Sinful Hearts: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

“So. Who is she?”

I’m barely inside the lobby of the building my family’s home sits atop when I hear Castle’s voice behind me.

Like Sean Farrell, Castle is another unexpected friend courtesy the Drakos-Kildare partnership that came about when Ares married Neve. The one-time Army Ranger, who was once bodyguard to Neve and her sister Eilish, is now Cillian’s de facto number two. After Ares and Neve tied the knot, Castle and I still bumped heads on more than one occasion. But in the last few months, we’ve been getting along tolerably well.

I think realizing I wasn’t sniffing after Eilish Kildare helped settle whatever problems there were between us. Castle’s fiercely protective of the two women, who are like kid sisters to him.

Not that Eilish isn’t smoking hot, but she’s not my type. What can I say: innocent and sweet is a turnoff for me.

Castle and I connect through boxing as well, same as Sean. But we’ve also gotten friendlier simply by working together than I think either of us would have expected. It’s nice.

When my brother married Neve, the whole point was to create a truce: Drakos and Kildare setting all previous hostilities aside to present a united front against any and all enemies. In terms of business, the original idea was that each family would maintain their own empire independent of each other. That’s still mostly the case, although some of our…less than legitimate business interests have started overlapping.

Like, for instance—and I’m speaking completely hypothetically, of course—if a Columbian gang who’d been trying to muscle in one of our poker games in Harlem needed to be reminded who’s fucking game it was, and we needed to burn a warehouse they used for their drug imports down to the ground.

All hypothetical, of course…

As it turns out, Castle knows his way remarkably well around a gas can and structure supports. After I discovered that, and furthermore after we realized we were evenly-matched sparring partners, things have been pretty cool between us.

“What? Who?”

“Whoever you’ve been cheating on me with, dick. You stood me up at the gym twice last week.”

I snort, shaking my head as we both step into the elevator. I use my thumbprint to unlock access to the top floor where the Drakos estate is perched, and the elevator starts to rise.

“Shit, sorry, man. I’ve been slammed with work.”

“All good, I’m just fucking with you. Congrats on the launch of Thermopylae Acquisitions by the way. How’s it feel, going legit?”

All I can offer in response is a non-committal grunt. Castle chuckles.

The doors glide open with a soft chime, and the two of us step out into the lavish front entrance of the Drakos estate. Even though he’s been here about ten thousand times by now, Castle still whistles under his breath, his eyes dragging up to the high vaulted, gilded ceiling, taking in the elegant and supremely English wainscoting on the walls, and out the glass front doors to the grounds.

Yeah, we’re on top of a building overlooking Central Park South, and there are private grounds.

Grandpappy Drakos didn’t fuck around with this place.

“Try not to drool on the parquet floors, okay? Ya-ya will be pissed.”

Castle grins, shaking his head and running his fingers through his short blonde hair. “Sorry. Gets me every time, this place. It’s fucking insane, man, you know that?”

“Dimitra literally maintains a separate landline number exclusively for all the real estate agents and brokers who call offering to cut off their own hands to get the listing if we ever decide to sell. You gotta listen to the messages sometime, it’s embarrassing. This one guy left a message once literally offering to blow me, Ares, and Kratos. And the dude is straight and married.”

“He also might have a fairly loose definition of ‘straight’.”

I chuckle as the two of us walk down one of the gilded hallways and out one of the side doors leading to the grounds. It’s Sunday, which means family dinner night. This has always been Ya-ya’s “thing”, and ever since the merger of the families, she’s started including the Kildares as well. It’s exactly what it sounds like: both families sit down together to eat, drink, and laugh, with the only rule being no business at the table whatsoever.

Tonight, since the weather is nice, my grandmother’s decided we’re eating al fresco. And once again, I try not to roll my eyes too much at Castle’s low, impressed whistle when we follow the white gravel path around the corner to the arbor that covers the outdoor dining area.

White, creeping floral vines, twinkling garden lights, and polished wood tables and chairs underneath a pergola draped with gauzy white curtains. Hashtag: natural life. Hashtag: family. Hashtag: live laugh love. It’s like dining in a fucking Pinterest board.

That said, I fucking love eating out here.

Yeah, you can still hear the hum of the city down below. But you also feel removed from it. And if you completely lose yourself in the meal, and the conversation, and family—or at least in a couple of strong drinks—you can pretend you’re in Greece somewhere, eating under the same skies the Spartans looked up at.

The staff is still setting the dining area up. Ya-ya stops supervising and breaks away to come over and give me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek when she spots us. Then she turns and reaches up on tiptoe to pat Castle on the cheek, calling him her “Apollo”—a nickname she recently gave him, given his height and blonde hair and…yeah…his good looks.

