Vicious Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

The bedroom I once kept in this house is currently being occupied by my bride. In Castle’s room, I straighten my tie in the mirror before stepping back to check myself over.

Black tie. Check.

Black shirt. Check.

Black suit. Check.

There are parts of me that’ll never change. There’s no “fixing” or plastering over the darkness, the violence, and the monstrousness in me, and there never will be.

But there is a tempering of it.

The Japanese have an art form called kintsugi, which is fixing broken pottery using molten gold to fill in the cracks. The gold is then left to harden so that the final repaired piece has lines of gold snaking through it, making it even stronger.

That’s Una and I.

I’m the broken black bowl. She’s the gold filling in the cracks. Smoothing out the jagged edges. Softening the viciously sharp points.

Making me whole.

No. There’s no changing what I am. But the woman I love, who I’m marrying again today, doesn’t want me to change, just as I don’t want to change her. There’s a blackness in both of our souls. There are wounds that will slowly harden over with scar tissue, and time.

Apart, we’ll break, wither, and die. Or eventually succumb to our own demons.

Together, we’re unstoppable.

There’s a quick knock on the door behind me.

“Come in.”

It swings open, and Ares limps in, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Happy wedding day, asshole.”

We haven’t gotten a chance to talk much in the last two weeks, since the madness that went down at Gail’s apartment. But, as predicted, ten stitches, some antibiotics, a tetanus shot and some strong painkillers that made him say some seriously loopy shit later, Ares is going to be fine. He’ll do some physical therapy for the leg, but it’s not going to be an injury that sticks with him.

Believe me, I’m pretty good with human anatomy. And with knives. I knew what I was doing.

Well, mostly.

I smirk at him as I turn. “Nice cane.”

He squints at me. “Don’t even fucking start.”

“What? It’s a very ‘Godfather’ look, Ares. And, I mean, you are the head of a criminal—”

“This thing is going up your ass if you don’t knock it off.”

“Are you making me an offer I can’t refuse?” I huff in my best Brando impression.

He rolls his eyes.

“Neve here yet?”

He nods. “Yeah, downstairs with Callie and Eilish.”

My niece is another person I haven’t gotten enough time with over the past two weeks, what with the chaos of dealing with the aftershocks of Gail, taking care of Una, and with making damn sure there’s no more “Apostles” lurking out there. It doesn’t look like there are.

“She still mad at me?”

“For fucking stabbing me?” he mutters before shaking his head and looking away. “No, actually. Not in the slightest.”

I chuckle as he sighs heavily.

“Because she’s as fucking nuts as you are.”

I arch a brow. Ares rolls his eyes again.

“Well, nuts-ish. Not your level of nuts.”

“You hope. Kildare madness manifests later in life.”

Ares shoots me another cold look. I grin.

“That’s a joke, by the way.”

“Not fucking funny, by the way.” He shakes his head. “I’m really not sure I was fully briefed on the perils of marrying into your family.”

“Yeah, probably not. Except you’re stuck now. You ever leave her, and I’ll skin you alive.”

We both grin. We also both know I’m not at all joking.

Good thing we also both know Ares wouldn’t ever leave Neve’s side.

He frowns as I bring up a hand, taking a slow pull from the little device in my hand and exhaling whitish smoke.

“You fucking vaping now?”

I shoot him a dark look. “Easy. I’m trying to quit the real cigarettes, and apparently this helps.”

Ares’s brows arch. “You are quitting smoking?”

“Apparently it’s bad for your life expectancy.”

“Just hearing that now, huh?”

I grin.

“Or is it that you’ve got something now you’d like to extend your life expectancy for? Someone, maybe?”

“That master criminal mind of yours doesn’t miss a thing, does it, God of War?”

Ares chuckles and flips me off. Then he hobbles over and claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m happy for you, you know. I hope you know you deserve this. Una and you both do. Congratulations, Cillian.”

I dip my chin. “Thank you.”

“And, the second wedding is because…?”

“Because the first felt a little forced and stiff.”

“You can blame your fucking officiant for that.”

We both turn at the sound of Hades’ voice as he saunters through the door.

“And what, may I ask, is wrong with Elsa?”

He groans. “How is that I’m the only one who’s bothered by that fucking stick up her ass?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Ares growls. “Leave Elsa Guin the fuck alone, man. I’m still working on wooing her away from Crown and Black to be our full-time Drakos family attorney.”

