Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance
Toxic Love: Chapter 8

“You look nice, Tempest.”

From the back seat, I look into the rearview mirror, meeting Gabriel’s eyes.

“Thanks. You sound surprised.”

His lips curl slightly at the corners. “If I were a betting man, I’d have put money on you showing up tonight in a gorilla costume or like you were going to a death metal show.”

“Shit, am I that predictable?”

He chuckles. “I’m just saying, you look nice.”

I glance down at the shimmery silver, sleeveless, ankle-length dress with the tastefully teasing neckline, plunging back, and the slit up the side to mid-thigh.

Not-really-a-spoiler: it’s Taylor’s, not mine. After she offered to help me find an appropriate outfit for this debacle, we both realized exactly how much inappropriate shit was in my wardrobe. The strappy silver heels are also hers, for the same reason. But I will admit, even if I feel like I’m cosplaying a European princess in this ridiculous thing, it does go with the tuxedos my brothers are wearing a bit better than that Joy Division t-shirt.

We’re long past the point where I press them on ways to get me out of this situation, or where they ask me for the millionth time what the fuck I was thinking. Instead, we sit in silence as we drive through the night to Dante’s Hamptons estate where I snuck my signature onto that blood marker two weeks ago.

Alistair clears his throat, his eyes flicking from the road ahead to my mine in the rearview mirror.

“Why were you at Mount Sinai earlier today?”

My spine stiffens, my heart dropping for a second. Dr. Han’s office is at Mount Sinai. I will myself to keep cool as I frown at him in the mirror.

“Were you spying on me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. Katerina’s grandmother has her dialysis sessions there. Katerina took the morning off today to be with her, and when she came in later, she mentioned she saw you in the lobby of the nephrology center.”

Katerina is Alistair’s secretary, a sweet, quiet young thing who somehow works happily under my brother’s iron-fisted rule. I did know she had a grandmother going through dialysis for Lupus-related kidney issues.

…I just never realized grandma was getting dialysis in the same department of the same building where I go to see Dr. Han.

Fuck.

“Well?”

I blink, glancing up and meeting my brother’s gaze in the rearview mirror again. “Well what?”

“Well, what were you doing at a dialysis center?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Tempest—”

“Alistair, forget it.”

Ugh, totally wrong thing to say. Both of my brothers are like sharks around drops of blood in the ocean when it comes to sniffing out lies or strings to pull on. Telling Alistair in particular to “forget it” or “don’t worry about it” is a surefire way to get him to zero in with lethal precision on that private thing you don’t want to talk about.

“Tempest, if there’s something we need to know, I’d like to hear it.”

“I’m pretty sure asking someone about their medical history is illegal, Mr. Lawyer.”

“Disclosing someone’s medical history without their consent is,” Gabriel mutters. “Asking them about it is not.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. Mind your own⁠—”

“For fuck’s sake, Tempest!” Alistair hisses. “I’m just asking if⁠—”

“Oh my God,” I sigh with exasperation. “If you must know, my OB-GYN is in the same building.”

Not even a little bit true.

“And, since you’re so interested in my personal medical shit, I was seeing her because I was…concerned.”

Both my brothers tense, their eyes snapping to mine in the mirror.

“Concerned about what?” Gabriel says quietly.

“Well, what with all the anonymous gloryholes I’ve been visiting all over the city…I mean, that’s a lot of random dicks to be sucking and fucking without protection. Who knows what I might have picked up?”

The car goes quiet. I bite back my grin, relishing the looks of disgust on my brothers’ faces. Gabriel swivels around to give me a look.

“That’s not funny.”

My grin breaks free as I hold my thumb and finger up an inch apart. “It’s a little funny.”

It is, and it isn’t. There are women who’ve gone through what I have who do turn to hyper-sexual activity as a coping mechanism. And no shade or judgment there, but that isn’t me.

I’m the opposite. I’ve barely been able to sit through a dinner date with anyone since that night. Forget screwing them.

I smirk as I spot the sour look on Alistair’s face.

“Just dick after dick after⁠—”

“Yeah, okay, point taken. Thanks, Tempest,” he mutters.

“So, class, what did we learn tonight about prying into people’s personal lives?”

