Deviant Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

She’s trying to keep her face a mask—something I’m sure her father drilled into her, along with a hundred other “rules of engagement”, especially when it comes to negotiating deals potentially worth a hundred million dollars on his behalf.

She’s good at this.

I know what’s next. She’ll say she needs to converse with Ricardo first. She’ll hem and haw. She’ll choose some arbitrary aspect of the terms I’ve laid out to bitch and complain about. And then, when I see the tiniest curl at the corners of Lucia Bolinaro’s lips, I’ll know we have a deal.

Lucia sighs, her manicured brow furrowing slightly. Her nail taps the dining room table of my penthouse.

“I don’t know, Ares.”

I hold back a grin. Yep, here’s the hemming and hawing bus, right on schedule.

“I mean, look, it’s not that I’m saying no. I just…” she shrugs casually, the neutral look remaining on her face. “Well… It’s a good start to a deal. I’ll say that much.”

Bullshit. It’s a solid gold deal, for both of our families. And she damn well knows it. But again, she’s good at this.

“I’ll need to speak with my father, of course.”

I nod. “Of course. I appreciate it’s not up to you. You’re just here to relay information to him.”

It’s a cheap shot, but it works. I can see the anger flare in her eyes before she swallows it back.

Truth: when—not if—we do this deal, it’s going to be a deal between myself and Lucia. Ricardo will look at the details after the fact, but I know damn well this is her deal to make. Even though that’s supposed to be a secret.

“There’s the small matter of covering the operating costs of security…”

“What about it?” I ask mildly.

Here’s where she picks one random issue about the detail to harp about. Because even if the deal is dripping in diamonds, it’s poor form not to at least half complain about something, sort of like how it’s bad form not to haggle at a street market in Athens or Cairo.

“Well, if I’m understanding this, we will be covering all costs of that?”

I shrug. “You’re the exporter and they’re your ships and planes, moving your cargo, so…”

“Our cargo.”

I shake my head. “No. Until delivery, it’s yours. Then it becomes ours. Protection is on you. It can be your own people, a third party…anyone you trust to get the job done. But it’s on your dime.”

Lucia’s perfectly-done nails tap the tabletop again. Slowly, her eyes raise to mine, a smirk on her lips.

“Interesting.”

“Which part?”

She laughs. “Not the deal. I mean you.”

When I frown, she shakes her head.

“I won’t lie, Ares. When we first sat down across a very different table to begin these negotiations, I had you pegged for a mark. Or, I thought I did.”

No shit. It explains the ludicrously revealing outfit she wore to that first meeting, not to mention virtually every time we’ve been around each other since, including at my own engagement party.

Obviously, it didn’t work. Because I’m not an idiot.

“I know you did.”

She laughs. “Perhaps half knew, maybe. Yes, I had you pegged as the jaded prince of the family. The playboy who was never meant to be king and would fail. But now?” She shrugs. “You may not have been born to be the king, Ares. But you’re quite good at ruling now.”

My brow furrows. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not sure it’s you who deserves the praise.”

Lucia smirks when I give her a questioning look.

“I’m speaking about your wife, Ares. I think it’s safe to say the Drakos family got much more than they were anticipating in their little arrangement with the Kildares.”

My affect remains flat, but inside, I’m grinning widely. Because Lucia isn’t wrong in the slightest. Yes, maybe I have grown and stepped up to fill the role I wasn’t ever meant to. To fit the crown that was never supposed to be worn on my head.

But if Lancelot figured out how to be Arthur after all, he didn’t do it on his own.

It’s not as if Neve sat me down and gave me lessons on how to lead the Drakos empire, or show me by example. But there’s something about her. There’s some strange alchemy going on when she and I are together.

Apart, we’ve spent our lives bashing our way through the world using our stubbornness and quick tongues as battering rams against any door we come across.

Together, we’re the keys to those doors. No bashing required.

“Well, anyway.” Lucia sighs as she sits back in her chair. Her eyes hold mine for another second before she stands abruptly and marches towards the kitchen area of the penthouse.

“Is there something you need?”

