Deviant Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

Holy shit, this place is a fucking palace.

From what I gather, there are two ways up to the sprawling, opulent, neoclassical mansion that the Drakos family calls home here in New York. You can either take the private elevator that goes straight up into the house itself. Or you can take the other elevator, the one that stops at the floor below the roof of the main building, on top of which the mansion sits.

From there, an elegant glass and stone staircase winds up into the grounds of the estate, letting the visitor step out of a gazebo-type structure across the gardens from the mansion itself.

Yes, there are gardens. There are grounds.

And yes, you can guess which entrance Cillian, Castle, Eilish, and I are led through when we arrive at the Drakos home for the “celebration dinner” to honor Ares and I’s impending unholy matrimony.

We’re on Central Park South, aka billionaire’s row, and the Drakos family has what looks like could be an estate in the English countryside, complete with rose gardens, classical sculptures, a tennis court, and two pools, all sitting on fucking top of a building overlooking Central fucking Park.

It’s wild.

Needless to say, try as I can to keep my cool, my jaw still hits the floor when we step out of that gazebo. The grounds are draped with twinkling white string lights and hanging bulbs. A string quartet plays quietly on the far side of Pool Number One, and waiters in white dinner jackets are everywhere, passing trays of hors d’oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne.

I’ve grown up with wealth, and the Kildare townhouse on the Upper East Side is dripping with money. But still, I mean, holy shit.

“Bit over the top, isn’t it?”

I smile when I hear the familiar voice. And when I turn, I grin and allow the portly older man to scoop me into a big hug.

“Owen!” Eilish beams when our father’s old friend lets me go and pulls her into a bear hug as well.

“Owen” is Owen Foley, head of the Foley family, a subsidiary to the Kildare empire. He and our parents were good friends, and we’ve known him since his waistline was about half of what it is now and his hair—what’s left of it—was sandy blonde instead of silvery-gray.

He’s old-school. By which I mean he might live like a prince now, but he came up through the ranks breaking kneecaps and cracking skulls like a real gangster. He’s sweet as a teddy-bear to Eilish and I, even often referring to us as his nieces. But he is not someone I’d want to be on the bad side of.

Owen turns to clap a friendly hand on Castle’s shoulder before he shakes Cillian’s hand firmly.

“Well, you did it, you crazy son of a bitch. Congratulations.”

Cillian lifts a shoulder deprecatingly as he slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it with a deft flick of his silver Zippo before turning to nod his chin at me.

“Neve deserves the real credit. Not me.”

Owen makes a clucking sound with his teeth as he shakes his head.

“You’re doing the family a huge service, Neve. I know it might seem grim, but when the Kildare empire grows into a dynasty—”

“Hey, Owen?” I smile weakly. “Is it all right with you it we get through dinner before we start tossing around the word dynasty?”

He grins. “Of course, of course.” He pulls me in for another hug and kisses the top of my head. “Forgive an old man for being proud of you?”

Cillian frowns as he glances around. “Who do I have to bribe to get one of those waiters to bring me something that isn’t fucking champagne?”

I grin as I turn to scan the stunning rooftop garden. “I’m sure we can—”

I freeze when my gaze is caught and hooked tight by another’s.

Someone with piercing dark eyes, and a lethally sharp jaw. Someone with dark, tousled hair and tanned skin.

Someone who looks way too fucking good in his dark suit right now.

Ares’ gaze doesn’t move one millimeter away from mine as he strides across the garden to where we’re all clustered. There’s a coldness to his smile as his eyes stab into me. I glare right back, a small sneer on my own lips.

It’s only when he’s stepped into the middle of us that the stern, dark look on his face cracks suddenly into a cordial, welcoming smile.

Interesting.

Ares might not have been born to be king, but he’s grown into the role very well. He’s good at this—blending in when he has to, appeasing when he has to.

Also being terrifying and intimidating when he has to.

“Thank you all for coming, and welcome to my family’s home.”

“Oh, this is your home?” Castle mutters, only half under his breath. “And here I thought we were at the Museum of Modern Art.”

