Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance -
Toxic Love: Chapter 20
A week and a half later, my first “outing” as Dante’s wife is not, in fact, the disaster I thought it would be.
It’s twice the disaster I thought it would be.
In my defense, my mental fog was especially bad that evening. Also, cigar lounges are gross, and Dante’s three “potential investors” were piggish older douches who were all but straight up asking Dante if investing in Venom directly equaled free sexual favors from “the girls”. And that was right in front of their wives, which I’d feel badly about if they weren’t just as gross as their husbands.
“I’m not doing that again.”
I make a face as I sniff, still smelling the overwhelmingly stinky scent of cigar smoke on my skin.
“Yeah, but, the thing is,” Dante mutters, walking past me and flicking on one of the lights in the penthouse living room, “you are.”
“No fucking way. That was terrible.”
He turns to level a look at me. “Well, it might have helped to be present at the table.”
There’s a chance I snuck off to the bathroom a few times during dinner. Okay, ten times. Not because of any medical issue, I just couldn’t stand to sit there pretending I couldn’t hear the men’s awful conversation while simultaneously pretending I gave a shit about the Kardashians and The Real Housewives of Duluth or whatever the hell the wives were talking about.
“I was there,” I mutter back at him as he shrugs off his jacket. “I never said I’d be the life of the party. And those women were awful. One of them sent her entree back three fucking times. I mean tell me that’s not just a shitty power play.”
Dante frowns. “Who cares if it is?”
“I do! And another of them asked me if I had cocaine on me as casually as if she was asking me the fucking time!” I scowl. “I mean, are you kidding me?”
Dante folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the curved steps that lead up to the second floor.
“Did you?”
I stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“Did you have coke on you?”
“What? Why the hell would you think I have cocaine?”
“Gee, I dunno, Tempest,” he growls, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching in a way that is way too hot. “Maybe it’s the fact that you literally had zero bites of dinner, went to the bathroom a thousand times, and were talking a mile a minute when you did deign to join the conversation.”
I glare at him. “I wasn’t hungry. The cigar smoke killed my appetite. And I was nervous. I babble when I’m nervous.”
“Do you need to see a doctor about your bathroom usage?”
I roll my eyes. “I was escaping. Chill.”
He shoots me a look before he starts to take off his shirt.
“Ummm, what are you doing?” I blurt, my face flushing a little as he shrugs off the white linen, giving me an eyeful of his firm chest, chiseled abs, and those goddamn v-lines delving into the waist of his pants.
“I have to change and then get to Venom for a thing, but I’m showering first.” His brow arches, a smirk creeping over his lips. “Care to join me?”
I know it’s not a real invitation. He’s saying it to ruffle my feathers, to see if I’ll pathetically say yes.
And, yeah, if we’re being honest, there’s a very large part of me that does want to say yes to joining Dante in a shower. Because again, I’ve been given a hit of the dragon now, so to speak, and seen what this man can do sexually. And now almost two weeks later, without him so much as touching me, I’m quite honestly climbing the goddamn walls out of frustration.
But there is no way in hell I’m going to be Dante’s little “piece” sitting at home waiting to give him his release when he wants it.
I might be dying, but it’s not from a complete lack of self-respect.
“I’ll pass.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He turns and starts to climb the staircase. “Don’t wait up, dear.”
Two hours after Dante leaves to go back to Club Venom, at one in the morning, I’m still wide awake in the huge, glass-walled living room when Jeff calls.
They say the past is best left there. But when your past fucked you up as much as mine did, that’s easier said than done. I can’t just let the past stay there, because those monsters still haunt me, even if two of them are dead now.
I’m know there’s more of them out there, but there have always been three that live rent-free in my head, even seven years later. The first—the man who held me down even though I couldn’t even move from the drugs I’d been given—is gone.
I’ve spent the last few years hunting for the other two men—the ones who killed Nina. For justice. For revenge. For her.
The day of our wedding, Dante told me one of those two was also dead: the one who held her throat, the one who wore the lion ring on his finger with one blue and one red eye. The ring that now sits in a box in Dante’s office, that he called a trophy.
But the last of them is still out there. That’s where Jeff comes in.
“Tempest, hi. I hope I’m not waking you.”
“Not at all.”
Jeff works as an investigator for Crown and Black. He digs shit up for them that they might need for cases. But Jeff also has a habit of staring at my tits, a lot, which is how I ended up asking for his help a year ago.
Basically, I pay him a retainer, and he uses his network of informants to keep an ear out for a man with a gold lion ring. It’s a long shot, but you never know.
“I think I might have something for you, Tempest.”
I go still, sitting bolt upright on the couch.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. A woman who’s done some work for me in the past and owes me some favors works concierge for this super exclusive club.”
My brows knit. “And?”