It’s seriously Greek mythology all the way down the line with this fucking family, I swear.

Castle pats my shoulder and heads over to where Cillian and Una are chilling with drinks in all their dark gothy glory. I’m about to grab myself one when Kratos appears, handing me a beer.

“Mind reader,” I smirk, knocking my bottle to his and then taking a sip. When my brother keeps eyeing me as he slowly works on his own beer, I arch my brow.

“Something on your mind?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, don’t keep me hanging. Spit it out.”

“What the fuck were you doing at Elsa Guin’s apartment the other night?”

I choke on my beer, caught off guard.

“What? I wasn’t.”

Kratos gives me an “oh-please” look.

“You were. Donnie Petrakis’ kid Theo told his dad you scared the piss out of him over there.”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten about threatening Theo Petrakis and Nick Eliades with telling their dads about the weed.

I frown, arching a brow at Kratos.

“Wait. Did the kid seriously rat on himself?”

My brother smirks. “Apparently so.”

“What a fucking moron. Donnie seriously better straighten the kid out if he ever wants him to lead.” I shake my head, drinking my beer. “I mean who fucking squeals on themselves—”

“So?”

I glance back at him. “So…what?”

“So, do you want to tell me why you were over there at ten o’clock at night?”

I shoot him a skeptical look. “Why do you think? Ares wants to head hunt her away from Crown and Black to work exclusively for us on a full-time basis.”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “Well I’m pretty sure that you fucking her isn’t part of his game plan to win her over.”

I feign righteous indignation.

“Just what exactly do you think I am?”

“Kind of a whore, if we’re being honest,” Callie interjects as she joins us with a smirk on her face and a cocktail in her hand.

“Well, fuck you, too,” I mutter as Kratos chuckles along with her. “Let’s break out your sordid personal life, Callie.”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink. “Me? I have no sordid personal life. But don’t worry, Hades, yours is sordid enough for all of us!” She smacks me affectionately on the arm.

“Yeah, keep talking shit and I’ll rat you out to Ares about that drink.” I nod at the glass in my twenty-year-old sister’s hand.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You sure? Keep calling me a whore and you’ll find out.”

She scowls. “The man is the head of a literal criminal empire, and I get dinged for a having a fucking drink at a private family dinner? It’s such bullshit.”

“Gotta draw the line somewhere,” I say with a grin. “It’s what separates us from the animals. Right?” I glance at Kratos, who shakes his head with mock sadness.

“It’s us or the monkeys, Callie.”

She rolls her eyes. “Me having a pomegranate martini is not going to make society devolve into troops of monkeys.” As if to prove her point, she takes a sip of the purplish cocktail in her hand before letting her eyes wander back to me.

“Hey, by the way, how was Elsa the other night?”

Ex-fucking-cuse me?

“I heard you were hanging out at her place.”

Oh, that night.

“I saw Eva Petrakis at lunch a few days ago. Apparently you almost made her little brother Theo piss himself.”

I shrug. “I was just dropping off some paperwork. Theo was trying to get Elsa’s little sister high. She’s only fifteen.”

Kratos arches a brow. “Elsa has a little sister?”

“I know, right? News to me too.”

Callie rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, how did you guys not know that?”

“How did you?”

“Umm, because we hang out? She’s actually really cool.”

I simmer. “She’s actually not, by any definition, cool.”

“Why, because she wouldn’t blow you within four minutes of meeting you at some gross club, like the typical woman you go for?”

You’d be surprised…

“I mean, he was at her house at ten o’clock at night,” Kratos grins.

“True.” Callie shoots me a warning look. “Seriously, don’t perv on Elsa. She’s a friend.”

I gasp loudly. “Oh shit, Callie! Here comes Ares.”

“Yeah, better hide the evidence,” Kratos mutters.

Callie’s eyes widen frantically, and in one gulp she downs the rest of her drink, trying not to choke as she turns to set the empty glass on a side table.

Kratos immediately starts to crack up. Our sister frowns in confusion before she turns to glance over her shoulder.

…To where Ares is not coming over.

“Okay seriously, fuck you both.”

Twenty minutes later—after Ares does finally arrive, with Neve on his arm and Eilish in tow—we hear the familiar sound of Dimitra hitting the small brass dinner bell on the sideboard, signifying that dinner is served.

We all take our seats. We laugh, we eat, we drink. And life is fucking good. Or at least, as good as it gets for me, I guess.

Because even though I bury it underneath my crude jokes, my cavalier attitude to the world in general—and to women specifically—and my myriad faceless, meaningless, emotionless one-night stands, I’m still very aware that I’m different.

A little broken, maybe. A little fucked up.

Wired wrong. Or at least, differently from most people.