I freeze, watching Cillian bite back a smirk. Ares eyes Castle cooly, but his charming smile persists.

“Like the Irish, the Greeks had to take what they could, when they could, after coming to this country. This”…he turns and waves a hand at the sprawling mansion behind him…“is thanks to my great-grandfather Nico. He had a moderately successful smuggling business involving half a dozen fishing boats moving hidden cargo between Greece, Turkey, and Italy. When World War One broke out, there were countries with a vested interest in supplying the allied powers with weapons and aid, but couldn’t be seen to be doing so, as they weren’t officially in the war yet.”

“Smart man, your great-grandfather.”

Ares nods at Cillian.

“Indeed. Smart, crazy, and ballsy enough to offer his services to the United States government for a price. After the war ended, he came to New York and bought the very building we’re standing on top of. He’d taken half his payment in war bonds, which meant when the Great Depression hit, he was fine. He bought into stock market for pennies on the dollar, and when it bounced back, well…”

He shrugs with an easy smile.

“Let’s just say there’s a reason this house looks like it was built in the English countryside.”

Next to me, Eilish’s brows shoot up.

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. He had the whole thing shipped here brick-by-brick and reassembled.”

Ares clears his throat. “But enough about my house.” He turns and shakes Cillian’s hand, then Owen’s, before turning to Castle.

“I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I’m fine,” Castle grunts.

“And you, Ms. Kildare.” Ares turns, his face full of dashing charm as he smiles radiantly at my sister. “I need to sincerely apologize for what happened the other day.”

“Oh…it’s…” she stammers. And blushes. Fucking blushes.

My mouth purses.

Don’t fall for his bullshit, Eilish.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good. And you look gorgeous, if I may say so.”

Her blush deepens as she glances down at the beautiful teal Maticevski gown she’s wearing to the formal dinner tonight, which of course makes her look even more like a Disney fucking princess. I have to admit, the color is stunning with her hair.

Ares’ fake, saccharine smile stays plastered on his face as he finally turns to let those piercing eyes cut into me. I meet his gaze without flinching.

“And of course, my lovely bride-to-be, who looks absolutely radiant tonight.”

I shift uncomfortably in the black sequined Dolce and Gabbana number I’m wearing that feels half a size too small. My brow cocks.

“Thanks. It’s Eilish’s.”

“Well, with all due respect to your sister, it looks like it was made for you.”

And then suddenly, still smiling sweetly, still letting those eyes slice into me, Ares moves right into my personal space.

And then the bastard keeps going.

His hand slides over my hip, and suddenly, every nerve in my body sparks as I realize what’s happening.

Holy fuck is he seriously about to fucking kiss me?!

Yes, he is. But I turn my head at the last minute, shivering when I feel his soft lips and the scruff on his jaw brush against my cheek.

I’m still shaking and tingling when he pulls away and smiles to the rest of the group.

“Well, shall we go inside? Cillian, I’ll bet you could use a real drink.”

He beckons to one of the staff waiting in the shadows, who promptly rushes over.

“Please escort our guests of honor inside and see that they’re taken good care of.”

The man nods, smiling as he gestures for us to go with him. But I hang back, watching as Owen, Castle, Cillian, and my sister follow him across the gardens.

It’s not lost on me that Ares doesn’t go with them.

“Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing,” I mutter, turning to glare at him.

“And what exactly am I doing?”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

He smiles mirthlessly at me, arching a brow.

“It’s called being cordial. You should try it sometime.”

“Great. I’m going to go find a proper drink—”

“I noticed you put up curtains.”

I flush, simmering under his gaze.

“Yeah, I heard there was a peeping Tom in the neighborhood.”

“Funny, I heard the same thing.”

I try not to choke on my champagne.

“I find it amusing that you bothered, though.”

My brow furrows. “And why is that?”

The gasp falls unbidden from my lips as he slides his hand over my hip and pulls close to me again. I try to move back, but his grip on my hip tightens, keeping me pinned against his hard, powerful body. His mouth lowers, and I tremble when I feel his breath against my ear.

