Vicious Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

You’re fucking kidding me.

Across the street from the Ritz-Carlton, I stop dead in my tracks, my jaw hanging open as I stare up at the banner welcoming the gala event.

He’s bat fucking shit crazy.

I mean, obviously he is. Historically, empirically, Cillian Kildare is—above almost all else—known for being a categorical psychopath. I just didn’t think he was this crazy.

For two weeks now, I’ve been trying to track down the target I was supposed to kill at Club Venom. For two weeks, I’ve also been trying to force myself to think of him as just that: a target. A monster. The enemy.

Not the man who touched me like I’ve secretly craved to be touched for years. Not the man that stirred and wakened a fierce darkness in me that simultaneously scares the shit out of me and turns me to a pillar of fire.

But finally, after two weeks—during which time Cillian apparently disappeared off the face of the freaking earth—I’ve got an opening.

He’s a smart man. It’s not as if everyone in this city is unaware of the Kildare family or is oblivious to their presence, power, and how they make their money. It’s just that if you dangle enough shiny, pretty things over “there”, people don’t pay much attention to the dark, dirty, illegal shit you’re busy doing over “here.”

I knew Cillian was going to a major fundraising gala in the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, where he was—unbelievably—presenting what is rumored to be a six-figure donation check.

I keep staring up at the gala banner over the main doors to the Ritz, my head slowly shaking side to side.

I just wouldn’t have in my wildest fucking dreams imagined that the gala event that the head of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the city was speaking at, and was donating a hefty check to, was the goddamn Policeman’s Ball.

And here I am, planning on waltzing in there to kill him.

Motherfucker.

Nervously, I open my clutch. I gently peel away the lining and glance at the plastic but still razor-sharp blade hidden within—something left on my doorstep by Apostle this morning, no doubt plastic to get by any metal detectors.

But getting through the front door seems like it’s going to be the least of my fucking problems tonight.

I swallow, sucking on my teeth as I stare across the street at the hordes of police officers mulling around outside and filing into the hotel.

No. This is insane. It’s impossible.

It’s what you have to do.

I dodge taxis crossing the street, and then smile pleasantly at the three young police officers who rush over to offer their arm to help me up the stairs in my towering heels into the main lobby.

“Notice you didn’t arrive with anyone,” the sergeant who helps me gingerly up the steps says with a hopeful grin.

“Oh, you’re just the sweetest,” I smile right back. “But I’m meeting someone inside.”

At the top of the stairs, he leaves my side with an appreciative sigh. “Well, he’s a lucky man.”

Not exactly.

My outfit for the evening isn’t x-rated like it was at Club Venom. But I’m still dressed to kill.

Pun totally intended.

Left to my own devices, there’s no way I would have been able to get my hands on the black cocktail-length de la Renta I’m currently wearing. Not with my negative income. And I’m good with sleight of hand when it comes to shoplifting, but not that good. Luckily, the dress was an Apostle drop-off at my front door this morning, along with the purse and the heavy pendant and chain around my neck.

Inside the hotel, I sling my small clutch over my shoulder on its little strap, feeling the slight weight from the plastic blade hidden within. Nope, the metal detector didn’t pick it up. I step into the soaring, gilded ballroom of the Ritz, trying to keep my nerves together as I survey the literally hundreds of smiling police officers milling around the room.

How the fuck am I going to do this.

One, because I’m in a fucking sea of law enforcement. And two, because even if I tell myself I was wearing a mask before, even if I’m not wearing a blonde wig tonight, my naturally dark hair pinned up…

There’s just no way he’s not going to know it’s me. We were rather close when I stabbed him.

My face burns.

Intimately close. As close as two humans can be, actually.

I shiver as my body remembers the brutality of his touch. The punishing kisses. The vicious thrust of his hips that tore through more than my virginity.

He cut open my inhibitions that night, too. He poured gasoline on my darkest, most depraved and hidden kinks and set a match to them—fantasies and desires I’d never admitted to another person.

I turn and pluck a glass of champagne from a passing tray as I scan the room, looking for him.

For his dark, malevolent energy. For those venomous green eyes that I’d know anywhere.

“Miss?”

I startle, almost spilling my champagne as I whirl, my hand flying to my clutch. But the ruddy-faced older man with a lieutenant’s bar on his uniform grinning at me is very much not Cillian.

“Didn’t notice a ring,” he smiles. “Think I could steal you for a dance?”

“Oh, I…” I smile, swallowing back my nerves—and half my champagne. “Sure!”

I mean I do still need to tour the room. But if Cillian sees me before I spot him, I might as well have an NYPD lieutenant twirling me around the dance floor when he does.

The lieutenant beams as I set my glass on another passing tray and move to take his hands.

Which is the exact moment I feel it, like a cold breeze blowing in through an open door. Like black paint being dripped into clear water, swirling and darkening and spreading.

Like vicious energy sliding over my skin.

“Lieutenant O’Reilly.”

The older man’s gaze snaps past me, and a look halfway between abject fear and a sycophantic smile floods his face when he lays eyes on him.

