Sinful Hearts: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

It takes Elsa a second to comprehend what’s happening as I storm into the private room carrying one of the chairs from out in the main dining room, plop it down at the table between them, and slide into it.

But when she does, her flinty hazel eyes narrow to slits.

“What are you—”

“You guys been here before? Great place.”

Fuck-face frowns at me. “I’m sorry, this is a private—”

“Kennedy Rockefeller DuPont the fourth,” I chirp, shoving my hand in his face.

“Howard Kenmore,” he mutters, shaking it out of habit, looking more than a little bewildered.

“So, what are we drinking tonight?” I smile brightly at the two of them. Howard McFuck-Face looks confused. Elsa, meanwhile, looks like she wants something heavy to fall through the ceiling onto me and only me.

“Uh, this is a 1969—”

Howard frowns when I pluck his glass from the table and drain it in one gulp.

“Mmm. Tasty. Very….wine-flavored.”

His brow furrows. “I’m sorry, exactly who the hell are—”

“Kennedy Rockefeller—”

“This is Hades Drakos, Mr. Kenmore,” Elsa interrupts tersely, looking pale. “And Mr. Kenmore,” she hisses, glaring at me, “is a very important gentleman who’s considering Crown and Black for his legal needs.”

“Huh. No shit.”

Howard frowns. Elsa groans, pinching the bridge of her nose as she turns back to him.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Kenmore. Hades’ family also works with Crown and Black.”

His brow creases. “Drakos…” he muses, trying to connect the dots.

“Yes, well, sadly, Hades sufferers from…” she clears her throat politely. “Well, the family does what they can, of course, but when he doesn’t take his meds…”

Howard nods. “Ahh, I see.” He turns to me. “Son, is there perhaps a car I could call to take you—”

“Get the fuck out.”

Elsa’s eyes just about pop out of her head. Howard frowns.

“Excuse—”

“I said get. The. Fuck. Out. You. Old. Fuck. Before I drag your ass out by that ridiculous combover.”

His face goes livid. “Young man, do you have any goddamn idea who I am?”

“Not really, to be honest, and I don’t care,” I growl, making him pale as I leer into his face like a maniac. “But maybe I could tell you about my family.”

He frowns. “Drakos, as in—?”

When his face turns a shade of white, I can see he’s finally connected the dots.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right,” I mutter. “Now, I’m here tonight to tell you that unfortunately, there isn’t space for you on Crown and Black’s client roster. They’re all full. No room at the inn. So, again, fuck off.”

Elsa looks like she’s going to throw up. Howard has that look I’ve seen on a hundred other people—a mix of wanting to hit me, but fully understanding how horribly it would end for them if they did.

So, because he’s a big pussy, he turns his wrath on Elsa.

“This is completely unacceptable, Ms. Guin.”

“Mr. Kenmore, I sincerely apologize for—”

“I believe I will be leaving after all,” he hisses. “And then calling Gabriel and Alistair Black, along with Taylor Crown, and telling them in one fell swoop exactly how badly you fucked up this potential deal.”

My temper turns black as he leers across the table at Elsa.

“I will be taking my business elsewhere, Ms. Guin. Perhaps when I call your bosses, I’ll suggest that as fuckable as their pretty little blonde pretend lawyer is, perhaps next time, they should send a professional—”

He gasps sharply, his words dying in his throat as his face turns pale, as if someone’s holding a steak knife to his balls.

Which is probably because someone is.

Me.

“I’m going to stop you right there, fuck-face,” I growl icily, leveling my vicious gaze at him. “Before you say something you—or at the very least, your balls—will regret. Now: are you listening?”

He makes a pathetic mewling noise as I press the tip a little harder against his shriveled nuts through his trousers.

“I didn’t hear you.”

He nods eagerly. “Yes!” he bleats. “I’m listening!”

“Wonderful. Here’s what’s going to happen, Mr. Ken Doll.”

“Kenmore.”

“Interrupt me again. Please.”