“Because there won’t be any curtains between us once you’re my wife.”

Sweet Jesus.

Something wicked and wrong throbs deep in my core, melting into heat that pools between my thighs.

Which is precisely when Ares abruptly pulls away.

I stare at him with a mix of shock and anger.

“Excuse me?”

“When we’re married, you won’t be hiding behind a curtain.”

“Ahh, no, the curtains will very much be staying up.”

He shrugs. “All right. But it won’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t be living there. You’ll be living with me.”

I blink in surprise.

“Uh…no I won’t?”

“Oh yes, you will. And before you go whining to your uncle, believe me, he’ll agree with me.”

“Why on Earth would I live with you?”

“This may come as a shock, but it’s a fairly common practice for married couples.”

I glare at him. “But we aren’t a couple. We’re a peace agreement.”

“Yes, a peace agreement that needs to be recognized not just by your family and mine, but all of our tributary and subsidiary families. By our business associates. By our enemies and rivals, even.”

Ares narrows his simmering dark eyes at me.

“We have to sell this, Neve. Or it doesn’t work. So yes, you’ll be living with me. Now,” He clears his throat, pulling away. “I’m going to go make the rounds with the other guests and exchange pleasantries. I suggest you do the same.”

And then he’s gone, pulling away, turning, and striding back across the garden into the small crowd of guests.

I’m exhausted within ten minutes of stepping into the grand house. Person after person—heads of tributary families to both Drakos and Kildare, relatives, business associates—come up to me to congratulate me on my “impending nuptials”.

And in those ten minutes, I’m honestly stunned that every single person here is either too dumb to realize how obviously staged my marriage to Ares is, or else is a really good actor.

“Here.”

I jump, whipping around at the new voice behind me. But instead of yet another offered hand or kiss on my cheek to endure, I come face-to-face with a stunning girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a gorgeous off-white strappy dress that beautifully complements her tanned, olive skin.

Calliope Drakos, Ares’ younger sister.

“I thought you could probably use this.” She raises one of the two crystal tumblers in her hands, filled with amber liquid and a single round ball of ice, and offers it to me. “Whiskey’s your poison, right?”

“I think alcohol is my poison tonight. But yeah, it is.” I smile curiously as I take it from her hand. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m Calliope.”

“Hey. I’m—”

“Yeah, I mean, I know who you are.”

I grin sheepishly. “Sorry. Same.”

“Bored out of your skull yet?”

“More like completely overwhelmed, honestly.”

Calliope nods, arching her brows as she clinks her glass to mine. “Well, cheers. Aren’t fake marriages fun,” she drawls sarcastically. “You can’t tell if everyone around you is a really good actor or else just way dumber than you’d have thought, amirite?”

“Oh my God, exactly!” I blurt. “I mean, come on. It’s not like everyone here can seriously think your brother and I had a cliched Hollywood meet-cute, can they?”

She laughs, taking a sip of her drink.

“Some probably can. Others just know how to play the game. Or, if you’re my ya-ya—”

She turns to nod at, and then smile and wave to, an ancient-looking, tiny old lady sitting across the foyer in one of the living rooms full of party guests. The woman smiles at Calliope before turning her gaze onto me, where it lingers a bit before she gives a small nod.

“That’s my grandmother Dimitra. She’s like old old-school Greek mafia. In her mind, getting married to someone you don’t know in order to settle a feud is a Hollywood meet-cute. I’m fairly sure that’s how she and my grandfather got together, actually.”

“Can’t wait for the movie.”

She snickers. “Only if Glen Close plays Ya-ya.”

I laugh. “I’d watch it.”

We smile as an awkward silence descends, both of us sipping our drinks slowly.

“Look, I get it. Ares isn’t who you probably envisioned for yourself.”

“Yeah, hardly.”

I wince the second I say it, shooting her an apologetic look.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, that came out totally wrong.”

But Calliope just brushes it off.

“No problem. Look, I get it. My brother can be a dick. But he’s not terrible. Trust me, there are way worse arranged mafia marriages out there.”

