Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

“This is fucking insulting, Dante!”

I resist the urge to tell Silvio that what is actually insulting is showing up to my engagement party uninvited, especially after being told in no uncertain terms to stay the fuck away from my sister.

I haven’t the slightest fucking clue how a second-rate dumbfuck like Silvio Bonpensiero managed to convince Bianca to go out with him in the first place. It’s actually so difficult to imagine at times I’ve worried that coercion or drugs were involved, except for the fact that my sister doesn’t do drugs and has never done a thing in her life that could be held over her head as blackmail.

In any event, Silvio and Bianca dated casually for a little bit about a month ago before she came to her senses and called it off.

Silvio, however, is having a really hard time getting the message about that.

Since my sister ended things, the fucker has showed up looking for her at her school, her apartment, my own house and the place I keep in the city, and even Club Venom—as if I would ever in a million years let Bianca go there—where he made a scene at the door until I finally came down and told him to go get fucked.

Usually, I’d have done far worse by now than use strong language with Silvio for continuing to creep after my sister. Except unfortunately the little shit is the son of Frank Bonpensiero, the head of one of the top tributary families of the Amato family. His mother also happens to be Luciana Amato’s niece.

That makes mailing Silvio to various points around the globe in separate little boxes a no-no.

Lucky little douchebag.

“You know who my father is,” he whines in my face. “And yet here you are, treating me like⁠—”

“Like what, Silvio?” I hiss. “Like an intruder? Like a pest?”

His face turns bright red. “How dare you! How dare⁠—”

“Yes, Silvio, I’m quite aware of who your father is.” He gasps as I grab his collar in my fist. “But I need you to be equally aware that that is the only reason I haven’t cut off your balls and choked you with them,” I snarl right in his face.

I release his collar and step back. The second I do, his head swivels to the ballroom inside, and when I follow his gaze, my jaw clenches.

Not just because he’s eyeballing my sister again. It’s because when I follow his gaze to Bianca, I also catch a flash of a glimmering silver gown, black hair, and soft, pale skin.

Tempest.

Tempest, at whom I should be glaring with as much malice as I was at Silvio. Except when I look at the meddling little sneak who just royally fucked up my plans, it’s not malice I feel.

It’s something darker. Illicit.

I’m not looking at Tempest Black and fantasizing about putting her in a hole in the ground. The fantasy is more like me putting her on her knees with those sassy, vitriolic lips of hers wide open and waiting for my cock as I tangle that hair in my fist.

I suddenly realize I’m staring at her. Worse, she’s staring right back.

Fuck.

I shake myself back into reality, grabbing Silvio’s collar again and yanking his head away from staring at Bianca.

“Out of respect for your father, and who he answers to, I’m inviting you to leave on your own accord. This offer has a time limit, though, Silvio. In one minute, the invitation to walk out on your own two legs turns into Lorenzo throwing you out. And for every minute you overstay your non-welcome, I’ll tell him to go up another flight of stairs in my home before tossing you out of it.”

Silvio glares death at me. But there’s not a real “tough guy” bone in his body. Silvio is pure spoiled mafia princeling, through and through.

“Do we understand each other?”

His lips curl. “My father will be hearing about this disrespect.”

Oh my God.

“Forty seconds, dipshit.”

“You can’t order me around, Dante. I’m not one of your whores from your little club⁠—”

“Thirty seconds.”

Silvio swallows heavily. His eyes dart past me to Lorenzo.

“This isn’t over,” Silvio mutters. “Your sister and I have unfinished⁠—”

“My sister and you, much like my tolerance for your presence in my home, are over. Fifteen…no, ten seconds.”

Silvio starts to open his mouth. Then he’s got the good sense to close it before giving me one last glare and storming away through the ballroom toward the exit.

Probably the smartest thing the idiot’s done all day.

“Have him tailed after he leaves,” I growl to Lorenzo.

“You got it, boss.”

Lorenzo disappears back into the crowd inside as I wait in the shadows of the balcony, surveying this whole debacle.

An engagement party.

Give me a fucking break.

It’s not that I actively never wanted to get married. I mean if we want to get technical with things, I was once married, for about eight minutes.

…To Tempest’s sister Layla, right before she died.

These days, the lack of any motivation or urge to get married is because I already am. To my job. To the club. To the webs of information I weave.

And that’s not even counting my other job. My…crusade, if you will. My hunt.

But that’s another story entirely.

My gaze darts to the bar before I can stop myself. She’s not standing there anymore. I actually don’t see Tempest anywhere, actually. But before I can chide myself for looking for the little agent of fucking chaos, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

“Congratulations, my friend.”