He turns the color of oatmeal, his lower lip quivering.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, fuck-face. You’re going to get up, try not to piss all over the restaurant’s floor, and go pay the bill. And you’re going to tip like the rich fuck that you are. After that, you’re going to call whoever you have to call at Crown and Black and tell them that unfortunately, you’re happy with your current legal representation, but you were so blown away by Ms. Guin’s acumen and professionalism that you’re going to be hiring Crown and Black as accessory legal counsel. You’re going to promise them five million a year in billable hours—”

“You extorting little—”

Howard bleats again, turning a greenish white color as I ease the tip of my blade a little closer against his manhood.

“Make that six. It’s now six million a year in billable hours. And you’re going to be damn sure that you give all the credit to Ms. Guin for that. Now, have I made myself abundantly clear?”

He nods vigorously, trembling.

“I’m sure I don’t have to mention that should you fuck this up, or screw her over in any way, I will be removing your balls from your body while you sleep. And furthermore, since you’ve pissed me off, if and when it comes to it, I’ll be using something more like a fork instead of a knife.”

He looks like he’s going to throw up. But he manages to nod as he whimpers pathetically.

“Now get up. And get the fuck out.”

The second I pull the knife away from his nuts, Howard is gone. I watch in amusement as he bolts across the restaurant, dumping a few hundred-dollar bills at the host station before all but falling out the front door into the street.

“He’s a spry little motherfucker for a guy his age—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

I swallow back the groan. It’s that fucking posh, polished accent of hers. Specifically, that posh, polished accent when it says completely unpolished things. Like the word “fuck”, which apparently makes me instantly hard whenever she says it.

I pour another splash of the wine into my glass and bring it to my lips as Elsa stares at me like I’m a maniac.

“Hades,” she hisses.

“Yes?”

Her eyes bulge. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I fix her with a look. “Really?”

“Really what?”

“Do you really want to play the ‘why are you here’ game?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking—”

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll go first. Why were you at Leo Stavrin’s restaurant on Friday night?”

Her face pales. She swallows, her lips pressing together. Her hand tightens on the stem of her wine glass so hard that I’m legitimately worried it’s going to snap.

But slowly, like the goddamn pro that she is, she swallows it all back. Her mouth twists into a grimace, and her eyes turn accusatory.

“Were you following me?”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t have to answer a thing, you arrogant dickhead,” she mutters. “What I do on my own time is none of your business.”

“Well, I’m making it my business.”

She glares at me. “Hades, I do have other clients, you know.”

“Whom you see at one in the morning?”

Her eyes flare. “Stalker much?”

“Leo Stavrin is not a client of Crown and Black.”

“Why do I feel I don’t have to mention that his boss, Gavan Tsarenko, is?”

“Gavan wasn’t at The Pearl of the Black Sea the other—”

“Oh my God, you’re a complete lunatic.” She shoves her chair back, standing abruptly as her eyes bore into me. “Hades, stop following me. Leave me alone and stay the fuck away from my career. Please. I do have other clients besides you and your family. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”

She makes it almost all the way to the glass door out to the main dining room.

Almost.

“Do those other clients know that you enjoy putting on a cat mask, going to kink clubs, and getting fucked like a bad girl?”

You can hear the record scratch on her life as she comes to a frozen stop. Her entire body tenses and then convulses, and for a second, I’m worried that she’s about to vomit. Her back to me, I watch her shudder, her hands clenching and shaking at her sides.

“Do they?”

Elsa takes a shaky breath, shivering.

“I have no idea what you’re—”

“You have a small mole just south of your left breast, on your ribcage.”

She flinches. Hesitantly, she half turns her face toward me, not meeting my eyes.

“No, I don’t—”

“And a birthmark in the shape of two overlapping dots, like a Venn diagram, on your inner thigh.”

Whatever color is left in her face drains through the floor.

“That…no…” she mumbles. “That isn’t true—”

“Yeah? Well, it sure as fuck is true that you took my cum four fucking times the other night. Twice while deep in your dripping wet pussy, once across your back and ass, and once more down your throat like the greedy little cumslut that, apparently, you are. Tell me that isn’t true, kitten,” I hiss. “Just try. I was there.”

She starts to shake. I watch her throat rise and fall heavily as she tries to swallow the lump caught there. And when she turns to stare at me with wide, horrified eyes and a face completely devoid of color, I almost feel bad.

Almost.

But my tolerance for people who use me is pretty fucking low.

“Keep denying it, please.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out before it slowly closes again, dread dripping down her face.

“Wh-what do you want?”