Cillian.

“Ah! Mr. Kildare!”

I stiffen, not wanting to turn and face him, but understanding it would look weird not to. So I take a breath, and slowly, I swivel. The instant my eyes find his, I can see it plainly.

Yeah. He knows exactly who I am.

“Dan. I see you’ve met my date for the evening.”

I can feel the poor lieutenant stiffen behind me as he sputters.

“Your date! I—my humblest apologies, Mr. Kildare, I didn’t realize—”

Cillian laughs—not viscously or maliciously. It’s a warm, non-threatening, full-body, eye-twinkling belly laugh.

He’s good.

But it’s not perfect. It may be practiced to the point of near perfection in its ability to mask the monster beneath. But, if you look closely—and, trust me, I do—you can see that blackness seeping out at the edges, like ink bleeding out from underneath a mask.

“Please, not at all. But I’m afraid I do need to steal her back now.”

His eyes snap so sharply to mine that the very blood in my veins chills.

He’s been waiting for me. That’s what the poisonous look in his eyes says.

Crap, I think I just walked into a trap. And the nerves jangling up my spine and the hairs standing up on the back of my neck tell me it’s time to get the hell out of here.

“Oh, Cillian,” I laugh, not quite as convincingly as him. “Surely a six-figure donation to heroes like Lieutenant O’Reilly can come with just one little dance?”

Cillian smirks. Lieutenant O’Reilly chuckles behind me.

“Six figures? You’re missing a couple of zeros there, my dear. I suppose Mr. Kildare was too modest to tell you the full extent of his generosity.”

Wait, what?

He reaches past me to clap a firm hand on Cillian’s shoulder.

“I have to thank you personally, Mr. Kildare. We’re going to put that thirty million to good use.”

What. The. Fuck.

“I have no doubt you will, Dan.” Cillian smiles coldly, his eyes lancing into me like venom-tipped knives. “You know, I hear violent crime is on the rise these days in our fair city. Stabbings and such.”

I swallow as his eyes captivate mine, unblinking.

“Bunch of fucking savages out there, I’ll tell you, Mr. Kildare,” Lieutenant O’Reilly sighs sympathetically. “Just the other night, actually, they found a couple of low-lifes in a chop-shop garage. Seems to be gang related. Two shot, one with his throat cut. One poor bastard had his hand drilled clean through by a goddamn press drill, can you imagine? And a couple of other apparent low-lifes got cut just the other night by the corner of 11^th and West 44^th.”

I go cold.

That’s my block…

“Terrible,” Cillian murmurs, shaking his head, but keeping his eyes glued to mine all the while. “You just never know who or what’s out there, waiting to stab you in the back.” His eyes narrow. “Or the side.”

I swallow thickly as he turns to flash a winning, practiced smile at Lieutenant O’Reilly.

“Well, lieutenant, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh, no, of course, Mr. Kildare. Enjoy your evening, and thank you again for your generosity.”

“Of course.”

“Pleasure to meet you, miss,” Lieutenant O’Reilly says politely before turning and hustling away.

I gasp as Cillian instantly grabs my hand and my waist. Before I know it, I’m whirling as he spins me out onto the dance floor. I try to pull away, but his grip is like iron, digging into my flesh and yanking me hard against his chest.

I tremble as my eyes lift to see him towering over me as he pins me to his rock-hard body.

“Please,” he smiles thinly. “I’m begging you. Try something stupid.”

I gasp again as he suddenly twirls me in time with the waltz music coming from the small orchestra across the room. Then I’m choking on my breath again as he yanks me back hard against his chest.

Suddenly, his hand leaves mine, darting to my hair.

“Ow!”

I wince as he grabs a handful of it before plucking the clasp from my dark locks and yanking it free. He gives it a quick flick, glaring at it when a blade doesn’t slip out.

“Happy?”

He says nothing as he slips it into his jacket pocket, turning to eye my hair as it tumbles around my bare shoulders.

“Were they out of blonde?” he says in a clipped, dark tone, the Irish lilt to it teasing over my skin.

My heart skips as he twirls me once more, bringing me back against his chest again afterward.

“Hiding behind cops, are you?”

He smiles and arches a brow.

“Does it look like I’m hiding, my dear?”

“It looks like you’re making sure I can’t put a knife in you again.”

“Generally speaking, getting a knife put in me is not high on my to-do list.”

We keep dancing, lurching to the side before he spins us both around.

“But,” he growls. “To the question of the hour: have you followed me here to try and stab me again, or…” he smiles viciously, taking my breath away as he suddenly leans down and whispers low in my ear.

“…did you stalk me here because you’re desperate to come all over my thick fucking cock again.”

Sweet. Lord.

My face burns fiercely. I struggle to pull away, but his grip only tightens.

“Or maybe both? A nice little encore performance for old times’ sake?”

I glare at him. “You think joking about this will save you?”