The heavy Serbian accent is a dead giveaway before I even turn toward him. I’m not a small man by any standard. But fucking hell, it’s hard for even me not to feel small next to Drazen Krylov.

The man is just big—tall, broad-shouldered, and built like Henry Cavill’s Superman. He’s a good-looking guy, and he’s taken to wealth with style. I mean, I don’t know if Drazen was ever poor, per se. But the mercenary-turned-Bratva kingpin came into billions about a year ago with the discovery of a long-lost treasure of Tsarina Alexandra’s royal jewels, which she’d bequeathed to Drazen’s great-great-grandfather a century ago, when the Romanov family fell.

Now, he calls New York home as he works to build the Krylov Bratva family into a formidable empire. He’s also become a friend of sorts, now that he and Carmy and Nico are pals and business partners. And, of course, now that he’s an investor in Club Venom.

I roll my eyes. “Let’s skip the congratulations.”

Drazen grins. “Well, whatever the circumstances, she’s beautiful. So there’s that.”

“She’s crass, mouthy, and a royal pain in the fucking ass.”

He chuckles as I sigh.

“So where are your partners in crime?”

“Carmine and Nico?” He snorts, nodding his chin at the crowd inside. “Playing with fire.”

AKA, hitting on anything with a pair of a tits and a pulse, regardless of which of the dangerous mafiosos here they might be married to.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there hunting with them, Drazen,” I eye him. “Although I haven’t seen you at Venom much recently, so perhaps…?”

He spreads his arms. “No, work has become my new mistress. Empires don’t build themselves. But also,” he makes a face, “I find it distasteful to chase pussy at the celebration of someone else’s engagement.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to sully the sanctity of my arranged—and stolen, I might add—betrothal to a woman I want nothing to do with.”

Drazen chuckles to himself. “You amuse me, Dante. You’ve grown up in this world seeing marriages exactly like this time and time again. And yet you’re shocked and outraged when it happens to you. Surely you considered the possibility of a marriage that might benefit⁠—”

“I was content to never consider the possibility of marriage at all,” I growl. “As you say, empires don’t build themselves, and some of us are coming up a little short in the Romanov diamonds department.”

Drazen chuckles a deep, rumbling laugh. “Touche.” He glances my way with a furrow to his brow. “Tell me, though. What is this animosity between her brothers and you? I thought you were a client of their firm.”

My tongue runs over my teeth. “I am, but I work with Ms. Crown. Gabriel and Alistair and I just went to university together.”

“What did you do, fuck their girlfriends?”

Wouldn’t that have made things simpler…

“No. They believe I…” I shake my head slowly, looking at the middle distance. “It’s complicated,” I growl quietly.

Drazen opens his mouth to say something else. But just then Lorenzo suddenly strides toward me with a dark look on his face.

“Dante…” He glances at Drazen. When I nod for him to continue, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, boss. We lost track of Silvio.”

Shit.

“The fuck do you mean?”

“I mean I think he picked up on the fact that we were tailing him and lost us somewhere in the house. My guys are going through all the camera feeds now, but, well…”

It’s a big house.

There’s a lot of fucking cameras.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “He’s definitely still on the grounds?”

“Unless he pole-vaulted the fences. His Ferrari’s still here, and the men on the gate never saw him leave with anyone else.”

“Find him,” I hiss. My pulse suddenly lurches afresh. “Shit, and find Bianca, now.”

He grimaces stonily. “We’re on it, boss.”

He mutters into his radio and dives back into the party. Drazen clears his throat.

“What can I do to help? I have five of my men outside with cars.”

“I’ll take you up on that, thanks,” I growl. “We’re looking for Silvio Bonpensiero. I’ll text you his picture. He’s probably looking for my sister⁠—”

A scream rips through the night. I whirl, lurching to the balcony railing: that didn’t come from inside the party, it came from out here. I tense, my gaze stabbing into the darkness of the gardens surrounding the house.

“You fucking bitch!”

Drazen and I both whirl and look up at the same time.

Fuck me. It’s not coming from the yard. It’s coming from the fucking roof.

I dive back into the ballroom with Drazen right behind me, make a beeline for the side door, and crash through it. We tear down a hallway, up the main stairs, down another hall, and then up the staircase to the rooftop patio.

My gun is already out, and I can hear Drazen chambering a round in his behind me as I slam the door to the roof open.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!”

Across the patio from us, Tempest is standing tall and furious between my sister and Silvio like some kind of shimmering avenging angel. Bianca’s eyes are wide and her face pale as she cowers behind Tempest. Silvio, meanwhile, is snarling in rage, holding his hand to his bleeding cheek. Fuck me, are those scratch marks?