“And, I’ve had her keeping an eye out for your lion ring, and she just texted me to say a rich dude wearing one exactly like you described just walked in.”
Holy shit.
“Jeff, that’s amazing. Thank you! What’s the—”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he grunts. “I just did a drive by to scope it out. It’s a dead end.”
Fuck. “Why?”
“Because the place is as exclusive as it gets. It’s all hush-hush, invite, members only. I’ve heard of this place, Tempest. It’s like one of those Eyes Wide Shut kinky-ass sex clubs.”
I blink.
No. Fucking. Way.
“It’s called Venom. Club Venom. And listen, I can pull strings, but there’s no strings in the city you can pull to get you into that place—”
“She’s sure?” I blurt. “This woman you know?”
“She says she’s positive.”
“Thanks, Jeff.”
I hang up and take a deep breath.
Time to hunt monsters.
I could say that the ends justify the means. I could blame the period approaching at the end of my sentence. Still, neither of those makes this okay.
I straighten my black cocktail dress and my mask before I take a deep breath and walk through the unassuming front doors of Club Venom.
It’s not my first time here.
It’s my fourth.
I’m not a member. At least, Tempest Black isn’t a member. But I’m not Tempest Black tonight.
I smile as I approach the concierge desk, where a pretty young woman with dark hair—Jeff’s contact, I suppose—smiles at me.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
“Good evening.” I slip the membership card out of my clutch and pass it across the desk to her. She looks at it, then me, teetering in the tallest heels I own, as I tuck a lock of the red wig behind my ear.
She smiles at me. “Welcome back, Ms. Crown. Please, right this way.”
To quote Dwight Schrute, “Identify theft is not a joke, Jim”. But tonight, same as the last three times I’ve been here, it’s necessary, even if it makes me a terrible friend.
Taylor keeps her Club Venom membership card in her desk at Crown and Black, probably because she never comes here unless it’s for a work-related thing, and plus I’ll bet she doesn’t want anyone in the know to spot it in her wallet or something.
Discovering this is how I was able to start coming here, prowling for monsters. I know Club Venom is not the clubhouse for the men who attacked Nina and me that night. But it’s a place that might appeal to men like that: rich, powerful men who don’t fear consequences, and might like the sexual dynamics that places like Venom allow its members to enact.
So tonight, same as before, I used Gabriel’s code to get into Crown and Black after hours, let myself into Taylor’s office, and snagged her membership card from her desk. Then I put on the tallest heels I could to get close to her height, donned a black cocktail dress and a redheaded wig, and took a taxi here.
The last three times were just me aimlessly looking for clues. This time, thanks to Jeff’s contact, I’ve got a solid target.
I just have to find him without anyone realizing I’m a fraud—namely the grumpy jerk who runs this place, that I happen to be married to.
…I’m guessing he would be, shall we say, less than pleased to find me here.
I follow the concierge into the next room, past two security guys in black suits with gold and black carnival masks covering the top halves of their faces. My mask is already on, but I still instinctively reach up to make sure it’s secure.
Another door opens, and a stunning blonde in essentially nothing but a mask and the world’s most see-through golden mesh cocktail dress—with nothing on beneath it—slips into the room, holding a wooden box. She lifts the lid wordlessly, revealing an array of bracelets in gold, green, blue, white, and other colors, accented with gold and black in various combinations.
It’s the club’s kink signifiers, so that potential playmates can look for a suitable partner. Red, for example, means you’re into sadomasochism. Red with black lines across it indicates you’re a Dom; gold lines, a submissive.
In my previous visits, I’ve always chosen white with gold, showing I’m just here as an observer. But tonight, I pick something different: light blue with gold.
It means I’m open to persuasion.
“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Crown.”
I follow the gorgeous girl in the see-through cocktail dress down a dark hallway with matte-black walls and gold sconces. Sultry club music thuds through the floor as we enter one of the smaller side rooms.
There’s no stopping the blush that spreads across my face.
On a small couch, a naked brunette with bronzed skin and gorgeous tattoos running down both arms bounces on the lap of a muscled, even more tattooed man. It’s almost impossible not to stare at where they join, her pink pussy stretched around his girth as she rides every impressive inch, her breasts swaying.
Next to them, a dark-skinned girl has her face buried between the thighs of a blonde, making the girl squeal and moan around the thick cock fucking her throat.
Yeah…welcome to Club Venom.
The blonde looks up and catches me watching before I can look away. She grins a sultry smile as she slides her mouth from the man’s glistening cock, giving it a cheeky lick before she beckons me to join them with one finger.
My face explodes with heat as I awkwardly look away and quickly bolt after my guide into the main room.
If that appetizer in the first room is enough to make me blush, the main course spread out in the central room of Club Venom is enough to turn me into a puddle. I’ve seen it before, but holy hell, I don’t know how anyone could get used to seeing this without leaving their jaw on the floor.
