Vicious Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to get out of the bath. I just sit there, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to shake off that…feeling he leaves lingering over me after every meeting.

Physical or otherwise.

Because the problem is, as domineering and tyrannical as Cillian may be…I don’t hate it.

Actually, I kind of like it. Because I’m broken like that.

There’s an unflinching, unapologetic power in the man who’s just told me—not asked, told—that I’m going to be marrying him. A coldness, and something unhinged you can see in his eyes that should by all rights terrify me. Not just because of what that makes him. But because of who that makes him like.

My father.

I shiver, sinking deeper into the warm, sudsy water.

Except, for all the similarities you could draw between them—their murderous tendencies, their fondness for violence, and their dark power—there is something fundamentally different between them. And after sitting there in the gradually cooling tub for ten, maybe even fifteen minutes, it finally hits me.

Cruelty.

My father was drenched in it. He breathed it. He reveled in it and lived for it. But for all of Cillian’s fury, danger, and unflinching viciousness, he’s never cruel. At least, not that I’ve seen.

My father wielded the threat of violence and his own darkness like a club.

Cillian uses it like a tool. Or maybe armor. I’m not sure.

Possibly both.

“What do you think?”

I glance across the room, where Bones has taken up a new residence on top of an admittedly way nicer toilet.

No response. Classic Bones.

Well, whatever it is, and whatever he is—Cillian, that is—I’d better make peace with it. Because this insane marriage idea is real and very much happening—that much is crystal clear in those deep green eyes of his.

Real, and forever.

I swallow, shivering as I pull myself out of the tub and away from that thought. I towel off, but when my eyes find my reflection in the mirror, I frown as my gaze drops to my thighs and the little white lines there. But specifically, to the freshest, still-healing cut.

I obviously don’t have my little metal box, like back at my apartment. But yesterday, when I was feeling especially low and like I needed to vent the pain somehow, there was have a safety-pin holding a tag to one of the new pairs of leggings Cillian left in my room.

I’m not proud of the fresh line down my inner thigh, courtesy of that saftey-pin. But it did drag me back into the world of the living. Sort of.

The hot bath has loosened the band-aid I have over it to the point where it’s falling off. And the cut beneath it drips a single drop of blood. Deftly, I pluck the band-aid from my skin and toss it in the trash before I start rummaging in drawers. I find a box of band-aids soon enough and plaster a new on over the cut.

Good as new.

When I leave the bathroom, though, there actually isn’t food “out there” in my bedroom as he said.

Great, more mind games.

Can’t wait to be married to this guy.

I scowl as I pull on jeans and a hoodie. For all of my protesting about him feeding me, I am actually hungry. I go to the door to knock and try to get his attention. But when I reach it, I stop.

It’s ajar.

I slowly open it and peer out, half expecting a booby trap.

But there’s no trap. No Cillian, either. And when I think about it, tricking me into leaving a room with an open door really doesn’t sound like him at all. Does it?

So I step out, and then pad quietly down the hall into the main living area.

“No, it’s not a trap.”

I almost jump out of my skin, my gaze ripping across the room to where Cillian is sitting on the sole couch, reading a dog-eared copy of, unbelievably, American Psycho.

“Really?”

He glances at the book, then up at me. “Yes. Why not?”

“No I just mean…you know…”

“Please, elaborate.”

His eyes glint with the hidden dare.

I take the bait purposefully, deliberately.

“It’s a little…apt. You taking notes?”

“Let’s say professional critique.”

I bite back a small grin.

“There’s food in the kitchen, as bold and groundbreaking a revelation that may be to you.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“And the door won’t be locked anymore.”

“What a touching engagement present.”

He drops the book, eyeing me with that cool, thousand-yard stare that I gather freaks most people out.

Oddly, it’s not having that effect on me anymore. I’m trying to remember a time when it did.

“You seem fairly confident I’m not going to try anything. I mean, having free range and all.”

Cillian lifts a single brow. “Perhaps. I also feel confident that if you do, I’m more than capable of dealing with it.”

I smile weakly. “I’m not going to, by the way.”

“We’ll see.”

I frown, glancing around the penthouse that is gorgeous but almost totally devoid of furniture.

“Ever thought of buying some tables and chairs?”

“Yes.”

Cillian brings the book back up.