“You little cunt⁠—”

It happens in a millisecond. Silvio goes to shove Tempest aside. But the second he takes one step toward her, she winds up and then absolutely crushes the highball glass in her hand against the other side of his face.

Silvio screams in agony, instantly dropping to his knees as shattered glass and blood explodes everywhere. Tempest shrieks too, dropping the smashed glass and clutching at her hand as Drazen and I bolt across the patio.

I knee Silvio hard, smashing him to the ground and sinking my toe into his soft belly.

“Watch him,” I snarl at Drazen. The Serbian grins with pleasure as he puts the heel of his wingtip dress shoe to the back of Silvio’s neck and points the gun at the snivelling asshole’s head. I rush over to Bianca, but she shakes her head.

“I’m fine! Help her!!”

I whirl and my eyes lock on Tempest, kneeling on the ground, wincing as she holds the hem of her dress to her bleeding hand.

Fuck.

“I’m fine, Dante. Seriously.”

Bianca pushes past me, and walks over to where Tempest is sitting on the kitchen counter nursing the hand Lorenzo has just finished bandaging. It’s nothing serious: no stitches needed. Still, I’m not exactly stoked for the inevitable shitstorm that’s going to hit the fan when Gabriel and Alistair find out what happened.

Apparently, Silvio blundered his way up there, found my sister and Tempest having a drink, and tried to start some shit with Bianca. But then Tempest got between them, shoved him away, and scratched him when he tried to hit her. Drazen and I barged in just in time to see her smash her gin and tonic against the side of his head, cutting him up pretty badly and her only sort of badly in the process.

There’s going to be fallout from this. Luckily, I’ve got security footage of the roof showing Silvio as the instigator. Drazen and his men are currently bringing him to a superb Russian doctor Drazen knows who’s apparently a real pro. He’ll be fine.

But it’s also not like Frank Bonpensiero is an old buddy of mine, and he does love his moron of a son. This will take some special handling.

I’ll deal with that later. More importantly, and mercifully, Bianca is fine, aside from being a little shaken up.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Tempest gives her a wry smile. “Why not? I mean, screw that asshole. He can’t talk to you like that.”

My sister turns and smiles at me. “She’s a total badass, dude. Congrats.”

I just nod quietly. “Lorenzo, would you make sure my sister gets home okay?”

Bianca’s smile drops as she glares at me. “Really? Is this you sending me to my room? I mean what the fuck, Dante?!”

I shake my head as I walk up to her and hug her tightly.

“No, B. This is me getting you as safe as I can right now.”

Her scowl softens as I pull back to lock my eyes with hers.

“My house is currently crawling with mafia from four different families with fuck knows how many different dramas lurking beneath the surface. Your place, meanwhile, is mafioso-free, and is a goddamn fortress.”

I know this because I paid a small fortune to make it one.

“Plus, you’ll have Lorenzo and his men there making sure there’s no blowback from this. Okay?”

Lorenzo’s been my head of security for years and has watched Bianca grow up. He’d step on a landmine for her without hesitation.

“Okay?”

Bianca sighs, puffing air through her lips. “Okay, okay. Fine.” She frowns and turns back to Tempest. “Do you want to ride back with me? I mean, not to be weird, but you can totally come hang at my place⁠—”

“No. Ms. Black and I need to talk.”

Bianca turns to frown at me. “Dante⁠—”

“I’ll swing by your place as soon as I can wrap up the party,” I murmur softly, hugging her again. “Okay?”

Her lips twist as she nods. “Okay.” She frowns at me. “Be nice to her,” she mutters before turning and hugging Tempest. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“No prob,” Tempest smiles, hugging her back.

After Lorenzo ushers my sister out of the kitchen, leaving Tempest and I alone, the kitchen goes silent. I rake my nails down my jaw, and our eyes lock.

“What,” she mutters testily.

“Do you have any idea who that was that you almost blinded with your cocktail glass?”

She stares at me. “No. I just knew he was some asshole who was trying to put his hands on your sister. Are you seriously mad at me for stopping him?!”

I roll my eyes. “No, and you know I’m not. I’m honestly thankful you were there.”

“Coulda fooled me,” she mutters.

I glare at her. “What I’m pissed about is that I never asked for tropical storm Tempest to come smash up my shit!”

She jumps off the counter and marches over to me with a lethal glare on her face. She’s ditched the heels by now, and she’s even shorter than me than she was before.