“I said point taken. You can lose the moral superiority.”

I laugh. “I was just in for my annual checkup. Chill. And for what it’s worth to the two judge-y little shits sitting up front, I’m not the one in this car who frequents a sex club.”

Gabriel sighs as the car pulls off the main road and stops at the huge metal gate to Dante’s estate, the one that shut on me when I was attempting my getaway before.

“I go there for business, Tempest. We’ve been through this.”

“Alistair doesn’t.”

The conversation pauses while Alistair shows his ID to the guards at the gate, who wave us through.

“What I do or don’t do in my private life is…”

Alistair trails off when he spots the shit-eating grin on my face in the backseat. My smile widens as I smack my lips and rub my stomach happily.

“Num-num-num! I’ll take another helping of that delicious irony with a side of double standards, please!”

When the car stops, Gabriel helps me out, and both of them offer me an arm as I teeter my way up the steps to Dante’s sprawling mansion. I haven’t worn spike heels since I was a teenager, and it shows. Hope my new fiancé wasn’t expecting grace and elegance. After tonight, he won’t be seeing me in anything but boots or sneakers.

We’re ushered from the front foyer of the home down a gilded hallway and into a huge, stunning ballroom. A ballroom. I mean, I didn’t exactly grow up poor, and my brothers are killing it, but this?

This is next-level. It also feels utterly ridiculous to be putting this much effort into “celebrating” what is clearly a steaming pile of bullshit. Between the string quartet and waiters passing around trays of champagne to what must be over two hundred guests, it feels like I just walked into Jay Gatsby’s house, complete with a who’s-who guest list of gangsters.

Even I recognize some of the dangerous and powerful faces milling around the party. Michael Genovisi, head of the Scaliami mafia family, is a client of Alistair’s, and when we walk in, he makes a point of nodding at my brother. As I scan the room, my gaze lingers on a weirdly familiar-looking pretty blonde girl with a look somewhere between boredom and fear on her face.

“Eloise LeBlanc,” Gabriel murmurs under his breath. “You might have seen her at the office. Her father, André, uses us for his US-based legal needs. She’s been in with him a couple of times.”

My gaze wanders back to Eloise, and I frown when a handsome but malicious looking Italian man with dark hair and a grimace on his face moves close to her. Instantly, her whole body tenses and she recoils. Then his hand comes up to wrap around the back of her neck roughly, turning her face even paler as he leans close to snarl something in her ear.

When I glance at Alistair to ask who the hell that creep is, I freeze. My brother’s face is darkened and tense, a lethal look in his gaze as it stabs across the room to the pair.

“Massimo Carveli,” Gabriel mutters, his eyes darting toward Alistair. Our brother’s jaw is clenched like iron, with a vein popping out on his forehead. “Rumored to have killed his father last year to take over the Carveli throne.” Gabriel’s face sours. “He’s Eloise’s husband.”

My stomach clenches as I see him lean closer to the poor woman, hissing something into her ear that makes her flinch. His hand visibly tightens on the back of her neck.

“He’s hurting⁠—”

“Tempest.”

I glance at Gabriel, who soberly shakes his head side to side. “Leave it. Seriously. Massimo is a fucking lunatic.”

“But he’s⁠—”

I turn toward Alistair, blinking in surprise when I see him already storming away to the bar at the side of the ballroom with plodding, furious steps.

“Okay, what’s his⁠—”

“Tempest.”

I turn back to Gabriel, who shakes his head again. “Just…leave it. Trust me.”

Suddenly, I shiver as the scent of clean linen and spice invades my senses. My back straightens, a tingle sliding over my skin as the dark, malevolent energy of him billows over me like a poisonous black cloud.

I turn, and my heart skips as my eyes lock with his.

Dante.

He completely ignores me as he glances at my brother.

“Gabriel.”

“Dante,” Gabriel mutters back through clenched teeth.

“Welcome to my humble⁠—”

“Let’s skip the fucking gracious host and formalities routine,” Gabriel spits. “We both know what you are.”

Dante’s lips curl devilishly at the corners. He’s still not looking at me. Asshole.

“Ah, but what we are, old friend, is family, now. Thanks to your dear sister…”

My breath catches in my throat as Dante’s icy blue eyes finally swivel to pierce mine. His lips are still curled into a smile, but it’s hollow.

