Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance
Toxic Love: Chapter 25

“You’re going soft in your old age, Dante,” Carmine sighs, taking a sip of his scotch.

Nico snorts as I give them both a sour look.

“The fucking mayor is here, in case you two geniuses missed that,” I growl.

“And?”

“And typically, leaders of major cities come with a massive security presence, the members of which tend to frown on gala attendees without invitations. Especially when said attendees happen to share a last name with a fairly well-known mafia don.”

Nico grins at me and then glances at his brother. “Yep, nailed it. Dante’s going soft.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, just don’t come crying to me when the NYPD throws you out on your asses.”

He grins. “I mean, Dante, I know you’re a married man now and everything, but will you open your eyes and look around? Have you seen the women here? We needed in!”

I smirk, shaking my head. “You do understand, dipshit, that the single women at a firemen’s gala are typically looking for—wait for it—firemen, right?”

Nico sighs and glances at Carmy again. “As if we said a thing about the single women. Absolutely going soft in his old age. Or maybe it’s a symptom of marriage.”

“Definitely.” Carmy claps me on the shoulder. “Relax, buddy. We’ll make sure not to go near the wives of all your potential investors or spies or informants or whatever the hell you’re fishing for tonight.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” I mutter dryly.

Carmine chuckles. “Speaking of marriage making you soft in the head, where is your lovely bride?”

I frown as I glance past him toward the bar. I spotted Tempest over there a few minutes ago, drinking a glass of wine. But she seems to have disappeared since. Probably found a quiet corner somewhere to hide and avoid this entire evening.

Part of me completely gets that. The other part of me wants to find her and punish her for her bratty attitude—over my knee, for example.

Or on hers.

I push the thought away as my cock throbs and thickens in my tux pants.

This game the two of us have started to play is…dangerous. Mainly because this whole thing is just supposed to be a facade to appease the dons who took exception to my single status.

Second, I don’t do relationships, not even casual ones. And marriage? As in the real kind? Never once on my radar.

Neither was the concept of having a woman constantly on my mind, invading my every thought.

And yet here we are.

Of course, there’s the other, darker element to all of this: Tempest’s medical condition. If I actually were a soulless, heartless bastard, the situation would be ideal. She wasn’t wrong with her theory about The Commission all but canonizing me after her death. A widower? I’d be untouchable and unimpeachable in my operation of Club Venom.

And yet, despite general public opinion, and my own suspicions, it would appear I do in fact have a soul, and at least the shadow of a heart.

Maybe more than a shadow. Because the idea of Tempest being taken away from me is…

Intolerable.

Unacceptable.

Enraging, in a way that shocks me.

Perhaps making things physical was a mistake. It would be so easy to put the blame on her, and to chalk this up to me being her first, and her in her naïveté confusing physical lust with emotions and feelings.

But that would be cheap.

And grossly untrue.

Because if Tempest is confusing physical closeness with emotional intimacy?

Well, she’s not the only one. And that is a bigger problem than I’m willing to admit to myself.

“Dante?”

I blink back to reality. “I have no idea,” I shrug. “Maybe she went for a walk?”

Nico smirks. “Careful, brother.”

“Of?”

“Carmy and I aren’t the only sharks prowling around this gala looking for unattended women.”

Something hot and vicious flashes within me like oil splashed into a searing hot pan. But just then, Drazen joins our little circle.

My hackles raise at the dark look on his face when he turns to me.

“Where’s your wife?”

I sigh. “The three of you do realize that we’re at MOMA, complete with a mayoral security detail, and not Mogadishu after dark, yes? What the hell is the deal about Tempest not being glued to my goddamn side⁠—”

“Silvio Bonpensiero is here.”

Something cold and sharp drags up my spine. My face hardens as I turn to scan the crowd. I don’t see Tempest.

I don’t see Silvio, either.

And I don’t like that one fucking bit.

“I’ll check the front,” Carmine growls, all the goofy playfulness of his earlier tone gone in an instant.

“I’ll take the upstairs galleries. I know a few of the guys on security tonight,” Nico adds, also now completely serious.

This is one of the reasons I love these two. They might act like absolute muppets at times. But when shit gets real, there’s no one else I’d rather have in my corner.

“I have two men here with me tonight,” Drazen mutters, pulling out his phone. “We’ll secure the main floor.”

I nod my thanks before I storm over to the bar and instantly catch the bartender’s attention. I flash him a picture of Tempest on my phone and ask if he saw her, and he nods.

“Yes, sir. She and another dark-haired girl were talking. They, uh…” He coughs delicately. “I think they may have gone to smoke a joint together.” He nods toward the back of the gala.