She glances at me as she opens the Sub-Zero fridge. “I’m assuming the head of the Drakos empire has at least one bottle of champagne chilled in the fridge?”

She assumes correctly.

“There’s a bottle of Pol Roger in there some—”

“Found it.”

I’m still frowning when Lucia walks back to the dining room table by the window and sets down the ’99 Winston Churchill edition Pol Roger and two flutes. She expertly opens the bottle with a dull pop and eyes me as she pours.

“Can I assume we’re drinking for the reason I think we’re drinking?”

“Well, as I said, I of course need to run this by my father—”

“No, you don’t.”

Lucia allows herself a small grin as she pushes a glass my way and raises hers. “To a fruitful partnership.”

I clink my glass to Lucia’s, both of us grinning as we take a sip.

A hundred-and-ten-million-dollar deal, which will pay out in the next five months.

Yeah, I can sure fucking cheers to that.

“Do you mind if I change here? I’m headed straight to the airport after this.”

I nod towards the hallway that leads to the master suite. “Feel free.”

“Thanks.”

Lucia disappears with a small bag down the hall. I stand by the window, looking out over the city and allowing myself to smile.

Lucia’s right. The Drakos family got more than they bargained for when I married Neve Kildare. I got more than I bargained for.

I didn’t just get a wife and sign a peace treaty.

I got a partner.

An equal.

Someone who makes my steps easier and my heart lighter.

Someone I love. Even if I haven’t figured out how to tell her that yet.

The click of high heels pulls me from my thoughts. When I turn, Lucia is out of her formal business suit and wearing something more appropriate for a lavish garden party.

“I’m headed to my father’s,” she explains with a shrug. “He’s hosting my little cousin’s quinceañera.”

“Felicidades.”

She grins, plucking up her glass and moving toward where I’m standing.

“Cheers again. To the sons and daughters who take up their parents’ thrones.”

I chuckle. “And to making a fuckload of money together.”

Lucia laughs as she clinks her glass to mine. Which is exactly the moment when the door to the apartment opens, and my wife walks in.

Immediately, my soaring mood drops like a rock when I see the fury blazing in her gaze, the fury that says she’s hoping napalm could come out of her eyes so she could engulf Lucia in flame.

Needless to say, I realize how shitty it looks that I’m hanging out alone, drinking champagne with a woman Neve obviously still views as a rival.

She’s wrong, though. There’s not a woman in the world that could touch the one I married in terms of my attention and desire.

I smile as I move towards her.

“How was class—”

“Great,” she mutters flatly.

“Champagne? We’re celebrating.”

“I can see that.”

I almost grin at the look on her face. At the thin-lipped, red-headed, ball of pure Irish fury that I married.

But I don’t have a death wish, so I don’t.

“Come,” I murmur as I lean in to kiss her. She allows it…barely…but her lips are still tight. “Sit and have a glass.” My mouth brushes her ear, my voice low. “We just nailed down the details on an insane deal.”

“And is that all you nailed?” she says icily.

“So far,” I growl into her ear, ignoring her pointed accusation. “But let me get rid of our guest and we can easily change—”

“So good to see you again!” Neve pushes past me, her voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm as she smiles robotically at Lucia.

The cartel princess smiles cautiously and a little less robotically.

“So good to see you too, Neve. Ares was just—”

“It’s so funny,” Neve laughs. “I almost didn’t recognize you when I walked in, what with your tits not hanging out and all.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Lucia’s mouth tightens. I glare at Neve when she turns to smile at me.

“I should go catch my flight.” Lucia sets her glass down and clears her throat before turning back to Neve. “You’re a very lucky woman, you know. But—”

“Bye.”

Lucia smiles, ignoring Neve’s withering look. “But, he’s an even luckier man, to have you.” She turns, heading for the door. “Ares, I’ll have my people send yours the formal agreement for signature. But yes, we are agreed on all terms. Speak to you soon.”

When the door shuts, I turn to level a cold look at Neve.

Who of course just turns and gives me an innocent “who, me?” look.

I glare at her. “That, for your information, was the culmination of a three-month negotiation for a hundred-and-ten-million-dollar deal. In case you were curious.”