Empty.

Devoid of warmth or sincerity.

All I see is cold, dark malice.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Yes, well, if you find a way to cancel a fucking blood marker, Gabriel,” Dante says coldly, “do let me know. In the meantime, if you’ll excuse us…”

I gasp, my eyes flying wide as Dante’s arm suddenly encircles my waist and yanks me to his side. A shiver drags its nails down my spine as the heat and hardness of his body electrify my skin.

“And before you put on your cape to play superhero and tell me to take my hands off her,” Dante growls quietly, turning back to Gabriel, “let’s not forget that the entire reason for this celebration tonight is our engagement.” He smiles icily. “Enjoy the party, Gabriel.”

I shudder as his arm tightens around me, whisking me away and off into the crowd.

“What the fuck do you⁠—!”

“What I’m doing is a tour of the room to show off my new fiancée, dear,” Dante hisses. “That’s the entire fucking point of this entire evening, thanks to you.”

“Well, you can do it without putting your fucking hands on⁠—”

I gasp again as he grabs my hand and spins me in time to the waltz music the string quartet is playing in the corner of the ballroom.

“Exactly what are you doing?!” I hiss, shivering as he pulls me right against his chest and starts to dance with me, one hand holding mine, the other firmly gripping my waist.

“Dancing with my fiancée.”

I try and pull away, but his iron grip only tightens on my hand and my hip, pulling me against his body even harder.

“Stop it,” I mutter, glaring up at him. “And don’t try and tell me this is for appearances.” My eyes dart side to side, taking in the smiling, slightly drunk faces of the various guests watching us dance. “As if any of these people legitimately think we’re a couple.”

“They can think what they want. But let me explain to you how this world you’ve bamboozled your way into works,” Dante growls testily. “Behind closed doors is one thing. In public, however, you will be my fucking wife.”

I’m not prepared for the jolt in my belly when he says it.

You will be my fucking wife.

It’s raw, brutally honest, and unapologetically possessive.

…And skin-tinglingly hot when he growls it into my ear.

“At the moment,” Dante murmurs, “that entails dancing with me, playing the fucking part, and smiling when you should, like a good girl.”

Something electric and throbbing pulses in my core.

Damn him.

My stomach flutters as Dante spins me again and dips me expertly before pulling me back into his arms.

“I must say, I’m shocked.”

“Oh?” I spit.

“Yes. You came here dressed like a grownup. I assumed your entire wardrobe was concert t-shirts and ripped jeans.”

“Oh, I’m saving my best burlap sack for the wedding, honey,” I drawl.

“Well, anyway, the gown looks better on you than on Ms. Crown.”

I tense, trying to swallow the bitter twinge deep inside, my eyes snapping to his, which glint with amusement.

I am not jealous. I do not care if Taylor and Dante have…or had…more than a professional relationship. I mean, I’ve wondered about it before. He’s—well, just look at him. And Taylor is hot, successful, stylish, and confident. Not to mention, she’s a member of Club Venom.

She’s always said she goes purely for business reasons, same as Gabriel. But…who knows what happens with her and Dante behind closed doors?

Or open ones, given the nature of that place…

I don’t realize I’m still scowling until Dante’s lips brush my ear, jerking me back to reality with a gasp, sending another heated shiver down my spine.

“Go ahead,” he whispers darkly. “Ask.”

I glare at him. “Ask what.”

“If I’ve fucked her.”

I start to open my mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t play stupid, because I know you’re not. You want to know if Ms. Crown and I are, shall we say, more than a client and legal counsel.”

I swallow back the fresh wave of bile rising in my throat.

“I don’t care.”

He grins. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“No, you’re right, I do care,” I smile acidly. “Only because it would make me concerned for her well-being, making awful life choices like fucking you of all people. Or that you’d give her something gross.”

Dante chuckles. “You have a very low opinion of me, Ms. Black.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“Taylor is my attorney, Tempest. You may be surprised to hear that I’m also not screwing my dentist or the pleasant old man who does my taxes. So for the record, no, I haven’t fucked her,” he murmurs sinfully in my ear, the scent of him enveloping me like a drug.