Goddammit, Tempest.

At the far end of the main function room, I glance down a hallway and spot a guard standing at the end. The fact that he yanks out a cellphone and starts texting someone madly the second he sees me tips me off. The nervous look in his eyes as I storm toward him pushes me over the edge.

“Sir,” he begins. “This area is off⁠—”

“You know who the fuck I’m looking for,” I snarl, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him to the wall. “And I have a feeling you know who I am, too.”

He swallows. “Mr. Sartorre⁠—”

“You have two seconds to tell me where the fuck my wife is.”

He pales and jams a finger behind him. “Courtyard!”

I leave him shaking as I stalk around the corner and down one dark hallway, then another. It’s when I round the last corner that I freeze.

The first thing I see is a girl standing inside the hallway, snickering to herself as she puffs on a joint, her face pressed to the glass door. But it’s what I see on the other side of the door that has me charging like a predator.

The girl shrieks and drops the joint as I wrestle her to the side and yank the door open. I barrel out into the chilly courtyard to where Silvio Bonpensiero is snarling down at Tempest on her knees, one hand holding a fistful of her hair and the other one raised as if to strike her again.

Again, because the terrified look in her eyes and the pink mark on her cheek tell me he already has struck her once.

That makes him a dead man.

I slam into him like a train, knocking him off his feet so hard that one of his shoes actually flies off. I’m vaguely aware of the girl I shoved aside a second ago screaming as I straddle Silvio’s chest and start to hit him.

And hit him.

And fucking hit him.

I pound his face until I feel the bridge of his nose and a few teeth break. Until I feel his orbital crack under my fist. Until blood is pouring from the pulpy, swollen mass that used to be his mouth and nose.

Until I feel, see, and know nothing but the satisfaction of inflicting pain on this piece of shit for touching Tempest. I ignore the cold, the raw throbbing in my hands, the screaming of the girl inside. I ignore it all…

Until a soft, gentle hand lands on my arm.

“Dante.”

I go still, my nostrils flaring and my blood roaring as I glance to the side. Tempest is kneeling beside me, her eyes locked with mine, filled with concern and yet also understanding as she touches my arm.

“You’re going to kill him.”

“I know. Tell me to do it,” I rasp thickly, my eyes locked with hers, “and I will.”

The girl behind me screams over and over even as I ignore her.

“Just say the word, and he’s fucking⁠—”

“Don’t kill him,” Tempest says quietly, shaking her head. “Please.”

I glare down at Silvio, who’s completely unconscious now. Standing, I kick him hard in the side of the ribs one last time, still ignoring the screams of the girl behind me.

My hand slips into Tempest’s and grips it tight.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

The near-lethal cocktail of emotions still roaring through my system when we get home is equal parts vengeance and fury, shaken with half a teaspoon of fear.

I don’t know what that motherfucker was prepared to do, or how badly he was prepared to hurt her. That’s where the vengeance and the fury come from. But Silvio isn’t the only one I’m angry at, and I know damn well that my wife knows it.

Tempest was silent the whole drive home from the gala. She remained quiet in the elevator, and when I opened the door to the penthouse.

She’s still mute now, looking almost meek as she stands in the front entryway, wearing her coat and looking scared as I storm across the living room to the bar cart. I pour myself a heavy splash of bourbon and knock it back before pouring another and whirling on her.

“What the fuck was that?”

When I glance back at her, Tempest’s eyes are narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She barks a laugh. “I’m sorry, am I the one on trial for that prick ambushing me and fucking slapping me?!”

“Wanna tell me how you managed to get yourself out to that courtyard in the first place?”

Her mouth purses.

“By following a complete stranger out there to smoke weed, right?” I snap.

Her lower lip quivers. “Fuck you, that’s not fair⁠—”

“No, but it’s the truth!” I hiss.

“Why the hell do you even care?!”

“Because you’re my wife!”

“Only when it suits you!” she fires back.

I storm over to her, sneering. “Don’t,” I seethe. “Don’t even try to play that card. You’re reckless, and we both know it!” I yell loud enough for her to tremble. “You have no fucking clue about the consequences of your choices and actions!”

Her eyes gleam. “You are way out of fucking line, asshole.”

“Your impetuousness is fucking dangerous, Tempest!” I fire back. “You have zero impulse control! You just do things, and you act without once thinking of what might happen!”

She’s so angry she’s shaking, but I can’t stop. I’m not trying to be an asshole. But this woman has wormed her way so fucking deep under my skin and I care so fucking much that it’s impossible to brush this off anymore.