The scene in front of me can only be described as an orgy.
There are smaller surrounding rooms, like the one I walked through a second ago. And there are private rooms elsewhere in the building. But it’s this main room where the true hedonism of Club Venom is on full display.
“Enjoy your night, ma’am.”
The guide leaves me with a wink that I barely register, given that I’m staring dumbfounded at the scene in front of me.
The room is done in the same matte-black walls and gilded gold sconces and light fixtures as the hallway, accented with dark red, and has a vibe somewhere between Eyes Wide Shut and a 1920’s speakeasy. There are two bars along two sides, with gorgeous, scantily clad male and female staff passing trays of champagne and cocktails.
The main focus, without question, is the very center of the room.
Because there, spread out across a couple of couches and a huge bed approximately twice the size of a king, is almost every combination of couples, throuples, and groups you could imagine.
Every hair color. Every skin tone. Every combination of orifice to appendage, and every pitch and tenor of moans and groans. The men’s bodies are gorgeous, the women’s are stunning, and you can spot the different criminal connections from the different tattoo ink on show: Italian Mafia, Russian Bratva, Japanese Yakuza, and some I don’t even recognize.
A slender woman with ginger hair and surgically enhanced breasts chokes out an intense moan of pleasure as two muscled guys with Bratva ink on their chests and arms hold her tight and slowly push their thick cocks into her—one underneath her, sliding up into her pussy, the other crouched over her, feeding his cock up her ass.
It takes a lot to keep my jaw from slamming to the floor. I mean, holy fuck.
Next to them on another couch, a stunning man with Irish knots tattooed all the way down both arms is fucking the absolute shit out of a blonde girl who looks like she’s in outer space from the look of bliss in her eyes through her mask. The man groans, pounding into her bare, swollen, pink pussy with one hand wrapped around her throat as the other brutally pinches her nipples. He gives each of her breasts a firm slap, then does the same to her clit as she shrieks in pleasure.
I notice his bracelet is red and black; hers is red and gold.
So their thing is sadomasochism; him a Dom, her a sub.
I’d never admit it to anyone, but I could stand here all night watching the erotic, raw, sensual display in front of me. But I’m not here to watch, squeezing my thighs together as my panties turn to a soaked mess under my cocktail dress.
I’m here to hunt.
So I pull my eyes away from the orgy and start to slowly make my way around the room. I pluck a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, taking a small sip as my gaze drifts over the various male fingers.
For a moment, I think I’ve spotted what I’m looking for. But it turns out to be brass, not gold. Another ring is gold and chunky, but as I get closer, I realize the man wearing it is in his fifties, which makes him too old to be who I’m looking for. Plus, it’s not a lion ring at all.
Fuck.
I’m beginning to think the woman at the front desk was mistaken when I suddenly feel a presence behind me.
“It appears you’re looking for something in particular.”
Sweet Jesus, no.
It takes everything I have not to whirl around and destroy him with my bare hands right here in front of all of these people, and I physically choke back a gagging sensation.
It’s him.
I know even before I turn around, from the slight French accent, and a tone I couldn’t forget if I tried.
It’s the man who, along with his buddy, killed Nina, not three feet from where a piece of my soul was being ripped out.
I take a shaky breath as I force myself to turn around. I do my best not to, but I still physically wince and recoil a little when I see it: his hand, wrapped around a glass of scotch, with the golden lion’s head ring with two blueish-white diamond eyes looking right at me.
“Have you found it yet?”
I blink, nausea rolling over me as I stare at the lion’s face.
“Miss? Hello??”
I blink again, flinching. It’s like someone’s just snapped their fingers to bring me out of a trance. I drag my eyes up to his, steeling myself as I force myself not to gag.
“Not yet,” I smile.
The man is a little older, of course, and wearing a mask. But I’d know him anywhere. He grins a toothy smile, his eyes dropping to my cleavage.
“Maybe I can help you find what you seek.”
I stiffen as he moves closer to me and he chuckles, tsking with his teeth.
“You don’t need to be frightened, mon petite.”
My blood turns to ice when his hand wanders over my hip, and I really do almost throw up.
“What is it you’re looking for tonight?”
“I…I’m not sure. I—”
“Ah, then maybe you need to be shown.”
I start to close myself off. I have to. I need to put up walls between my soul—the real “me”—and the rest of my brain.
I fight back the nausea as I reach out and trace one of my fingers over his hand holding the glass.
“I like your ring,” I smile.
The man grins. “You like danger, then.” His eyes raise curiously to mine, peering at me from behind his matte black and gold mask. “You’ve seen a ring like this before?”
I’m not sure how to answer. Yes? And risk him cluing into my motives? Or no?