“Yeah? Like whose?” I mutter bitterly.

“Like mine.”

I flinch, frowning as my eyes dart back to hers.

“Shit, I fucked up again. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

“Ech, don’t sweat it.”

“I’m…kind of famous for putting my foot in my mouth,” I mumble. “Sorry.”

She just laughs quietly. “No, really, it’s fine. I mean, no, it’s not fine. He’s a troll and thirty years older than me.”

My face falls. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it. The glamorous life of crime family daughters.”

“When…?”

“Not for another year. Well, less than a year now. But, don’t worry, I’ve got it sorted.”

I make a face. “Let me guess. Sorted as in you’ve made peace with it.”

“Fuck no. I mean sorted as in I’m going to buy a fake passport and disa-fucking-ppear before I marry that creep.”

I frown, not sure if she’s serious or not. When she grins and winks at me, I grin back. I take a sip of my drink, turning to scan the crowd before my gaze suddenly snaps to a stop.

On Ares.

More specifically, on Ares grinning all over, talking with a pretty girl in a red dress with an extremely plunging neckline who’s currently playing with his tie.

I don’t even realize my jaw is clenching until it actually starts to hurt. It’s like a splash of cold water, shaking me and yanking my focus from the two of them. I quickly take a large sip of my drink.

What the fuck was that? Jealousy?

I make a face at myself.

Get a freaking grip, girl.

I don’t even like Ares. And our marriage is a joke. I am not jealous of him flirting with…whoever the hell that is.

But when I glance back, it’s back again: that green monster writhing inside of me, clawing its way out of my chest as my eyes fix on the two of them.

“Ugh, what is that cow even doing here?”

I start, blinking as I whip my attention back to Calliope.

“Hmm?”

She glares past me to the vixen in the red dress.

“Lucia Bolinaro. I mean honestly, don’t read anything into it. She’s been barking up my brother’s tree for years. But still…” She glares at Ares. “Not a great look at your own engagement party, asshat.”

Ares, as if sensing our attention, turns our way. He grins when he sees his sister. When he realizes it’s me standing next to her, he keeps grinning. But this time, there’s a little smirk to it as well.

And before I know what’s happening, he’s walking over to us, with the girl.

“Ahh, there you are,” he says smoothly to me. “Dear, this is Lucia. Lucia, this is Neve.”

The girl in red smiles plastically at me.

“So I’ve heard. My my, don’t you clean up well.”

I blink, staring at her in shock. I mean, I went to private school. And I grew up with money. I can talk smack as hard as she wants to go. But it catches me enough off-guard that I’m momentarily at a loss for words.

Calliope, however, is not.

“Doesn’t she?” she coos sarcastically at Lucia. “Pity you don’t.”

Ares’ brow furrows deeply as he shoots a cold glare at his sister before turning to me.

“Lucia’s father is Ricardo Bolinaro.”

Head of the Bolinaro Cartel goes unsaid.

“Ohh,” Calliope nods slowly. “So that explains the coke under your nose.”

Lucia’s hand flies to her nostrils. Which don’t actually have any cocaine on them. At least, not right now. When she realizes it, she launches a withering look at Calliope.

“And how is your fifty-year-old fiancé, Calliope?”

“Oh, great,” She gushes back in a fake valley girl voice. “Actually, you probably know him.”

Lucia frowns. “Why would—”

“I’m sure he’s friends with all those other old-guy sugar-daddies you usually hang your daddy issues all over.”

It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. Like, everything. Calliope is officially all right in my fucking books.

Lucia, meanwhile, glares daggers at Calliope before turning to me.

“Congratulations,” she mutters with zero meaning behind it before turning and stalking back to the party.

“Byyyee! Miss you! Kisses!” Calliope throws out after her.

Ares’ face is cold and stern as he turns to level his gaze at his sister.

“What the actual fuck, Callie?”

“What? She’s a cunt. And it’s a seriously bad look to be flirting with other girls at your own engagement party.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t flirting. And she’s an important business connection. Grow up.”