“I already told you, I don’t⁠—”

Dante suddenly spins me again, causing my heart to leap into my throat. A thrill I’m not really prepared for or interested in acknowledging explodes deep in my core, making me bite down hard on my lip.

“Hmm.”

The fluttery feeling instantly evaporates as I glare at him. “What.”

“You’re not as terrible a ballroom dancer as I would have expected. I figured mosh pits were more your speed.”

I’ve grown up being trotted around at enough Crown and Black functions, galas, and shareholder parties that I can waltz my way across a room.

The arrogance of him assuming I can’t pisses me off, though. So on the next turn, as he spins me again, I do the only thing I can: I make a point of stepping down hard on his foot with my strappy heel.

Dante’s teeth grind as he swallows a grunt.

“Oopsie!” I giggle like an airhead. “I’m so clumsy! It’s probably because I’m just a silly widdle girl and I’ve never been to a big fancy party with real dancing like this one!!”

Dante levels a cold, dark glare at me.

“Having fun yet?”

“Loads,” I grin saccharinely. “What a swell party.”

Dante twirls me again, and this time, as I’m once more aiming my heel for his foot, I jolt when his hand suddenly slides from my hip. It skims deftly over my bare skin where the dress splits, his touch leaving throbbing, electrified shivers in its wake before his large fingers tense like an iron vice around my thigh, stopping me from stamping my foot on his.

His mouth suddenly dips to brush against my ear and the crook of my neck.

“You made this bed, little hurricane,” he rasps darkly. “So now you’ll fucking sleep in it.”

I try to twist out of his grip, but it’s like fighting concrete. He doesn’t budge one eighth of an inch.

“You will swallow your terminal need to pee in the punchbowl and behave,” Dante growls quietly. My core turns to molten lead as he yanks my thigh up to his hip, whirling and dipping me as the quartet slips from Tchaikovsky into a tango.

I shift abruptly, my knee jerking toward his balls. But again, his iron hands wrench me back into place, my knee up on his hip, my breasts squashed against his rock-hard chest, my entire body pressed right against him.

“I said behave,” he growls.

“Or?” I snap back.

“Or I will teach you to.”

Sweet Jesus.

The fact that the more forceful, overbearing, and domineering he is to me, the warmer I get deep in my core is so very, very fucking unfair.

Fuck you, trauma. You too, issues.

I try to ignore the tingling sensation creeping over my skin and attempt to twirl out of his grip. Predictably, that gets me nowhere but tighter against his body.

“I won’t warn you again, dear,” Dante mutters.

“Well, marriage is sure going to be fun,” I spit. “Threatening me already, Ike Turner?”

He smiles coldly. “I’m not the threat.” He drags his gaze past me and around the room. “These are not good men. Not most of them. And if you think I’m not happy with your last-minute changes involving marriage deals and blood markers…”

“Gee, I’m so sorry you don’t get to screw a teenager anymore. That must be a real bummer for a creep like you⁠—”

I gasp sharply as his fingers dig like iron into the bare skin of my hip. When his hand suddenly slips a few inches higher, my blood turns to fire.

God. Fucking. Damnit. What is it about his touch that sends me into a spiral? I’m overlooking that this is the most intimate I’ve been with a man since I was seventeen.

Dante’s touch is…something else. Something forbidden, yet alluring. Something sizzling and dangerous that scares the shit out of me while keeping me biting my lip for more.

“Once again,” Dante growls. “The marriage to your aunt had everything to do with business arrangements and nothing to do with sleeping arrangements, and for the very last time, I had and continue to have zero interest in fucking her.”

“Let’s hope not,” I snap back with a venomous glint in my eyes. “I doubt any of these mafia creeps would be too happy to find you sticking your dick into other girls after you’re married.”

Dante comes perilously close to laughing. My brows furrow.

“What?”

“Easily half of these mafia creeps have at least two goomars warming their beds each.”

“I’m sorry, they have what now?”

Dante’s eyes roll. “Goomars. Mistresses. Side pieces.”

I shiver.

“So, if I were so inclined,” he growls, “don’t for a moment think that Maeve would be off the table.”