And as much as I love my family and love these dinners, when I look around the table, it’s just a giant reminder of how different I am.

I see Ares, sitting next to Neve and grinning as she pops an olive into his mouth. I watch him turn and cradle her chin in his hand, kissing her deeply before pulling away with another grin.

They used to be mortal enemies, and are now two of the most disgustingly in-love people I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Then there’s Cillian and Una—Cillian in his customary all-black Johnny Cash look, and Una in a scooped-back black cocktail dress, showing off that badass tattoo across her entire back. The literal psychopath and his arguably equally psycho bride. I mean their Hollywood meet-cute involved Una putting a fucking knife into Cillian.

Yeah, even those two fuckin’ weirdos found love.

Kratos is single, but only because he chooses to be. Because he’s—as one of the several therapists I’ve had over the years liked to say—“happy with himself”. Whereas I waffle between hating myself and hating the rest of the world.

Callie’s also alone, but then again, she’s young. Plus there’s the whole mess with her arranged engagement to Luca Carveli to be sorted out. Eilish is unattached, at least as far as I know. But she’s like Elsa in that she’s married to her books, given that she’s just started at Columbia School of Business. Castle’s the same way: utterly wedded to his job, and completely fine with that.

I could—and do, often—tell myself that I’m single by choice. Because I’m a wild man, and an agent of chaos, and love the thrill of the hunt and losing myself in a different stranger every time I go out.

But that’s bullshit.

I’m alone because I’m a self-destructive time-bomb.

And that’s never going to change.

After dinner, I’m sitting with Callie in a couple of lawn chairs, gazing out at Manhattan over the edge of the roof, when Ares strolls over.

“Where’s your better half, bro?”

He rolls his eyes. “Neve and I are actually two separate people. We’re not joined at the hip.”

I glance side-long at Callie. She glances at me. The both of us crack up. Ares sighs.

“Hilarious. Anything interesting happening at Leo’s place these days?”

My jaw tightens. I mean, yes and no. I’ve gone back to spy on his restaurant from the studio apartment across the street a few times since the night I saw Elsa walk out. But I haven’t picked up anything more of interest regarding the Albanians. Maybe because they are—or at least Gavan is—smart enough not to talk about major, hundred-million-dollar business acquisitions in rooms full of windows facing other rooms full of windows.

I also haven’t seen Elsa back there.

That’s a major sticking point. I’ve done some more digging since that morning when I broke into her office. Actually, I’ve been back to her office twice since then—both times at night, so I could take my time. I even slipped into her apartment just yesterday, while she was at work and Nora was at school, to paw through her home office.

Nothing. There is nothing anywhere that connects her to Leo or Gavan. And the more I think about it, the more I doubt she’s working for or with either of them.

Which begs the question: what the actual fuck was she doing at The Pearl that night after Club Venom?

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “If they’re talking about the Mirzoyan deal, they’re not doing it at the restaurant.”

Ares nods. “Okay. Anything at all, though?”

“Nope.”

I haven’t mentioned seeing Elsa outside Leo’s restaurant that night to anyone. Not even anyone in my family, including Ares.

I’m not quite sure why.

“All right then, on a separate note, you wanna tell me why you were at Elsa’s apartment at ten o’clock the other night?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

Callie snickers as I roll my eyes and groan.

“Well?”

“He was perving on her.”

I raise my middle finger to Callie.

“I was dropping off some paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

I sigh. “Just paperwork. Why the fuck is everyone so up my ass about this?”

“Because you’ve historically mixed with her about as well as oil does with water, that’s why. What’s going on?”

Aside from the fact that I fucked her four times the other night, and then kissed her again a few days ago? Not much.

But even that’s a lie. I want to be able to say there’s nothing between Elsa and me. That she’s an honest-to-fuck ice-queen, a prude—well, most of the time—and a serious pain in my fucking ass.

Except I’ve gotten a peek behind that ice-queen I. And I don’t just mean because of our marathon, masked fuck-a-thon at Club Venom—okay, maybe that’s a huge part of it. But more than that, ever since that night, when I’ve crossed her path, I see a different Elsa than I used to see. And again, I don’t just mean because now when I look at her, I imagine her naked, moaning, and writhing on my cock.

I used to view Elsa as my nemesis. The Toby Flenderson to my Michael Scott, if life were an episode of The Office. A fun-hating, all-business, uptight, frosty little bitch.

Now, I kinda get it.

Elsa’s a fucking partner at the most prestigious law firm in New York at the age of twenty-freaking-six. That’s insane when you think about it. I’m unable to fathom the work and the hours it must have taken to get there.

And on top of that, as if that wasn’t a Herculean achievement enough, she’s got her teenaged sister living with her.

