Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance
Toxic Love: Chapter 12

It’s two in the morning when I get the alert on my phone.

Since I left Tempest the temptation in that VIP room at Doomsday, I’ve holed up in my office at Venom.

Contrary to popular assumptions, my work does not involve hunching over an array of screens jerking off while I watch people fuck on camera.

Although yes, my job certainly does entail walking around the club, shaking hands or having a drink with various people. And while I’m doing that, there could be twenty or forty people fucking literally five feet away—all masked, all wearing bracelets indicating their preferred kinks and roles.

But I don’t join in. I’ve never joined in.

Like I said, I don’t shit where I eat.

When the alert on my phone goes off, I’ve just stepped back into my office after having a quick drink out on the floor with Konstantin Reznikov and his wife, Mara. Konstantin runs the immensely powerful Reznikov Bratva together with his brother, and recently moved back to New York after the birth of his twin daughters about a year ago.

Knowing Konstantin’s notorious overprotectiveness and jealousy concerning Mara, I was a little surprised when he reached out about them both becoming members. But they come to have a drink now and then, and yes, maybe watch whatever “group show” is being put on in the main rooms while they’re here. But it’s watching only.

Fine by me. Besides, Konstantin is a powerful ally to have.

I glare at my phone, lifting it from my desk. I mostly commute to my Hamptons house after work. But I do keep a penthouse here in the city that I occasionally stay in if it’s been an exceptionally late night. And right now, my phone’s just told me that someone’s just entered said penthouse.

They’ve inputted the correct security code, but it took them three fucking tries, which seems…off. I scowl as I open the app to check the security cameras, hoping it’s just Bianca. She occasionally crashes at my penthouse if she’s had a long rehearsal that gets out late, instead of trekking all the way uptown to her place.

I flip to the cameras and start thumbing through them. Instantly, the hairs on the back of my neck go up.

Fuck.

It’s Bianca all right, sprawled on one of the couches in my living room, utterly motionless. And when I switch to a different camera angle, a figure in all black darts across the screen and then disappears.

Motherfucker.

It’s a strange line that I straddle. On the one hand, I mingle with the darkness: the mafiosos, the bratva kingpins, Italian and Greek mafia, and Japanese Yakuza. They all come to Club Venom.

But darkness, depravity, and deviance aren’t just for those who operate outside the law. Venom also has its fair share of those very much inside the law, or at least those who know how to bend it. Politicians, lawyers, captains of industry. It’s one of the reasons Venom is an anonymous club, where all members wear masks everywhere.

So I exist somewhere between light and dark. I’m not a mafia thug, but I’m not exactly a good man, either. It’s because of that gray area I live in that I can’t just barge into my penthouse guns blazing.

I mean, I have neighbors to consider.

So I slip in through an emergency door in the pantry of my kitchen that unlocks with my thumbprint. I make sure the silencer on my gun is fitted tight as I creep through the darkness. In the living room, I clear the corners before bolting silently to where Bianca is still slumped motionless on the couch.

If she’s hurt, this is where my restraint will end, and an entire city block will know the wrath I dole out on whoever is still in my penthouse.

But even before I touch her neck to find a pulse, my jaw clenches.

Goddammit.

She’s not hurt or knocked out.

She’s wasted.

I can smell the booze on her a foot away, and when my eyes adjust to the darkness of the living room, it’s clear she’s sleeping off one hell of a night, not an attack.

So who the fuck else is here?

The sound of shuffling rips my attention from my sister to the doorway. The gun raises in my hand as I walk silently, following the rustling sound upstairs, and then down the hallway to the office. The door is ajar, the desk light is on, and I use the silencer to gently and quietly push the door open a little wider.

A figure in black, a hood up, is hunched over my desk, rummaging through the drawers.

Not today, motherfucker.

I could shoot them right now and end this. But fuck that. I want to know who dragged my sister back here half-unconscious, and possibly used her to unlock the front door. And I really want to know what the fuck they’re looking for.

I move like a wraith, crossing the distance between me and the intruder in seconds. Then I slam into him, pinning him to the desk with a snarl on my lips, my hand wrapped around his fucking throat, and my gun pressed to his temple.

“Who the fuck⁠—”

“Get your hands off of me!”

I freeze.

Tempest.

I instantly draw the gun away, thumbing on the safety and jamming it into the waist of my pants at the back. I violently twist her around and keep her pinned to the desk as I grab a handful of the front of her hoodie and leer down into her glaring eyes.

“My, my, my,” I growl quietly. “What the fuck do we have here?”