Her voice is so small and frail. The usual haughty, bored, disdainful tone she typically uses when speaking to me is gone.

On one hand, it’s almost disheartening. Because for all the way we needle each other, I actually like her usual all-business, take-no-shit attitude. Honestly, it’s a turn on.

That said, on the other hand, seeing her shrink a little bit, and watching her…dare I say…submit to me is…

Well…also a turn on.

A huge one.

“What do I want…” I muse, swirling the wine in my glass. “Hmm…I wonder now.”

When she turns to eye me with a cold, terrified look, I grin wickedly and waggle my eyebrows up and down. Instantly, heat floods her face.

“Don’t even think about it,” she hisses quietly.

I feign shock. “Don’t even think about what? Jesus, Elsa, where did your brain go with that?”

“That you’re going to blackmail me,” she mumbles. “It’s not going to work.”

“Oh, I think it would definitely work. But also, who do you think I am?”

“A criminal psychopath?”

“I mean, don’t hold back or anything,” I growl.

She swallows, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Hades…” Elsa hugs herself, looking pale. “I…my career…If you tell them about Venom…”

My brow knits. “Wait, exactly how repressed are you that you’re worried about your bosses knowing that you had consensual sex?” I smile thinly. “I really don’t think they give a shit—”

“What do you want? I mean for you to not tell them about seeing me at Leo Stavrin’s place.”

There’s that small, broken tone again. Part of me wants to laugh. I mean, shit, she’s a rockstar lawyer. She probably breaks this tone out all the time in court to get little old ladies out of vehicular manslaughter charges because they can’t see over the steering wheel anymore. I bet judges and juries eat it right the fuck out of her hand.

But I’m generally pretty damn good at reading people. It’s one of my superpowers. And when I look into Elsa’s eyes, I don’t see bullshit and practiced lines and a rehearsed tone right now.

I see fear. Real, actual fear.

And instead of my brain going to dark places involving making her submit to me—say, for instance, on her knees whimpering “yes daddy, please daddy” with my cock in her mouth—I find myself inexplicably switching tracks.

Suddenly, I don’t want to use this against her. Rather, I want to save her from whatever is scaring the hell out of her so much right now. And she’s right. It’s obviously not the part about having been to Club Venom, and everything that happened there. It’s not even me, though I’m pretty sure Elsa would like nobody in the world to know she slept with me.

No, it’s Leo. Or possibly Gavan. That’s what’s scaring the hell out of her. And when I see that fear on her face, I find myself wanting to protect her from it.

I want to stand between her and whatever’s just shaken the strength right out of her.

And that’s a new one for me.

“Hades—”

Her phone rings from within her bag. She shoves a hand in to silence it, swallowing as her eyes raise to mine.

“I just—”

Her phone rings again. This time, she pulls it out of her bag and peers at the screen, frowning.

“I—hang on, this is my building super.” Her eyes raise to mine, as if seeking permission. I just nod, and she answers the phone.

“Hi, George? What’s up—”

Her face goes white. Her hand flies to her mouth as it falls open, her eyes wide and horrified.

“Oh my God! Hang on! George, can you—no, keep them out if they don’t have a warrant! I’m getting in a cab right now!”

Forget how pale and terrified she looked before. Now, she looks like she’s going to explode.

“Elsa—”

“I have to go.”

She spins and makes a run for it—crashing out of the private room and fleeing across the dining room. I don’t really realize how quickly I’ve followed her until I catch up with her right outside the front doors of the restaurant.

Elsa’s madly trying to flag down a cab when I grab her arm.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s fine!” she blurts, her eyes wild as she keeps waving a hand in the air. “I—I have to get home. Now.”

“What—”

“It’s my sister, okay!?” she screams. “I have to get home to my—”

“Come on.”

She gasps as I grab her by the arm and the hip, hustling her down the street.

“Get off me!!” she yelps, twisting under my grip. “I need to get a cab—”

“No, you don’t.”

We come to a stop right in front of my dark green ’67 Camaro Z28, and I yank open the passenger side door for her.

“Get in.”

She blinks, looking shocked and numb as she turns to me.

“What?”

“I’m driving you. Get in.”

“I—Hades, I need a cab.”

“I’m way faster than a cab, trust me. Now get in the damn car.”