Deviant Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance
Deviant Hearts: Chapter 13

“I’ve got our top guys swarming the city,” Hades growls. “We don’t want to make a big deal about it, because we don’t want to encourage any copycats or have anyone else with an axe to grind coming out of the woodwork. I’ve asked them to be discreet when they start kicking in doors and asking questions.”

Hades looks furious. Which is interesting, because he’s barely spoken more than five words in a row to Neve in his life, and has about as much interest in her—and our marriage—as he does in becoming a chaste pacifist.

It’d be very easy to chalk his rage up to the fact that someone managed to get past our security and bring a gun into our home. But it’s more than that. When he glances at Neve, there’s a flicker of the same sort of anger I saw on his face once when some guy tried to grab Callie’s ass at a gala event.

It’s the look of a brother who’s fucking pissed that someone just tried to mess with his sister. And that’s an interesting development.

But if he’s pissed, I’m fucking livid.

Yes, I’m angry that someone got past our guys. I’m furious that a gun was brought into my family’s home and used in violence.

But more than that, someone tried to shoot Neve. And that’s brought a beast out in me I absolutely did not expect.

I turn to Kratos. “I want to know how the fuck that piece of shit got through our security. And I want to know yesterday.”

My brothers nod curtly and march away to dive into their orders.

Castle glances at me. “Our people will do the same. I’ve got some men in Queens I trust who I can run it by. If something like this is ordered in this city, they’ll know about it.”

I nod. He nods back, turning to leave before stopping to glance back at me.

“And thank you, Ares.”

When he’s gone, I turn to scan the room, and my eyes land on Neve. The whole reception is on lockdown, and she’s sitting huddled with Cillian, her sister, and Callie at a table across the room. I start to go to her, when a hand lands on my arm.

“Got a second?”

I turn to the young blonde British woman behind me.

“Of course.”

Interestingly, I first met Elsa Guin while sitting across the table from her, at a legal meeting my late brother Atlas once demanded with Rose, the girl he eventually died trying to steal. Elsa was there as Rose’s father’s attorney.

At the time, she was the best lawyer in the UK. And when the shit hit the fan with Atlas, I head-hunted her as fast as I could. Technically, since moving to New York, she’s a partner at Crown and Black, a leading law firm here in the city. But she’s also the de facto personal attorney for my family.

And right now, she’s here on damage control.

“Where are we at?”

“The band knows the score—no pun intended. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time they’ve played a party for a family like yours and had something like this go down. They’ll be silent. But you’re going to be paying them six times the rate that was originally agreed upon for the night.”

“That’s fine.”

Her smirk says that it wasn’t a suggestion.

“I’ve spoken to the rest of the guests who aren’t Drakos or Kildare family and had them all sign NDAs.” She taps violently on her phone. “I’m emailing you a list of any guests that might be potential weak points, though.”

“No one’s going to talk.”

She shrugs. “I replace being overprepared is better than scrambling for lifeboats after someone blows a hole in the hull of the ship.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now, as for the body…”

She turns, clearing her throat uncomfortably as her gaze lands on the bloodstained tablecloth covering the dead man who attacked Neve. Elsa’s face pales slightly, and I watch her throat muscles go up and down as she tries to swallow a lump caught in it.

Elsa’s ambitious. And I think maybe a bit of a thrill-seeker. But even with the obscene amount money I pay her for her services, no one as squeaky clean and incredibly driven as she is would ever easily work for a crime family. She’s dived into the deep end of our world well. Even so, I can tell all of this is a bit much for her.

“It’ll be dealt with.”

She winces. “And I never heard that.”

“Heard what?”

She smirks, nodding. “Right. Well. That’s it from my end, then.”

“Thank you, Ms. Guin,” I mutter.

“My pleasure. And, needless to say, I was never here today.”

“And we’re all deeply saddened that you were unable to attend the wedding.”

She smiles wryly. “Speak to you soon, Mr. Drakos. And congratulations.”

Congratulations on your sham wedding.

Elsa collects her files and heads for the elevator. Then I turn, leveling my eyes on Neve.

Neve, who could have died today.

Neve, who’s looking frailer and more shaken than I’ve ever seen her before. Or ever knew she even could look.

Before I know it, I’m moving across the floor towards her. Cillian glances up at me. He nods, standing, and wordlessly clamps a hand on my shoulder. I can read the “thank you for saving my niece” in his fierce look.

I drag my eyes to Neve and clear my throat.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

I expect a fight. Or a “fuck you” of some kind. But she just looks up at me and nods.

“Okay.”

She turns and hugs her sister, then mine. And then she’s up, even taking my offered arm as we turn and move for the elevators.

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” I growl, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “We’re going home.”