I throw caution to the wind.
“Yes,” I croak, trying to sound shy.
His lips curl. “Ahh, then you do like to have fun.”
I lift a shoulder coquettishly. “Maybe.” I nod at the ring again. “What does it mean?”
He chuckles, a salacious edge to his laugh. “What do I get if I tell you?”
God, I feel sick. I want to throw up. Or scream. Or snap the stem of my champagne flute and stab him in the eye with it.
“My…gratitude?” I say hopefully, batting my eyes under my mask and flashing a coy grin.
His smile darkens, and for the first time, I notice that he’s wearing a red and black band on his wrist.
“And how will you demonstrate that gratitude?”
It takes everything I have not to scream right here and now. My blood turns to ice and bile rises in my throat when he touches my wrist and leans close.
“Perhaps we should go somewhere and discuss it in private.”
Before I can even answer, he grabs my hand tightly and all but drags me behind him as he marches out of the main room. He hauls me down a dark hallway, a loud, whining sound filling my ears.
I’ve pictured this scenario a thousand times from the safety of my own bed. I’ve imagined hunting down the pieces of shit who killed Nina and killing them in ways that would make Quentin Tarantino blush.
But fantasies are one thing. Reality is another. And suddenly, I’m being forced to ask myself: do I have it in me to do this?
“Tell me,” the man growls as we come to a stop in front of a blood-red door with the black Club Venom emblem of a viper on it. “Will you scream for me?”
My stomach heaves.
“Depends,” I manage to choke out in what I hope is a sexy voice. “Will you make me scream?”
His eyes level with mine. “Oh, definitely.”
He opens the door, pulling me roughly inside before shutting it behind us.
I’ve made three other visits to Venom, but this is the first time I’ve been in one of the opulent private rooms. All matte black, blood red, and gold. No windows. Dark leather furniture, a roaring fireplace taking up an entire wall, a bar, and a huge four-poster bed draped with a red duvet emblazoned with a gold viper.
And a table.
It’s laid out with what I can only describe as instruments of torture.
Fear rakes its nails down my back and I glance nervously toward the bar.
“Maybe we should have another drink—”
I choke as the man grabs me by the neck and slams me into a wall.
“How about instead you get on your fucking knees,” he snarls. “So I—”
“Let me…” it takes everything I have to smile coquettishly at him. “Let me go freshen up. Get out of all these clothes?”
“Yes,” he purrs. “Yes, go do that. Take it all off. I want the full canvas of your skin to mark.”
Fuck you, you motherfucker.
I manage one last smile as I slip out from between him and the wall and cross the room toward the ensuite bathroom next to the fireplace. Just before I walk in, my eyes drop to the iron fire-poker sitting in its little stand next to the flickering flames.
The bathroom door is barely shut before I sink against it, shaking.
What the fuck am I doing?
I hug myself, trying to take slow, steadying breaths. But I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
My mind wanders back to the poker sitting right outside the door.
There’s no doubt in my mind that the man out there is one of the two motherfuckers who killed my best friend in the world.
I could do it…
And what the hell do I have to lose? I could walk back out there and smash that fucking predator over the head with the fire poker. Then I could leave, and when Venom discovers the body and maybe launches an investigation…yeah, it’ll trace back to Taylor, which I feel terrible about. But she’ll obviously be able to prove she wasn’t here tonight. If they keep looking, it could take months, or years.
And within six months, the killer will be dead anyway.
My pulse skips as I stare at myself in the mirror. I mean I’ve dreamed and fantasized about avenging Nina a million times from the comfort of my own bed. But now, here, alone with one of her killers in the flesh, I start to wonder if I seriously have this in me.
You can do this.
For Nina.
Except the thing is, if I just run out there swinging a fire poker around, I might catch him by surprise. But I have no idea if I could overpower him. And I only get one shot.
I’ll have to distract him.
I blanch as I slip off my dress, leaving on my panties and heels. I hate that he’ll see me like this. But fuck it.
It’ll be the last thing he ever sees.
I reach for the doorknob. My chest rises and falls as I set my jaw and my resolve.
Do it for Nina.
I open the door and step out.
…And then stutter to a stop. The room is empty.
He’s gone.
“Slight change in plans.”
I scream, whirling at the sound of the deep baritone, at the clean scent of linen and spice.
Dante emerges from the shadows by the bathroom door, dressed in a dark suit, a white shirt open at the collar. No mask.
The light from the fireplace flickers in his eyes as they burn right into mine, drinking in my nakedness and my fear. His face is half furious, and half smiling, like he’s savoring my panic.
He moves toward me, his lips curling as I scramble back until my ass hits the back of one of the sofas.
“Now, little hurricane,” he murmurs. “You’re going to tell me exactly what the fuck you’re doing here, and exactly how you got in.”
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