible to ignore the political drama affecting the Italian mafia world over the last few months, after the Carveli family was basically wiped off the board.

“Took out?”

“Killed, Bianca. Viciously, too. Possibly a drug deal gone bad. But no one in our world typically slashes throats.”

My heart tightens for a second, my blood running cold as it all comes rushing back. The violence. The savagery. The raw power lurking behind the creepy neon smile and crossed-out eyes of that inky mask.

“You know what, it’s probably just some old beef with the Carveli family. I’m done trying to freak my baby sister out.”

I smile weakly. Dante grins at me.

“As if you’re not immune to being freaked out by anything anymore, after all that creepy horror shit you read.”

“True crime.”

Dante rolls his eyes as he pulls up outside of my building. “Whatever. Just be safe out there, okay?”

Once again, my mind flashes back to the events of last night. The blood and the violence. The raw power in his huge arms and shoulders. The sinister blackness behind his mask, like ink pooling in water.

…The sinful dreams that chased me all night afterward.

“Bianca—”

“Relax, Dante,” I grin as I open the Range Rover’s door. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for murderous psychos.”

His jaw tightens. “Bianca⁠—”

“I’ll be fine, Dante. Hi to Tempest for me. Bye.”