My temper flares, and my arm jerks as if to hit him. But of course, there’s no breaking free from Dante’s iron grip. I grit my teeth as he pulls me harder against his body.

“But again, I have no interest in your young aunt,” he murmurs, his eyes sizzling into mine.

“Well, better find yourself a goomar, then,” I spit. “Because your nights are going to be pretty fucking lonely with me as your wife.”

His lips curl with dark amusement. “And why is that?”

“Because they’ll be spent alone?”

Dante’s lips stay curled at the corners, like he finds this funny. His brow cocks. “On the contrary, I’ll be having you any time I want.”

I bark a cold laugh. “That isn’t happening in a million years, creep. I’m quite fine in my own bed.”

“It’s not a discussion, it’s a deal-point.”

“The fuck it is⁠—”

“Dante.”

The boiling tension bubbling and frothing between us drops back to a low simmer as the man steps next to us and clears his throat. Dante turns, his hands suddenly dropping from me as he steps back.

It’s bullshit that what I feel when he does so isn’t relief.

It’s the total opposite.

“What is it?”

The man is just as tall and broad-shouldered as Dante; he’s a little rough around the edges, but still immensely handsome. After a second I recognize him as the man who came out to meet my car when I was pretending to be Maeve the day of the signing.

“There’s something you might want to address.” The man coughs and lowers his voice. “Silvio is here.”

Dante’s jaw clenches as he nods. “Okay. Thanks, Lorenzo.” He swivels his gaze back to me, his eyes simmering. “To be continued.”

“Or not⁠—”

He’s already marching off with his goon, leaving me undecided if I’m more pissed at him for being such an arrogant tyrant, or at myself for attaching myself to him.

…Not to mention, the physical sensations being near said tyrant brings out in me.

I glare at Dante’s back as he strides through the crowd with Lorenzo.

Then I whirl and march across the room, flashing zero-effort smiles at people I don’t know when they congratulate me on an engagement I don’t give a shit about. I don’t usually drink much. But tonight, I’m gladly making an exception. I order a gin and tonic at the bar and take a large sip as I turn to survey the room.

Gabriel is, of course, being Gabriel, glad-handing his way through the crowd. Granted, a lot of these people are clients of Crown and Black. But it also wouldn’t shock me if Gabriel leaves here tonight with one or two new clients.

Alistair, however, is nowhere to be seen. I’m about to go try and find him, since he looked like a ticking time bomb earlier, when suddenly, I feel a presence next to me.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.”

I turn with a jolting sensation. Massimo Carveli. My mind flashes back to earlier when we first walked in and Gabriel pointed him out to me. I also remember my brother calling this man a “fucking lunatic”.

He’s standing next to the same blonde girl from before—his wife, Eloise LeBlanc. Pretty, but scared-looking. His hand is still wrapped around the back of her neck in a really menacing way.

And now that I’m closer to her, I can see the darkness around her left eye, with concealer caked over it to hide the bruising.

My hand tightens around my gin and tonic. My teeth clench hard.

You motherfucker.

“My wife,” Massimo laughs easily, clearly seeing where my gaze is lingering. “She’s so clumsy sometimes. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Eloise smiles wanly. “Yes indeed,” she says in a musical French accent. “So very clumsy.”

I swear, I’m half a second away from throwing my drink in this fucker’s face when he clears his throat.

“But as I was saying, congratulations are in order.” He grins. “For marrying my cousin.”

My brow arches. Massimo’s grin widens.

“Well, only a distant cousin. But still, I consider Dante family, and now this makes you family, too.”

Jesus. Of course Dante is “family” with creeps like this. Wonderful.

“Although,” Massimo continues, stroking his strong jaw meditatively, “I suppose the bigger congratulations are owed to my cousin, since he gets to keep his lovely club now.”

Wait, what?

“Oh…yes, of course,” I feign a knowledgeable nod. “Yes, that’s…good.”

Massimo, who already looks pretty drunk, knocks back the champagne in his hand. “You know, I was sure they were going to take it from him. These puritanical old men on The Commission who somehow still find the idea of a single man running a club of that nature distasteful…” He shakes his head. “I say who gives a fuck if he’s married or not. But then, I’m not an old man.”

Well now.

This is interesting.