When we get back to the penthouse and the door closes behind us, she finally relaxes. Her shoulders drop, my jacket slips from them, and I can see color coming back to her face.

Good, good. But now I want answers.

Of course I’m concerned about the security breach. And the fact that Neve just had a gun shoved in her face, and that I just slit a man’s throat in front of her—the evidence of which is still splattered across my shirt and her wedding gown.

But the entire Kildare clan has been silent on the biggest elephant in the room, which is who that fucker was and why he was even there in the first place. Why did he march right over to Neve? And what the fuck did he say to her to make her look so stricken just before I bolted over and knocked his shot into the ceiling?

“Who was that?”

Her back is to me, and I can see the way the question makes her stiffen again—the way the muscles under the exposed creamy skin where the dress plunges down her back tighten and ripple.

“I don’t know.”

“Interesting. He seemed to know you.”

“Well I don’t know him!” she snaps, whirling on me.

Her face is pale. Her eyes have a manic look to them, like fear incarnate is simmering just under the surface. And it’s not just fear at of what just happened. It’s deeper than that, more fundamental.

She’s terrified right now. Of—what?

“Neve, what did he say to you right before I—”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean he was three feet in front of you. You didn’t hear what he—”

“I don’t remember! Okay?!”

My mouth clamps shut, and my jaw tenses.

“Fine.”

“Am I still being interrogated, or can I go change out of my blood-soaked wedding dress now?”

I exhale slowly. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you so much.”

She turns and marches down the hall to the bedroom. I take a moment, and I consider making myself a much-needed drink. But then I glance down and grimace at the sight of my shirt.

Yeah, I should change too.

I unbutton the blood-stained shirt and remove it as I pad down the hall after her. Inside my room, she jumps a little when she hears me come in. She’s focused on the clasp at the back of her gown, but she snaps her head around when I enter.

“Do you fucking mind?”

“You do understand, this is my room too?”

“Well, can I get some privacy for one freaking second?”

My jaw grinds.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No! I need some fucking privacy!”

I sigh.

Fine.

Without a word, I turn and step into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before sinking against it.

Should have made that drink.

I pull the rest of my clothes off and wrap a towel around my waist. At the white marble vanity, I wash my hands in the sink, the wheels in my head turning as I watch the blood on my hands slowly turn the water pink as it swirls down the drain.

Christ, what a day.

Turning, I’m about to reach to start the shower when suddenly I hear a screech from the bedroom.

My body reacts on impulse, yanking the door open before I bolt into the room, ready to destroy with my bare hands whoever’s followed us here.

But there’s no one else in the room. It’s just Neve, swearing loudly with her arms bent awkwardly behind her back, still struggling with the clasp of her dress.

And suddenly, all I can think about is the single taste of her lips I had at the altar.

Sweet. Soft. Defiant, and yet holy mother of Christ so inviting.

With her back to me and fussing as she is, she clearly hasn’t heard me come back into the bedroom. And I don’t change that. I don’t say a word, I just move towards her. And it’s not until my fingers brush hers that she gasps and jolts suddenly.

“I—”

“Just shut up and let me help.”

She stiffens, and I can practically hear her brain scrolling through a list of her favorite swears or insults to throw at me. But she slowly lets go of the dress, lets her hands drop to her sides. I grab the stuck clasp in my fingers, twist hard, and yank down.

The back of the dress goes loose as it opens.

“Thank—”

She shivers as my fingers slide to the zipper hidden beneath the clasp, grasping it, slowly starting to pull it down.

“Ares, I can…”

She trails off as I keep going—silent, my eyes glued to her back as more and more of her creamy flesh is exposed to my eyes. My jaw grinds as my cock begins to thicken to steel beneath the towel around my waist.

The zipper stops at the small of her back, and I watch her shiver. My fingers slip underneath the two halves of the back of her dress, pushing them apart as they slip from her shoulders. She gasps quietly, and her hands dart up to stop the fabric from falling from her breasts.

I give the two halves of the dress a small tug. Not yanking it, but making my intentions clear.

Neve drops her hands.

The dress falls away.

And there’s no fucking going back now.

The dress pools at her feet, leaving her gasping quietly, her back to me, in just a pair of lacy white thong panties. Bridal panties. My hands slide slowly over her hips, relishing the way her body trembles under my touch. The way her skin is so fucking soft and warm. The way she whimpers almost silently as I slowly turn her.

And when we are facing each other, I move into her, our bodies pressing together as the hard points of her nipples drag against my bare chest. Her eyes go wide as she looks up into mine—those green orbs of hers swirling with both defiance and lust. With both vitriol and need. Like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to kiss me or fucking stab me.

I make the decision for her.

In one motion, I cup her jaw, lift her mouth to mine, and sear my lips to hers in the single most possessive, consuming kiss of my life.

There’s definitely no going back now.