Ooookay…

In the kitchen area, I find the stuff to make a BLT sandwich—a huge favorite of mine that I haven’t been able to afford in forever—in the fridge. Once assembled, I bite into it with gusto, relishing the bacon. When I’m done almost literally inhaling it, I frown as I glance over to where he’s still reading.

Forever is a long time.

I slowly walk toward him before I clear my throat.

“How long?”

Cillian frowns as he looks up. “Excuse me?”

“The marriage.” My lips purse. “I’ll do it, but there’s an expiration date.”

“Curious that you are still under the mistaken impression that is in any way a negotiation.”

“Everything is a negotiation.”

Life is a negotiation, Una. Each day, each breath of air is a negotiation with fate, and with God.

Darkness floods my mind. I hate that I’m hearing my father’s words in my head again.

“And what’s your opening bid?”

“Six months.”

He rolls his eyes. “No deal.”

“Hear me out. Six months is more than enough time for you to fix your own shit, right?”

His eyes narrow. “Careful.”

“After that—”

“No. The marriage ending within six months would almost guarantee to nullify the whole point of us doing it in the first place.”

“Not ending like me leaving or anything. I think I actually have an even better idea.”

He smiles, indulging me. “And what might that—”

“In six months, you’ll kill me.”

Cillian goes still, his eyes piercing into me.

“I mean, not really.”

“I gathered that. That, or your little pain and submission kink runs much deeper that I thought.”

My face heats horribly, but I barrel on.

“I mean, a staged thing. Like, you had to because I tried to kill you, self defense, that kind of thing.”

His brow furrows as he rubs his jaw. But there’s a new look buried there beneath the swirling green pools, an emotion I don’t think I’ve seen before.

“You can tell your family or organization or whatever what happened, and it’ll make you seem even stronger. I mean, come on: killing the daughter of the monster who tried to destroy your family? And I’ll disappear. I’m good at that.”

I can almost see the wheels turning behind his lethally beautiful, sharp face.

“Six months.”

I nod. “Six months.”

Cillian rakes his fingertips down his jawline.

“I have my own terms to add.”

I frown. “Okay. What—”

“Your brother used heroin, yes?”

My lips thin, a dark cloud swirling behind my eyes.

“Una…”

“Yes,” I spit. “And?”

“Did you?”

A cold feeling shivers slowly down my spine. I hug my arms around myself, looking away.

“Answer me.”

“Once,” I hiss.

I gasp as he lurches from the couch with a low growl in his chest, closing the distance between us in two steps, until he’s towering over me.

“How many times, Una.”

“I just told you!” I spit back. “Once, okay?”

His lips curl into a disdainful sneer.

“Oh, fuck you!” I hiss at him. “You don’t get to judge me! Look at what you have! What I imagine you’ve always had. I didn’t, okay?! I grew up in group homes and foster care, and on the fucking streets just trying to not be killed or preyed upon! So yeah, Cillian” I spit. “I used heroin to dull the ache and the pain. Once. And it wasn’t for me.”

I look away, bringing the heel of my hand up to wipe away a tear. “Jesus. Are you happy now?”

“Have you ever been tested?”

I whip my gaze back angrily at him, tears still brimming in my eyes. “What, you’re afraid I might’ve given you something?”

His glare is hard. “The thought crossed my mind.”

I grit my teeth, all the pain and the shame of those really, really hard teen years on the streets of LA that Finn and I endured flooding back.

Not to mention the horrors we faced in foster care.

“Yes, I’ve been tested,” I spit through clenched teeth. “Of course I have. And I was lucky.” I blink away the moisture from my eyes. “Anything else while we’re at it?” I snap.

“Yes.”

I gasp when his hands suddenly fly out and grab the waist of my jeans.

“Hey! What the fuck are you—hey!”

Cillian yanks my jeans down, not even bothering to undo them first. The denim drags roughly but electrically over my hips as he shoves them down to my knees, leaving me standing there in a hoodie and panties.

“This stops.”

I bristle when his finger jabs accusingly at the little white lines and the fresh band-aid on my thighs.

“That’s not any of your fucking business, actually.”

“Wrong. It is now very much my business And it’s done with. Over. Finished. You’re not doing it anymore.”

My lips curl into a snarl. “Mind your own goddamn—”

I shudder when he suddenly cups my jaw with a surprising gentleness, lifting my eyes to his.

“I understand the why. You might not believe that, but I do. Still, it’s done with.”

I look away, simmering somewhere between embarrassment and anger.