“Oh, I was curious. But more about what that bitch was doing in our house alone with you.”

Slowly, my glare breaks as a grin twists my lips.

Wrong move. Because immediately, Neve’s face turns a deeper shade of pissed-the-fuck-off purple.

“I’m sorry, is that fucking funny?”

“No,” I shake my head as I move towards her. “No, it’s not. It’s just that I like you like this.”

“Like what, asshole?”

“Irrationally jealous.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fuck you.”

I grin. “I’d almost think you sort of like me.”

Neve’s lips purse, crimson flooding her cheeks.

“Don’t get…cute,” she mutters.

I step even closer, until I’m near enough to take her hands in mine.

“There isn’t a woman on this planet who can pull my attention from you.”

“Not even gorgeous and sexy cartel princesses with big—”

“Not a single. Fucking. One.”

Her lips purse, her jaw grinding as she looks away.

“She wants you, and it’s fucking obvious, and you don’t even see it.”

“No, she doesn’t. I think she was trying to play me earlier on, thinking I might be an easy mark for skewing the trade terms in her family’s favor.” I lift a shoulder. “But I wasn’t, and it didn’t. Because I only have eyes for one woman. Okay?”

Neve’s teeth rake over her bottom lip.

“Okay. But put yourself in my shoes. I mean you’re the one who threatened to fly back from London and throw a platonic friend of mine out a window if I even suggested dancing with him. And then I come home to find her here, dressed like a fucking supermodel, drinking champagne alone with you.”

I cup her face, lifting her chin. This time, when I kiss her softly, she doesn’t give me a tight-lipped rebuke. She melts into me, her tongue dancing with mine before she pulls back.

“I didn’t used to be like this, you know,” she mumbles.

“Like what?”

“Like a jealous, needy psycho.”

I grin. “You are not needy.”

“I’m a little needy. Only when it comes to you, though.”

“Well, you’re definitely not a psycho. I’m the one that made the window threats, remember?”

She grins, pulling close.

“I have an idea,” I murmur into her red locks. “We’ve got this open bottle of Pol Roger. I say we order Chinese takeout and watch dumb movies while we finish it.”

“How dumb are you willing to go?”

“Maybe Adam Sandler?”

She snorts. “Try harder, buddy. We’re talking mid-nineties Jim Carrey.”

I laugh deeply as I kiss her head. “We have a deal.”

Three hours later, we’re mostly through the Chinese food, finished with The Mask, and in the middle of Ace Ventura. We’re also almost done with our second bottle of champagne.

I get up and head into the kitchen to grab us some water so we don’t pay too dearly for all this bubbly tomorrow. From the kitchen, I see Neve’s phone light up on the couch next to her. She lazily picks it up.

Instantly, her face breaks into a grin and she types something out before dropping it back into her lap. As I fill the water glasses, I see the phone light up again. Neve picks it back up, still grinning. But then, something switches.

Her brow furrows and her face suddenly grows serious.

“Who’s that?”

Her eyes snap to mine as I step back into the living room area.

“What?”

“Who are you texting?”

“Nobody.”

My brow furrows. What?

“I’m not prying, I was just curious. You looked concerned.”

“Well, I’m not,” she says quickly and tersely. “And it’s nobody.”

Okay, what the fuck is going on.

“Look, I just want to make sure everything’s okay. Who are you—”

“It’s none of your business,” she snaps.

My jaw tightens. “Okay, okay, chill out.”

I put the glasses of water down on the coffee table in front of the couch. When I sit back down next to her, though, Neve gets up. She makes a huge show of stretching and pulling her hair into a ponytail before she sits down again.

About three feet away from me.

I turn the movie back on. As it plays, I turn to steal a look at her. She’s back on her phone, her stone-cold face illuminated by the screen as she types furiously.

Fuck it. I reach over and touch her bare foot. Neve jumps, gasping as her eyes dart to mine.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps.

No, you’re not.

“Will you please just tell me what’s up?”

“Nothing, okay?”

She types something else before suddenly, she stands again.

“I’m going out for a little bit.”

My brows knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I’m going out.”

