Poisonous Kiss: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance

What an arrogant asshole.

Groggy, fresh out of bed, I stare blearily at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’m exhausted because I slept like shit, for two reasons.

The first is that I kept replaying my exchange with Gabriel over and over in my head.

Don’t flatter yourself.

I do not want to fuck you.

I’ll buy you a vibrator if you’re so hard up.

I mean fucking sit on a tack, douchebag.

Shamefully, I’ll admit that his obnoxious need to remind me that he has zero interest in me romantically or sexually is made worse by the fact that I have seen that side of him.

Felt his touch.

His aggression. His dominance. His control.

All of which brought me to my knees, literally and figuratively.

That brings us to the second reason I slept like crap last night: I woke up about a dozen times from fever dreams involving Gabriel, the red and black room at Club Venom, and his rough touch turning my thighs slick with desire.

Desire that I—shamefully—“took care of” somewhere around three in the morning to shake those desires away so I could sleep.

It didn’t help. Actually, I think I made it worse.

Exhaling heavily, I shove my fingers through my messy bedhead hair. I scowl at the bags under my eyes and my generally haggard appearance.

Great, when today of all days I’m stepping in front of a billion cameras to tell the world I’ll be at Gabriel’s side as his wife when he runs for Governor.

I’d say “shoot me”, but I don’t think even a bullet would stop this train now.

Exhaling, I remind myself yet again why I’m doing this. Last night, before bed, I went over to my dad’s new place a few blocks away—which is stunning, incidentally. It’s a gorgeous and light-filled filled apartment with big windows, a huge kitchen, and a private terrace already landscaped with herbs, flowers, and even a small koi pond.

I also met Tate, Dad’s new full-time nurse, who will be living in the apartment right below. I don’t know where the hell Gabriel found him, but he’s freaking perfect for the job.

My dad, obviously, speaks perfect English. But Tate is apparently a fluent Japanese and Korean speaker, and a former Army Medic. If that wasn’t enough, he’s a fan of the same jazz greats as my father and was losing his shit over Dad’s vinyl collection when I went over.

Yeah, they’re going to get along just fine.

And again, that’s why I’m doing all of this.

Giving myself one more grumpy stink eye in the mirror, I walk over to turn on the shower. A discreet knock on my bedroom halts me before I get there.

Clearly, it’s not Gabriel, since he doesn’t seem to believe in asking permission before barging into a room.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair silvering at the temples, kind blue eyes, and a friendly smile greets me with a nod when I open the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Yamaguchi!” She beams happily. “I’m Shawna, Mr. Black’s housekeeper and cook.”

I smile back. “Just Fumi is fine. And nice to meet you.”

She ducks her chin. “Breakfast is ready downstairs, if you’d like to follow me.”

Now that’s a perk I wasn’t expecting: prepared breakfasts? I thank Shawna profusely and tell her I’ll be down after I get showered and ready for my day in front of the press.

“Oh, no need, dear.”

I cock a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Just have a little rinse off and put on something comfortable. Don’t worry about hair or makeup, or wardrobe; that’ll be taken care of later.”

Shawna must see the confusion on my face, because she laughs and waves a hand.

“Mr. Black has already taken the liberty of booking you into the Guerlain Spa at the Plaza later this morning.”

Um, what.

“I—”

“Shower and dress, love!” Shawna chirps with a smile. “You’ll want some food in you before you go!”

What is happening.

Forty minutes later, after a quick shower and possibly the most divine poached eggs with smoked salmon the world has ever experienced, Trevor is dropping me off outside the Plaza Hotel for my appointment. I’m whisked into the ridiculously chic and eye-wateringly priced spa, where I’ve apparently been booked for the “royal” package.

It’s ridiculous.

I’m massaged until I could melt into the table beneath me. Then, clad in a robe, I’m seated in a salon chair while three women shape my brows, tease my hair into a style I’ve always loved but never once been able to pull off on my own, give me a mani-pedi, and do my makeup in a way that makes me look and feel like a movie star.

“If you’d like to lie back in that chair over there, we’ll get started on your waxing.”

I hear the metaphorical record scratch as I frown, yanked out of my bliss by the request.

“What?”

She smiles. “Your waxing, miss. If you’d like to⁠—”

“Like a bikini waxing?”

“Well, most of our clients prefer us to take the whole⁠—”

“Nope,” I shake my head, my lips tight. “That’s not happening.”

Her brows knit slightly. “Well, your fiancé, Mr. Black⁠—”

“Is welcome to come in himself and have his balls waxed if he’s so inclined. I’m all set,” I say tersely.

The woman bites back a laugh. “Of course, miss. Shall I make a note of that in your client file?”

I grin. “Please do.”

After that, I’m whisked off to a room at the hotel, where two stylists—Chad and Maddy—are waiting. I swallow my embarrassment as they strip me to my underwear—and keeping that is something I have to fight for—before pulling in racks and racks of skirt suits, dresses, and various gowns.

One by one, they both give a yes, no, or maybe to each outfit as they parade them around me.

“The light blue skirt-suit.”

I whirl to see Meredith, Gabriel’s bitchy blonde campaign manager, walking in. I feel I should be more embarrassed that I’m standing here almost naked. But at this point, five people have seen me in my underwear already, and it’s not even noon, so what’s another?