“Are we talking about that psycho bitch at the party pretending to be my friend so she could lead me to Silvio’s little ambush?” she snaps. “Or is it jealousy about Venom the other⁠—”

“Careful, little hurricane,” I hiss dangerously.

“What I do with my free time, asshole, is none of your fucking⁠—”

“The fuck it’s not!” I roar. “You are my fucking wife. So tell me one more goddamn time how you slinking off to private rooms at Club Venom isn’t any of my business. I’m all ears.”

She swallows. “We never talked about exclusivity⁠—”

“We’re talking about it right now,” I snarl, lurching into her and lifting her face to mine, watching the hazel-green fire flicker in her eyes. I slowly shake my head. “I’m through believing in coincidences.”

“Meaning?”

My lips curl. “I want to know how you know about Apex.”

Her brow furrows. “What?”

“The rings, Tempest.”

She pales, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

“I want answers. Now. You followed that fucker back to the private room for a reason.”

She sneers. “Maybe I just wanted to fuck him⁠—”

She gasps sharply as I kiss her hard enough to bruise, making her yelp and whimper when I bite down on her plump bottom lip until I taste copper.

“No, you didn’t,” I hiss.

Her eyes narrow. “What makes you so damn sure⁠—”

“Because I fuck you better than anyone else every could,” I snarl. “And I know you know that.”

She sucks on her lip, her chest heaving.

“You went with him because of the rings. You tried to fucking stab me at our wedding because of the rings.”

She whimpers as I twist her face up to mine, looming over her.

“So I’m telling you for the last fucking time. I. Want. Answers.”

At first, I think it’s just something in her eye. But suddenly, she’s crumpling.

Fuck.

I catch her as she falls, gently holding her against me. She doesn’t just start to cry. It’s like she’s ripping her entire soul open in front of me.

And then, she tells me everything.

Every horrible, nightmarish detail.

Every secret from the darkest parts of her past, that rips my heart in two as they fall from her lips.

Holy fucking God.

She tells me about Nina, and how when they were seventeen, they went out and got into this exclusive dance club with fake IDs. How they met a bunch of cool, rich guys a few years older than them who invited them into their VIP booth for drinks.

How her memory goes fuzzy right after that.

Tempest tells me about being vaguely aware of being brought to some fancy apartment. How she remembers saying “no” when one of those motherfuckers brought her into a bedroom, and two of them pulled in her friend Nina.

How her first time was nothing but pain and shame as that piece of excrement hurt her while she couldn’t even move from whatever they’d given her. How she could only watch powerlessly as the two fucks raped her best friend right next to her, choking Nina until the light went out of her eyes.

…And how all three of them wore golden lion’s head rings.

Just like the fucks who killed Claudia.

After she’s done sobbing every awful detail of that horrible night into my chest, and we’re sitting on the floor at my place, she raises her red-rimmed eyes to mine, and the pain on her face is enough to break my heart.

Or make me want to kill.

To slay her demons.

To burn the fucking world for her.

“Dante…”

She reaches up and grabs my collar, and before I can say or do a thing, she’s pulling me down and crushing her mouth to mine. I kiss her back, groaning, my blood turning to fire as she whimpers and slowly starts to crawl into my lap. Her hand snakes down between us, and I growl deeply when her small fingers find my swelling bulge.

“Tempest…”

It’s not that I don’t want her, and it’s not that I don’t want to rip her dress off and feast on her until she sees God. It’s that this woman has just ripped out her soul to me and shown me the worst of her scars and her trauma.

“Please,” she whimpers, yanking off my shirt. Her mouth falls to my neck, and I groan as she starts to kiss her way up it to my ear. “Please fuck me…”

“Jesus, Tempest,” I groan as my hands slide over her torso, gripping her thin waist as I pull her against the throb in my pants.

“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” she chokes. “I’m not even asking you to care. All I know is, when you and I had sex that first time, I finally stopped hating myself, hating the very whole of sex and intimacy.” She pulls back and I can see the tears roll down her cheeks, her eyes locked on mine. “I stopped jumping at every shadow. I can’t go back to feeling those things again, so I need you to fuck me.”

My jaw clenches.

“Please,” she whispers, stroking my face, her eyes pleading. “I just want to feel something else. I want darkness. I want to be fucked, Dante. Not made love to. Not coddled. Not pitied. I want—I need—to be fucked, until I forget every⁠—”

She moans as I slam my mouth to hers.

“I won’t hold back, little hurricane.”

“Don’t,” she whimpers.

“And I’m not going to stop.”

“I don’t want you to,” she whimpers into my lips as I scoop her into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist.

“I’m going to push you past every single boundary you have until you’re mine.”

“I already am.”