“That fucker was going to hurt her, Dante. Don’t you dare try and somehow blame me for him getting past security and being here at this stupid party in the first⁠—”

“The stupid party we’re only throwing because you fucking waltzed in and signed that fucking⁠—”

I stop when her eyes glaze over. One of them starts to roll back in her head, and her mouth falls open.

What the fuck.

“Tempest—”

Her face goes chalk white as both eyes roll in different directions. Her legs give out, and I stick out my arms just before she topples to the ground, catching her full weight against my chest.

Fuck me, she’s so light in my arms. Like a barely-there rag doll collapsed against me.

I kneel, lowering her in my arms and hovering over her. Tempest flinches. Her eyes flutter closed, then open, then closed again. Then they open again, with clarity this time. Her brow furrows in confusion, and as our eyes lock, my face leaned down close to hers and my arms wrapped around her small frame, I’m almost compelled to kiss her.

Mercifully, reason takes over. And by that, I mean Tempest flinches again, shoves me away from her, and lurches up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she blurts, unsteady on her feet as she backs rapidly away from me.

“What the fuck am I doing? Tempest, you just collapsed. I think you blacked out.”

Her eyes dart around the room, as if slowly refreshing her memory of her surroundings.

“I’m calling a doctor. I think you lost more blood than⁠—”

“I’m fine.”

I arch a stern brow. “The fuck you are. You just blacked⁠—”

“I’m fine.”

She rolls her shoulders as she pushes her hair back.

“Where are my shoes?”

Wordlessly, I nod my chin to where her heels are sitting by the fridge. She’s still unsteady as she shuffles over and slips them on, tightening the straps and taking slow, deep breaths as she stands. Without another word, she walks—wobbles—to the door. There she pauses, turning back to look at me, her mouth pursed.

“I’d like to propose a deal.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Exactly what sort of deal?”

“You don’t tell my brothers that I passed out. And I won’t tell them that a deranged maniac managed to get past your security and hurt me while I was here tonight.”

She’s got balls, I’ll give her that.

“Interesting proposal,” I growl quietly.

She looks around vaguely. “I need to find my phone. I’m going to get my own ride back to the city. I’ll call an Uber and text my brothers that I left. I don’t think they’ll have a hard time believing I skipped out on this party.”

“I can call my helicopter.”

“Yes, because that would be way easier to explain.”

I smirk. So does she.

“And the hand? You don’t think Gabriel and Alistair will possibly have a question or thirty about what the fuck happened to you?”

“My hand is fine,” Tempest murmurs. “In a day or two, I’ll just take the bandages off and tell them I slipped on the stairs or whatever. But you⁠—”

“Don’t mention your little collapsing routine.”

“Exactly.”

“Why not?”

“Because those are the terms of our deal.”

I draw in a slow breath, walking toward her. Tempest shivers, but she doesn’t move away.

“What are you⁠—”

“I’m amending the terms.”

Tempest scowls. “You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

She chews on her lip, eyeing me. “Well?”

“I’ll play this game and accept your terms. But I’m adding one more of my own.”

“Which is?”

“No more surprises or bullshit. And you know what I mean.”

Tempest looks like she’s getting ready to throw something biting back in my face. But then she nods swiftly and sticks out a hand. “Okay, fine. Let’s shake on it.”

I smirk, rolling my eyes. “Fine.”

I take her small hand in mine, almost enveloping it.

…I refuse to acknowledge the burst of heat that lances through my chest when our hands connect. I also refuse to dwell on the tingling sensation where her skin touches mine, or the way her eyes flicker with something forbidden when our gazes lock.

Then the moment’s over.

Tempest pulls away, nods at me with her lip still caught in her teeth, and turns. I watch from the kitchen doorway as she walks down the hall. Once, she stumbles, her hand shooting out to steady herself against the wall.

“Just the fucking heels,” she mutters over her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Maybe it was the heels just now. But that doesn’t explain what happened before. That was certainly not her goddamn shoes.

It wasn’t blood loss, either: she’s right, her hand isn’t that badly cut at all. It could be shock, I suppose.

My mind replays the way her eyes rolled back. The way her body just went limp in my arms, like a rag doll.

…who weighs, frankly, not enough.

Could that be it? An eating disorder? Tempest is tiny, and not just thin, either. She’s gaunt, as if she purposefully doesn’t eat. Fuck, like some of Bianca’s dancer friends.

Whatever it is, I’ll find out. Whatever she’s hiding, I’ll uncover. Whatever she’s trying to keep buried, I’ll dig up.

I’ll discover every fucking secret you have, little hurricane…