She points again to a light blue outfit Chad gave a “maybe” to a few minutes ago. “That one.”

Chad and Maddy spring into action, but I shake my head. “Actually, I prefer the green we just tried.” I point to a chic, silky jade green top and a cream skirt I really loved when they tried it on me.

Chad and Maddy glance at Meredith, who shakes her head. “The blue.”

“No, I’d like the green.”

Meredith sighs heavily. “Ms. Yamaguchi, I’m very good at my job.”

“And I’m a grownup who can dress herself.”

She gives me a look. “Obviously, you’re smart enough to know that’s not what this is. Today is going to be extremely important in setting the tone for the rest of the campaign. Blue resonates better with voters, and beside, Mr. Black said no green.”

Okay, weird.

“I’m sure you’re great at your job, Meredith. But I’m still wearing the green and cream outfit.”

“Ms. Yamaguchi, the blue⁠—”

“Makes me look like an Asian Jackie O.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because it makes me look like a politician’s wife.”

Meredith pointedly says nothing.

“I’m aware of what I am here, Meredith,” I mutter as Maddy and Chad noiselessly melt from the room. “But I’m not just a politician’s wife. I’m a kick-ass lawyer, too. I’m a professional, and I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’m not going to be⁠—”

“Mr. Black specifically requested the blue⁠—”

“Then Mr. Black can wear it,” I snap, shutting down the discussion. “I’m wearing the green.”

Gabriel’s campaign announcement is taking place on the front steps of Tweed Courthouse in lower Manhattan, in City Hall Park. Two hours later, I’m in a side room there, checking in with the office on my phone about the deposition I’m missing, when the door opens behind me.

“What exactly is your problem with following directions?”

I stiffen, turning to face Gabriel. He looks appropriately…I’d say “presidential”, but I guess the more appropriate term is “gubernatorial”…in a dark gray suit with a simple silver tie.

“Excuse me?”

“Meredith was quite clear. You were to wear the blue,” he grunts, his eyes dropping to my green top and cream skirt.

“I didn’t like the blue, and didn’t think it would have any bearing on today’s announcement.” My mouth twists. “Much like whether my pussy was waxed or not.”

Gabriel smirks. “The spa was a gift,” he shrugs. “No part of that was mandatory.”

“But the outfit is?”

“You’re a professional, Fumi,” he sighs. “You work in a high-end law firm. Exactly how hard was it for you to realize that dressing the part was important?”

“I didn’t say no to the blue so that I could wear a clown suit,” I spit back. “I’m more comfortable in this, and it’s more my color. Plus, you’re not⁠—”

“The boss of you?” Gabriel finishes.

I lift a brow. “We’re not at the office, Mr. Black.”

“No, we’re at that other job where I’m paying you five million fucking dollars to do what I say.”

“That’s not what you’re paying—” I gasp as he surges into me, pinning me against a side table.

“Details. Matter,” he growls. “In the future, when I or my campaign manager asks you to do something…” He leans close, his lips near my ear. “Just fucking do it.”

Time to face the music.

At first, I almost panic when we step out onto the front steps of Tweed Courthouse and the barrage of camera flashes, thrust microphones, and screamed questions. I actually freeze for a second, my body going rigid and my face paling before we move toward the podium.

Then suddenly I feel a reassuring warmth as Gabriel takes my hand in his. I swallow, turning to find myself latching onto those greenish-hazel eyes. I take a deep breath as he nods. Then we turn, and the two of us walk the last few steps to the podium.

The perfect couple.

No one would guess that barely two weeks ago, this man bruised my skin. Marked me. Made me scream for more before he fucked my mouth while I was bound on my knees.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you all for being here.”

I take half a step back—as previously decreed by Meredith, much to my chagrin—as Gabriel approaches the microphone at the podium. My eyes slide from the crowd of reporters to him, and watch transfixed as he transforms before my eyes.

“I’m sure many of you have heard this by now, but I’m pleased and excited to formally announce my impending marriage to this lovely woman with whom I’ve been lucky enough to spend the last ten months.”

I swallow thickly, forcing a smile to my face as Gabriel turns, beaming as he gestures toward me with a grand flourish.

I’ve seen him undergo this transformation before, in court. But it’s the fact that he’s doing it in real life that makes it sink in just how well he’s perfected this ability to slide on a new “him”, as easily as putting on a mask.

A perfect, smiling, effortlessly charismatic golden mask befitting the “golden god” public persona of the great Gabriel Black, attorney at law.

“Ms. Yamaguchi and I had planned to wait to tell you all this until after the wedding.” Gabriel smiles broadly, and I watch every single one of the reporters present shove each other aside to eat out of the palm of his hand. “But my lovely fiancée has convinced me otherwise.”

Jesus Christ. He’s way too good at this. And what turns me from “impressed” to “terrified” at how good he is, is the fact that I know who he really is.

I was there.

It’s not that this is the real Gabriel, and what I saw in the private room at Club Venom was a persona.

It’s the opposite.

“So, without any further ado, I want to take this moment…”

I gasp as he takes my hand, pulling me tight against him at the podium before sliding an arm around my waist.

“To announce my candidacy for the Governor’s office of the great state of New York.”

There’s no going back now…