“And she’s living with you right now?”

“She’s always lived with me.”

What the hell is “always” supposed to mean? Like, Elsa never left home while going to school in England? Or that she did, and Nora came with her? It occurs to me that I don’t know a damn thing about Elsa or her family.

But bottom line, for whatever reason, I get the head-down, all-business strictness and the general frostiness now. I’m not sure it’s so much that Elsa’s an ice-queen bitch, but rather the way she walls off the world, to give herself space to even take a breath.

“Nothing, Jesus,” I say with some irritation, running my fingers through my hair and pushing it back from my face. “Relax, man.”

He eyes me with a look that says he’s not necessarily buying my shit, but that he’s ready to leave it on the shelf for the moment. Then he clears his throat.

“Do you, ah, still talk to Vanya Mirzoyan at all?”

Mother. Fucker. I was wondering when he’d bring that shit up. So I play dumb.

“About the acquisition of her dad’s Albanian Mafia empire? No, sorry.”

Ares frowns. “You know what I mean. Since you two dated in college.”

My jaw clenches. “We did not date.”

“I was trying to be polite. Fine, I’m asking you if you still keep in contact with Vanya since fucking her in college.”

“First of all, one drunken, way-too-toothy, not-to-completion blowjob does not mean we dated.”

Callie makes a barfing sound.

Second of all, I couldn’t say no…

“Nor does it mean that I was regularly screwing her. For fuck’s sake, why does this entire family have the absolute lowest opinion of me when it comes to women?”

“Hades, I’m not trying to bust your balls. I just want to know if there’s a connection there that we could leverage to put a little pressure on the deal. I’ve shied away from using the fact that you and Vanya went to Harvard together because it seemed like a cheap play that Serj would see as cheap. But now that we’ve got Gavan Tsarenko and his infinitely deep pockets in the mix, my gloves are coming off. Do you or do you not still have any contact with Vanya Mirzoyan?”

“No,” I snap. “She hates me and the feeling is decidedly mutual.”

Ares sucks on his teeth, turning away with a glare. “Well, suck it up, buttercup, and swallow your fucking ego. I need you to see if you can get her to like you again.”

“Not happening.”

“How about shoot for ‘not hating you’, and we’ll call it a start.” He sighs, turning back to me. “Look, I know this is a beyond shitty ask, man. And I apologize. I’m not trying to imply anything about your social life, trust me. I’m just grasping at any fucking straw I can find to keep the Russians off our asses and nail down this deal.”

I nod slowly. “All right, fuck. Fine. Yeah, I’ll send a ‘sorry you bit my dick and I never called you again’ card.”

Ares smirks. “Thank you.”

“I mean, as long you’re sure it’s not going to be a problem with your lawyer girlfriend, Hades?” Callie giggles.

“Weren’t you going to get another pomegranate martini, Callie?”

She glares at me. Ares frowns at her.

“Callie, c’mon. We talked about this. Not while you’re still twenty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, as much fun as it is to get scolded by your own brother, Eilish and I have to take off. Bye, dorks. Don’t have too much fun with Little Miss Jaws, Hades.”

I grin at her as she walks away. When she’s gone, Ares sighs and sinks into the chair she just vacated. I shoot him a look.

“Dude, you gotta chill on the whole dad routine with Callie. She’s an adult—a competent, well-rounded, intelligent one at that. Like, she’s not out there pounding shots and getting behind the wheel of a car. It’s a responsible drink at dinner with her family. Pick your battles, man.”

He nods, rubbing his chin. “I know, I know. You’re right. I just still think of her as this little kid we have to protect from the world.”

“Well, we could start with cancelling that fucking deal with Luca Carveli. She’s almost twenty-one, bro, and you know that fucking pig has it marked on his goddamn calendar in red ink.”

Ares scowls. “I’m working on it. The problem is the deal Dad cut with him was huge, and there’s interest baked into that contract. Frankly, breaking it would mean paying Luca more money than we’ve got.” He sighs, turning to glance at and give me a reassuring nod. “But don’t worry. That shit is not going to happen. You’ve got my word on that.”

I nod, pulling my gaze back to the glittering lights of the city.

“One battle at a time, Hades,” Ares mutters. “Get in touch with Vanya, and for fuck’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually screwing Elsa.”

I roll my eyes. “I am not screwing Elsa. Relax.”

I mean, it’s not a total lie. I am not currently, at this exact moment, literally fucking Elsa and sinking my teeth into her neck as her pussy clenches and comes all over my dick.

But the past happened. And as for the future?

I grit my teeth as something dark, vicious, and hungry stirs deep inside of me and begins to swell my cock.

Well, we’ll just have to find out.