“And I don’t just mean when you do it to escape whatever monsters keep you up at night. I mean for pushing yourself over the edge when you play with yourself, too.”

My heart skips, my eyes snapping to his as my face heats.

He knows. He knows about my…sickness.

Did he watch me?

“Is that clear?” Cillian’s voice is deep and edged, brimming with a commanding tone. “You won’t mar yourself anymore. Ever. Again.”

I look away, but then gasp as his hand closes on my chin, pulling my gaze right into those unearthly greens.

“Okay?”

I swallow, nodding.

“Okay—what—”

My eyes bulge as Cillian drops to his knees in front of me, eye-level with my panties. My face burns, my hips shifting awkwardly. I shiver as he reaches for me, but then suddenly, his fingers pinch the edge of the band-aid on my thigh.

“Wait, what are you—”

He plucks it away. My mouth goes dry, my pulse thudding as I watch his eyes laser in on the fresher cut and the single drop of blood that drips slowly.

“I said okay,” I mumble quietly. “I won’t—”

Nothing in the world or in my most insane dreams could prepare me for what he does next. In one motion, with zero hesitation, Cillian suddenly drops his mouth to my cut.

And sucks.

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s absolutely fucking INSANE.

The man is literally tasting my fucking blood.

His lips fasten over my cut, and the feel of his mouth sucking as his tongue drags over it is both reality-bending in its insanity and pulse-quickening in its intimacy.

Cillian’s hand drags over my hip. His fingers curl into the waist of my panties before I can say or do a thing. And before I can even react, he’s yanking them down to mid-thigh as his mouth pulls away from the hickey that now covers my cut.

I barely have time to even process what just happened before suddenly, his mouth goes somewhere else.

My pussy.

I cry out, my legs buckling as Cillian voraciously attacks my pussy with his tongue and lips. There’s no easing into it. No build up. He’s just instantly devouring me.

And I’m instantly already close to exploding.

I shudder and moan, my hands clinging to his hair literally to stop myself from toppling over as his tongue delves into me. His lips wrap around my clit, his tongue curling and flicking over it. Two fingers sink deep into me, making me moan deeply as my legs begin to shake.

As my core begins to clench and spasm.

As fireworks go off in my head.

Cillian snarls into me, fingering me and sucking hard on my clit as my reality blurs around me. Until suddenly, without warning and without a single way to stop it, the orgasm hits me like a tidal wave.

I cry out, moaning and shaking all over as I cling to his hair. The climax rips through me, leaving me shattered, breathless, and on shaky legs as Cillian slowly drags his tongue up my lips once more before pulling back.

I’m shivering. The only thing I can hear is the thudding of my pulse in my ears. Slowly, my fingers unclench from his hair, awkwardly dropping back to my side. But Cillian stays where he is, eye-level with my throbbing pussy.

Then his gaze drops to the cut, and the single, fresh drop of blood beading there.

His gaze raises to mine, holding my wide-eyed, flushed-face, breathless stare hostage as he leans close.

And licks it off.

What. The. Fuck.

Or more importantly, why the fuck was that so fucking hot?

I’m still breathless, speechless, and shivering as he casually pulls my panties and jeans back up before standing.

He sticks his hand out. “So then, do we have a deal?”

I blink my head still spinning and my mouth still unable to make words.

“W—what?”

“Do we have a deal, Una. An agreement on all terms.”

He doesn’t mention or seem to acknowledge the fact that he just tasted my blood and made me come like a hurricane on his tongue.

I hesitate a moment, fully aware of the all-but-literal devil’s deal I’m making with the man in black himself. But then my hand finds his, and a tremor runs through me as he grips mine firmly and shakes it.

“Deal,” I whisper, shivering.

Cillian’s hand grips mine a second or two longer than he needs to, his eyes burning into me before he releases me. I move to escape back to my guest room. But then I pause, turning to see him sitting back on the couch with his book again, as if none of this just happened.

“When are we doing this, by the way?”

Cillian’s eyes raise to mine. “Tomorrow.”

Holy fuck.

I stare at him open-mouthed. “What?”

“Oh dear, is there a conflict with your busy schedule?”

I glare at him. “No.”

“Then that’s settled. Tomorrow.”

I want so badly to rebel against that authoritarian, commanding tone of his. And yet I also want to submit to it.

Like I just did.

And I have no fucking idea how I’m ever going to begin reconciling that polarity.

Seriously. What the hell have I gotten myself into?