“Take. Your. Hands⁠—”

“As soon as you tell me what the fuck you’re doing in here.”

My eyes slide past her to the mess of papers on my desk and the open drawers.

She was snooping. Looking for something.

Spying.

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed my mind. And in this moment, with her caught red-handed, the idea is suddenly rammed into the front of my brain again.

…The idea that Tempest Black inking her name on that blood maker was not simply because she’s an impetuous agent of chaos, but because somebody wants her to be ushered into my inner circle, so she has access to things she might not otherwise have.

Somebody like her grandfather.

“What were you looking for?” I growl.

Tempest raises her chin defiantly, her eyes locking with mine.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“A stamp. I need to mail a letter.”

My lips pull to a hooked, barbed smile. “We’re going to play it like that, are we?”

It suddenly hits me that Tempest is still probably wearing her club dress and heels under the oversized black hoodie.

“Play it like⁠—”

“Take off your sweatshirt.”

Her cheeks flush.

“Excuse me? Dante, I’m here because Bianca brought me here. Jesus. She had a bit too much⁠—”

“More than a bit,” I snap. “She’s shitfaced. She doesn’t get like that.”

Tempest glares at me. “So, now I’m a bad influence?”

“Your words.”

She rolls her eyes. “I barely drink myself. And we only came here because she said it was closer than her place and I didn’t want her to go home alone.”

“I see,” I smile thinly. “And at which point in this noble endeavor did you decide to paw through my office?”

I can see the wheels turning in her head. She shrugs casually, but I know people. I can read them like books. This this girl is hiding something.

“I already told you, I was looking for a⁠—”

“Yes, a stamp. For all those letters that desperately need to be mailed at two-thirty in the fucking morning.”

Tempest sucks on her teeth.

“I didn’t find any,” she mutters quietly, squirming a little in my iron grasp.

“Then prove it. Empty your pockets.”

She blinks quickly. “The fuck, dude⁠—”

“Empty. Your. Pockets.”

She does, turning out the pockets in her hoodie to show that they’re empty.

“Take off your fucking hoodie.”

“What?”

“Take off your hoodie, or I’ll do it for you.”

The room goes silent.

“Fine,” she hisses. She unzips the hoodie, her eyes avoiding mine as she opens it and spreads it wide. “See? No stamp—hey!”

She gasps when I grab the hoodie out of her hands and shove it wide open and then down over her arms.

My blood thuds in my ears and scorches under my skin like napalm. My eyes drag over her skin-tight black club dress—strapless, short, and…tempting.

Too tempting. Too provocative.

Too alluring.

“See?” She mutters. “No stamp⁠—”

“What were you really looking for.”

Her eyes snap to mine. I can see those wheels turning again, looking for an out. An excuse. A lie.

“Don’t even try, little hurricane,” I growl quietly, shaking my head as I grab her wrists and pin them to the edge of the desk behind her. Tempest’s breath catches as our bodies press tight.

“Don’t lie, because I will see right through it.”

“I wasn’t⁠—”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Her face flushes, her eyes flickering with a fire behind them. “Let go of me.”

“Was it Charles?” I growl. “Is that who you’re doing this for?”

Her brows knit. “What? Fuck, no!”

“Then who?”

“No one!” She hurls back at me. “Dante, I didn’t take anything, okay!?”

“Let’s find out.”

I don’t think, though I probably should. I don’t slow down, though I definitely should. And I don’t stop myself, though it’ll be my fucking ruin. I just spin her, pin her to the desk with the weight of my body, and grab the zipper in the middle of her shoulderblades with two fingers.

“Dante—!”

The way she chokes out my name, it’s not fear. It’s not shock, or horror. And it’s not a warning.

It’s an invitation.

A fucking dare.

I can feel her body shiver as I tug the zipper down, letting the dress peel away from her soft skin. I move unhurriedly; slowly, patiently.

Methodically.

I let the zipper bump over each individual tooth, letting inch after inch of her pale, soft skin come under my gaze in the dim light. I watch the goosebumps flutter over her back. I hear the way her breath catches, feel the way her body shivers.

…The way her ass subtly presses into me and tenses when she feels how fucking hard I am.

When I bring the zipper to the small of her back, the front of the strapless dress falls away. My eyes raise to the reflection of the room in the window, my gaze locking on her sweet, soft tits.

This isn’t about fucking thievery anymore. It’s not about whatever the fuck I’m still vainly trying to tell myself I’m looking for—what, documents? As if she’s a spy out of Mission Impossible?