“Just buy an air conditioner,” Hades mutters. “Won’t cool the room quite as fast as that chick, but it’ll be a hell of a lot cheaper.”

Ares sighs, turning to me. “Seriously, I can’t with this guy, I’m out. Congratulations, Cillian. See you down there.”

I shake his hand before watching him hobble back out the door.

“Well, there goes his Olympic hurdler dream.”

I roll my eyes at Hades. When I see the grin fade from his face, I frown.

“What’s up?”

“Look, recent events notwithstanding, I usually agree that Drakos business stays Drakos business, and Kildare business stays Kildare business…”

I nod. That’s the basis of the truce between our families: we present a united front against attacks, but when it comes to business, we keep ourselves to ourselves, unless it’s a special arrangement.

“…but,” Hades grunts, “this might concern you, too.”

“I’m listening.”

“Does the name Leo Stavrin mean anything to you?”

My jaw clenches.

It sure fucking does.

“Of course. Top avtoritet in the Reznikov Bratva. One of Gavan Tsarenko’s most powerful underlings—”

“With a reputation of being about as fucking nuts as you are. No offense.”

I lift a shoulder. “Your point?”

“One of my guys is dating a Russian girl. Her brother is a foot soldier under Stavrin. Her brother is also a mouthy drunk, and apparently told her there’s been talk of making moves.” His eyes narrow. “Against our assets. Both Drakos, and Kildare.”

My jaw grinds. “Why the fuck would they be stupid enough to try that?”

He shrugs. “No idea. It could be nothing, just bullshit or vodka-fueled chest-thumping. But thought I’d pass it along.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” He clears his throat. “Guess this sort of means our paths won’t be crossing again at Club Venom anytime soon.”

“I’d stab my own eyes out if they ever did,” I grunt. “But no. I’m done there.”

I’m done with a lot of my avenues and outlets. I don’t need them anymore.

He glances around Castle’s bedroom before his eyes land on the flowers still in the vase by the bed. Hades chuckles as he walks over and reaches for the card. “Who sent poor widdle Castle flower—” His face goes dark before his eyes drag up to mine. “Callie?”

I shrug. “He did save her from that wrecking ball.”

“Cillian,” he hisses. “Keep that Captain fucking America bodyguard the fuck away from my sister, okay?”

I start to hum the chorus to Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. Hades gives me a venomous look before he looks away and turns serious again.

“So, what do you want to do about Stavrin?”

“Honestly, I want to banish him from my fucking head today, because I’m getting married, Hades. That’s what I want to do.”

He smirks, nodding. “Fair enough. I just mean—”

“Hades?” I mutter, turning and buttoning my jacket.

“Yeah?”

“You think I could go get married now? Please?”

“Think you can resist knifing any of my siblings on the way?”

“I’ll do my best.”

The ink on her back is beautiful. Stunning. I wait in the doorway, not wanting her to see me yet, letting my eyes drink in the tattoo for the millionth time since she got it last week.

It’s still fresh, and a little raw. But it’s finished. She did the entire fucking piece in one brutal thirteen-hour session. Her artist was floored, telling her it was the most hardcore resistance to pain she’d ever encountered in her chair.

But that’s my wife for you. Tough as nails. Unflinchingly brave. Very hardcore.

What does not kill you.

I grin as my eyes slide over the words above Finn’s design. Over the dragon, and the waterlilies, and the phoenix, and the tarot card. If anyone could have captured Una like this, it’s her brother. And of all the sketches of his I’ve seen in his book, this might be his masterpiece. It’s so her it’s impossible for me to look away sometimes.

Echoing our first wedding theme, Una’s in black again. This time, the back of the dress scoops way down to her lower back, what with the freshness of her tattoo and all.

She looks fucking gorgeous.

My dark queen.

“Fuck!”

She whirls, her face white as she stares at me. “You scared the living shit out of me.”

“You look stunning.”

She blushes. “You’re not supposed to see—”

“Except we’re already married, my love.”

“True.”

“And I had to see you before we walk out there.”

She grins. “Really? Why?”

“Because I don’t know if that ass if nearly bruised and spanked enough yet to be standing in front of an altar with me.”

Una’s face burns with a fierce intensity. Her teeth drag sensually over her bottom lip.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, I think…”

She whimpers as I shrug my jacket off and start to roll up my sleeves as I approach her.

“Then you’d better bend the fuck over that vanity and lift your dress for me.”

“Yes, Sir—”

My mouth slams to hers.

Two black hearts.

Two broken black pieces, glued back together with gold.