“It’s eleven-thirty.”

She shrugs in this weird off-handed and cold way that only makes me more confused. “And?”

“Neve, what the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing, Ares!” she snaps. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She marches away down the hall to the bedroom.

What. The. Actual. Fucking. Fuck.

I grind my teeth, glaring after her. What, is she still pissed about Lucia being here? No. She was fine until someone texted her. And now suddenly she’s cold and shutting me out, and fucking leaving.

I’m still glowering on the couch when Neve suddenly comes exploding back out of our bedroom. Her eyes are livid, her mouth set in a vicious line, and her red hair is fanned out behind her like an apocalyptic asteroid.

“Neve, what—”

“Actually,” she snaps coldly, pure fury in her voice. “You know what?”

“Neve—”

“I won’t be back.”

I stand, my teeth grinding. “Excuse me?”

“FUCK YOU, Ares!”

I stare at her. “What he fuck is wrong with—”

“With me? With ME, Ares?!” she screams. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’m pissed that I married a fucking liar?!”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Her face goes absolutely livid.

“I’m talking about the fucking panties that most certainly aren’t mine lying on our bathroom floor, you fucking prick.”

Shit.

“Okay, hang on. That is not what you think it—”

“Don’t,” she snarls icily. “Don’t you even fucking dare try.”

She storms for the door. I get there first, planting myself between her and the door as I glare down at her.

“Neve—”

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Lucia got changed in there to go to the airport. I’m sure they fell out of her suitcase or something.”

Neve laughs coldly.

“Wow. You really must think I’m an idiot.”

“Will you fucking listen to what you’re even saying?!” I snap. “Do you seriously think, given everything we’ve been through, given how long you’ve known me, given the fire you and I are together, that I’d—”

“Move.”

She glares at me so hard and with so much venom that I flinch.

“Neve…”

“Get out of my fucking way, Ares.”

Slowly, I step aside. Neve brushes past me and yanks the door open.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“Out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, dickhead!” she hisses. “Maybe I’ll go find someone’s bathroom floor to leave my fucking underwear on.”

Pure, vicious fury explodes in my chest, bubbling out through my bared teeth and blazing eyes. It’s so apparent on my face that even Neve falters for a second. But then she swallows that back, glaring at me.

“You know what’s really funny, Ares?” She snaps. “I actually thought I was in love with you. Fucking hilarious, right?”

I’m still blinking in stunned shock as she blasts through the door and slams it shut behind her.

I actually thought I was in love with you.

I want to go after her. I want to drag her back here. But that won’t solve shit. Not when she’s this fucking angry. She needs to be allowed to explode at something. Maybe get a drink, or vent to her sister—or mine, for that matter.

In any case, she’s got my men tailing her. She’ll be fine.

I grit my teeth, pacing the room, forcing myself not to go after her in this moment. Let her get her rage out. Let her calm down and realize how wrong she is about the situation. I still have no fucking idea what got her all riled up in the first place, or who texted her. But I’ll deal with that part after we can talk rationally.

An hour. She gets exactly one hour to cool off. Then I’m grabbing her and dragging her back here.

I grit my teeth as I pace the room. I make myself a drink. I try turning the goddamn movie back on.

I only make it thirty-five minutes after she storms out before I’m sure I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I yank my phone out to text her.

Me: where the fuck are you

Just as I send it, my phone rings.

Neve? No, it’s Hades.

“What,” I snap.

“Fuck, you already heard?”

My brows knit. “Heard fucking what?”

“Shit.”

My eyes narrow. “What, Hades.”

“Look, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this—”

“I’m in no mood for bullshit, Hades. So what the fuck are you talking—”

“The tail on Neve just called me.”

“Why you?”

“Probably because they were afraid to tell you directly.”

I stiffen and my jaw works as my blood begins to burn hotter.

“Tell me what.”

Hades clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Hades—”

“Neve left The Banshee with that bartender pal of hers, Jack, about ten minutes ago. They just walked into his apartment together. Look man, I—”

I hang up. Then I almost take the front door off the hinges on my way out, pure hate and death humming in my veins.