“I think you don’t fucking scare me, little girl,” he snarls coldly, turning my heart to ice as the chill rips up my skin. “I think I’ve looked far deeper into the darkness that you wear like you bought it at a cheap fucking outlet store. A halloween costume shop.”

I bristle, his words pushing a trigger deep inside of me.

“You don’t know anything about m—”

“Don’t I…Una?”

The floor drops out from under me. My heart turns to ice.

Oh shit.

I assumed he’d know me tonight once he saw me. But I thought he’d only know me as the girl from Club Venom.

I didn’t ever think he’d know who I was for real.

Cillian smiles. “I’m going to make this very easy for you, little girl.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Would you prefer ‘the little bitch who tried to stab me’?” he snaps.

“I did stab you.”

“Ah, yes. Five inches deep inside. But then…” he smiles wickedly at me. “You took much more than five inches yourself, didn’t you?”

My face burns hotly.

“Such a good girl.”

Fuck.

The second he says the words, my core clenches and heat pools between my thighs as I purse my lips tightly.

“Or, I know,” he muses. “Instead of little girl, how about we go with my little fuck toy.”

He smiles cruelly at the way I stiffen. At the way my face floods with ashamed heat. At the way my mouth falls open before I can stop it.

“Please,” he murmurs. “You can try to deny it if you like. But we both know you were.”

My throat’s making a swallowing motion, but it’s doing nothing to remove the lump caught there. I’m desperately trying to breathe the heat away from my face, too. But that’s not working either.

I wasn’t ready for this.

I wasn’t ready for him.

Cillian sighs, cracking his neck before those lethally venomous eyes stab into my soul again.

“I’m going to make this easy on you, Una.” I shiver as he leans close again. “Walk away,” he growls thickly into my ear. “Whatever you think I am, however angry you are for what happened to your lunatic of a father—”

I struggle to yank my arms from him, but it’s like fighting a brick wall. Or the force of gravity.

“I can assure you, he deserved everything that came his way. So, for the very last time, little girl…” Cillian hisses, eyes narrowing to slits as they bore into mine. “Walk. Away. Or I promise you, this will not end well for you. Walking away is the easy way, by a long shot.”

Finally, I manage to swallow the lump in my throat.

“And the hard way?”

His lips curl at the corners. “I’d very much suggest not finding out.”

Suddenly, he’s gone. His grip drops from my wrist and my hip, he turns, and he vanishes into the crowd of police officers, leaving me shaking and numb standing there on the dance floor.

Feeling like I just ran a marathon.

Swam an ocean.

Went toe-to-toe with the devil himself.

But I’m still here. I’m still standing. And that’ll be the last mistake he ever makes.

Everything in me laser focuses as I shake off the tremors he’s left coursing through me. I think of Finn. I think of everything he did for me for all those years.

I’ve got you, Lunatic…

Well, this time, I’ve got you, Finn.

I slip through the crowd, eyes darting about wildly until I spot him. Cillian is moving away from the main ballroom and stepping into a side hallway.

I follow.

The hum of the crowd and the music from the orchestra fade as I walk quickly down the hallway after him. He pauses at the corner at the end, and my heart jumps into my throat as I quickly slip into an alcove. I count to five, then peek my face around the corner.

He’s gone.

I slip off my heels, not wanting the click-clacking to give me away. I sprint down the hall, pause at the corner, and then cautiously peek around it…

…just in time to see Cillian glance left and right before slipping through a door at the end of the hallway and closing it behind him.

I smile to myself.

Should have stayed in your ballroom full of cops.

I unsling my bag and open it, peeling back the inner lining and pulling out the lightweight knife, still lethally sharp despite being made of plastic, with an edge and a point honed to surgical precision.

This is really happening this time. And after this, I’m just once step closer to saving my brother.

Barefoot, I pad down the hallway until I’m right in front of the door he went through. I have no idea what’s on the other side, but I can see it’s dark in there from the crack under the door. Taking a breath, I set my heels and bag down, curl my fingers tightly around the handle of the blade, and twist the doorknob.

The door opens silently. My eyes dart around, searching for him, or a trap, or an ambush. Then I freeze.

He’s standing by the window, his silhouette dark and unmoving against the city lights glinting in from outside. Smoke curls from the cigarette in his hand. My hand tightens around the blade, and I inhale deeply but quietly.

Then I move, fast.

I rush the distance between us without a sound, just like I was trained. In one swift motion, I rear back and plunge the blade into his back—once, twice, three times; a fourth. When he doesn’t cry out, my brain short-circuits in confusion before I stab him again, and again, and again…

Until the mannequin I’ve just slashed to ribbons quietly tips over and rolls across the floor.

Oh fuc—

The scream doesn’t even make it out of my mouth before a hand wraps hard across it. His other one yanks the knife from my hand, tossing it away to clatter across the floor, then wrenches my arms behind my back and holds them there tightly.

Fear floods my system. Panic has my brain glitching and shorting. A gasp hitches in my chest as I smell the dark leather and whiskey scent of him, and Cillian pins my back to his chest.

“Good girl. I was so dearly hoping you’d pick the hard way.”