The dress unzips all the way and drops to the floor, much like the lies I’ve still been trying to tell myself. Suddenly, I’m not hunting for stolen documents on a would-be thief or looking for her lies.

I’m just a man with his hands on a woman he wants.

And the woman is stunning.

It’s clear that Tempest doesn’t eat enough. Her ribs are far too visible, her arms much too thin. But neither of those things does shit to diminish her beauty and allure. Even having seen her in something other than her usual punk-rock princess attire, like the flirty club dress, or the gown she wore to the party the other night…none of it has prepared me for seeing Tempest like this.

…Bare to me except for a tiny little black thong tight between the taut globes of her ass.

Waifish and breakable, and yet so fucking womanly it takes everything I have not to groan. There’s something disturbingly sexy about the way she shivers as her breath catches in her throat. The way her light pink, almost ghostly pale nipples harden to points in her reflection before me.

The way she whimpers when I grab a fistful of her hair.

“Show me where it is, little hurricane,” I rasp into her ear as my control begins to shatter like broken glass. “Show me where you’ve hidden it.”

“I…I haven’t…”

She’s shaking. But it’s not fear doing that.

It’s me.

I can tell by the way her body subtly pushes back into me. The way her back arches, and her ass moves against the bulge in my pants.

Her arms are taut as steel bands, her nails digging into the edge of the desk. I slide my hands up them, relishing the shiver that ripples through her body.

“Is it here?”

She whimpers again as I brush her hair aside and trace the backs of my knuckles over the soft skin of her neck.

“No…” she whispers in a throaty, aching tone.

She shudders when my hand circles her neck, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her throat and jaw as I twist her head toward me. Her eyes are hooded, almost closed. Then slowly, they open to stab right into mine with greenish-hazel fire.

My other hand slides to her hip, making her mewl softly as her teeth quickly bite down on her bottom lip. My hand slips higher, tracing over her ribs and then over her sternum, a single finger teasing up between her breasts.

“How about here…” I murmur darkly.

Tempest shivers, shaking her head. “No…”

“I’ll find it, little hurricane,” I growl quietly.

“I didn’t⁠—”

“I’ll find every little thing you’ve ever hidden. Every stolen thought. Every buried secret.”

Tempest whimpers so deeply it’s almost a moan. Her body shudders against mine, her chest rising and falling as my finger teases just underneath her breasts.

Then my hand slips lower.

And lower.

And lower, teasing over the soft skin of her stomach as it caves under my touch.

“Where is it, Tempest,” I murmur.

Her eyes bulge wide, her jaw dropping and falling open as my fingertips brush the lacy edge of her panties. I swear to fuck, I can feel the heat of her pussy even from here. Feel the way her body clenches and tenses, and the way her skin hums beneath my touch.

“If you don’t want to tell me,” I murmur, my mouth inches from her lips, “then I suppose I’ll be forced to fucking find it myself.”

Tempest moans, loud, when my hand crosses the final barrier between us and slips into her lacy panties. My fingers delve deep between her legs, and I growl when I feel exactly how fucking soaked she is.

Silky-soft petal lips open at my touch. Slickness coats my fingers as I drag them up through her seam and roll one over her throbbing clit.

“Where have you hidden it, little thief,” I murmur an inch from her quivering mouth. “Maybe it’s in here…”

I sink two fingers into her in one thrust, gritting my teeth and feeling my dick throb at the insane tightness of her. Her silky walls and sticky heat envelop me and suck my fingers deeper, greedily. Her eyes fly open as the moan she’s fucking powerless to stop comes pouring out of her mouth.

My fingers curl deep, stroking in and out against her g-spot as my palm grinds against her needy clit. I push against her, pinning her to the desk, caught between my hand and my throbbing cock against her ass.

“I’ll find it, Tempest,” I growl, my fingers stroking in and out over and over. Her legs begin to tremble, and when her mouth falls open in a wail of pleasure, I start to finger her even harder and faster.

“…And if I don’t, I’ll take your fucking cum all over my fingers as collateral until I do.”

Her legs buckle and her eyes roll back in her head as she clings to the desk with white knuckles, her nails digging into the wood. Her stomach clenches and ripples, her cunt greedily clamping tighter around my fingers as I fuck her with them.

“Oh my fucking God…”

“You can call me whatever you want, little hurricane,” I rasp right at her lips. “But you will fucking come all over my hand right the fuck now.”

Her body goes rigid, her legs clamping tight together as a moan of pure release explodes from her mouth.

…Right as I slam mine to hers and swallow every decibel of it.

There’s no walking back from this edge now.