My gaze slides past Massimo. Across the ballroom, through a set of gorgeous French doors open to a balcony overlooking the ocean, I can see Dante heatedly speaking with a younger man. My eyes stab into his back, my jaw tightening.

You. Mother. Fucker.

This whole time, he’s been framing this marriage thing as if he’s doing Charles a favor. Or like he was going to marry Maeve to get something from him.

Now, I see the truth.

He needs me way more than I need him.

I smile darkly inside.

I’m going to use that to my utmost advantage.

“Welcome to the family, Ms. Black,” Massimo mutters, yanking Eloise away with him as he disappears back into the crowd of laughing, drunk mafiosos.

I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I put my drink on the bar and turn to go find my brothers. But just as I do so, cold liquid splashes down my side, soaking the dress.

“Oh my God!”

The girl looks around Maeve’s age, with her dark hair up in an elegant bun and piercing blue eyes that are currently as round as the “O” her heart-shaped lips are making. Her gaze snaps to mine in horror.

“I am so sorry!” she blurts, her face scarlet as she grabs a handful of cocktail napkins off the bar and starts to blot at my dress awkwardly.

“No, it’s totally fine⁠—”

“Seriously, Tempest, I’m so sorry! I’m the world’s biggest klutz⁠—”

She stops as I tense, my eyes narrowing. “Have we…?”

The girl blushes even more, her nose wrinkling. “God, worst first impression ever. I’m sorry, hi…” She sticks her hand out. “Bianca.” She smiles weakly. “I’m, uh, Dante’s sister.”

Oh.

“I swear, drenching you was not in the plan! And it’s just ice water, I promise! But if it screws up your dress, please let me know. I’m happy to cover the dry-cleaning.”

There’s not a single ounce of malice on her face. In fact, this girl is so sweet and exudes so much innocence that I’m struggling to accept the reality that she’s Dante’s sister. But when I stop and really look at her…yeah, there’s no question she is.

The same nose, same cheekbones, even the same eyes, to an almost freakish degree.

She smiles apologetically. “Seriously, I’m so sorry. I was just coming over to say hi, but then you turned so fast—” she stammers. “I mean, not at all to imply it’s your fault, I just⁠—”

I cut her off with a grin, taking her hand and shaking it warmly. “Tempest, hi. Seriously, don’t worry about it at all.”

Bianca visibly relaxes.

“So…” I mumble. “We’re going to be sisters, I guess.”

“Yeah. I’m just sorry for you that it entails marrying my brother.”

I chuckle as she blushes.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong! I love him and all, but… Yeah, no, I can’t imagine being married to him.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

She laughs, biting her lip a little shyly as she eyes me. “By the way, I heard what you did with the whole blood marker thing.” She dips her chin. “That was pretty badass.”

I spread my arms. “It’s a gift.”

Bianca laughs again. “Can I get you another drink or something?”

I shake my head, nodding to the gin and tonic on the bar that I’ve barely touched. “Thanks, but I don’t really drink much.”

“Me neither,” she shrugs. “I’m a dancer. Body is a temple and all that.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Gabriel mentioning this.

“Oh yeah, ballet, right?”

She nods. “Yeah. SAB.”

Her eyes dart past me, and I catch the way her breath catches and her body tenses a little.

“Shit.”

I frown as she ducks down, moving closer to me as if trying to hide behind me. I glance over my shoulder, shivering slightly when Dante’s eyes catch mine from out on the balcony. But the younger man standing next to him is also looking our way with a dark expression. I’m guessing that’s who Bianca is trying to avoid.

“Come on,” I say quietly, taking her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Her nose wrinkles. “I think Dante would prefer it if I stay. I’m supposed to make the rounds of the room and⁠—”

“Bianca. He’s your brother, not your boss.” I glance out to the balcony again. Dante and the other man are still talking heatedly. When I turn back to her, Bianca’s still chewing on her lip uncertainly.

“Okay,” she finally blurts with a shy grin. “But first…” She turns and smiles at the bartender. “I’ll have one of whatever she’s having.”

“Your brother is going to kill me for being a bad influence, isn’t he?”

“Well, it would get you out of marrying him.”

I laugh as she takes a sip of her drink and then grins.

“Come on, I know a place we can hide out.”