Calliope glares back at him. “Well, your actual fiancée is super cool, and that wasn’t. Don’t be a dick.”

“And don’t make me threaten the bartenders with bodily harm if they keep serving you.”

“Hey!” Calliope blurts as her brother plucks the glass from her hand.

“You’re twenty, not twenty-one.”

“Oh my God, how are you the literal head of a crime family and this much of a simp for the rules?”

She sighs, turning to me.

“It was great to meet you. Sorry my brother is such a wet blanket.”

I grin. “Great to meet you too, Calliope—”

“Callie. You can just call me Callie.”

And with that, she turns and melts into the party, leaving Ares and I alone.

“Wow, well, Lucia seems sooo great.”

Fuck.

I hate that I said it the second it flies ouf of my mouth. Because it makes me sound—

“Jealous?”

I grit my teeth, willing the heat spreading across my face to go away. I turn to see Ares smirking at me, his devilish eyes glinting.

“Um, no? Gross.”

He grins.

“Lucia really is just a business contact. But just because one of us has some fun in this city…”

I see red. Or green. Or, I dunno, brown, or something. Whatever it is, it has me bristling as I purse my lips at him.

“Hey, I have fun.”

“Not from what I’ve seen through your bedroom windows, you don’t.”

I glare at him. ‘Creep.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t jealous. But you’re the one who said we had to sell this. It’s going to look pretty bad if my new husband is out sticking his dick in every pretty girl he sees.”

“I completely agree.”

Wait, what?

I turn back to him, shivering as his gaze slices into me. As his hand suddenly glides sensually over my hip, melting my flesh.

“Which is why I’ll only be sticking my dick into one pretty girl.”

His hand suddenly slides all the way back, making my eyes bulge as he casually and brazenly cups my ass through the gown.

I gulp.

“You wish.”

“I don’t have to wish. I know.”

“Keep dreaming, asshole.”

“I’ve noticed you haven’t moved my hand from your ass, by the way.”

I flush bright red as I shove my hand back and grab his wrist.

“Uh-uh-uh, it’s too late now.”

“Late? Why?”

“Because I’ve already been grabbing your ass for the last minute and a half, and people have noticed. Now, they’re watching, because they think it’s cute. If you shove my hand away, it’s going to look bad.”

“It’s also going to look bad if I stab you in the dick with my heel in five seconds. Get your fucking hand off my ass.”

“I will, when it’s appropriate to do so.”

I stare at him. “It’s appropriate to take your hand off someone when they fucking ask you to.”

His grin widens.

“You do know we’re supposed to make little peace treaty babies, don’t you?”

I flush deeply, shivering under the heat and power of his hand still on my ass.

“Now, how do you suppose we’ll do that without the…” his grin widens. “The mechanics involved.”

My cheeks burn hotly as I glare up into his unreasonable, outrageously attractive face.

“There’s not going to be any babies, and there’s certainly not going to be any mechanics between us.”

“I think we should put a wager on—”

“Neve?”

I jump at the sound of my sister’s voice. I whip around, quickly yanking Ares’ hand off my ass at the same time.

“Oh, hey!” I blurt awkwardly.

My face is still throbbing. So is my ass where his hand was just gripping me.

“Have you seen Castle?”

“No, why?”

She chews on her lip, turning to scan the room.

“Eilish? What’s up?”

“I—” her eyes dart to Ares and back to me.

“That Ezio guy just walked in.”

Shit.

“And I’m worried that Castle will…you know. Start something.”

Yeah, same.

“Shit. Okay, you head that way, I’ll head over there.”

Eilish nods and disappears back into the party. I turn to go the other way when Ares stops me with a firm grip on my arm.

“I’ll come with you. I can help.”

“You know what?” I smile sweetly at him. “How about I go this way, and you go help Lucia find the missing front clasp on her gown. Or a fucking bra, for that matter.”

I turn on my heel, yanking my arm away as I plunge into the crowd.

I am not jealous.

No. Fucking. Way.