Toxic Love: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance
Toxic Love: Chapter 36

I’d like to think I’ve accomplished a lot in my life. I conquered depression and my grief for my sister. I founded Club Venom and built the empire I sit atop today. I’ve hunted demons and brought monsters to their knees.

But tonight, I have a whole new challenge to deal with, one I’m not sure I’ll survive: Tempest wants to come to the club.

Not through the back door, to hide out in my office. Through the front, as my wife, my date, and Club Venom guest. Not as Taylor, either. As herself.

At first it was a firm “Oh hell no” from me. But my wife can be…persuasive.

My balls are still tingling and my cock is still a little sore from her persuasiveness earlier.

Also, the idea of having her here is growing on me. I mean this is my castle, and she’s my queen. Obviously, it’s not as if either of us is going to be joining in with the “group activities” in the main room. But if Tempest wants to watch?

Why not.

Funny. I never once pictured myself being okay with bringing a woman here whom I was interested in. But here we are.

But before all of that, I’m on the phone in my office, having come to Venom early. Not just any phone call, either.

This might be the most important phone call I’ve ever had.

“You’re sure?” I blurt.

When the guy on the other end answers in the affirmative, I can feel my pulse soar as adrenaline and dopamine flood my system.

Holy shit.

“Yeah, set it up,” I grin into the phone. “Make it happen. And—thank you,” I murmur quietly. “Thank you, Dr. Han.”

I’m buzzing as I pour myself a drink and wait for Tempest, who should be here any minute now. I’m practically bouncing up and down as I grin and slam down my drink. Then I glance at the time.

She was supposed to be here five minutes ago.

I make myself a second drink and wait, checking in with some of my people as the evening’s festivities get underway. When it’s been another twenty minutes and there’s still no word from Tempest, I call her.

She doesn’t answer.

Half an hour later, she’s still not here, hasn’t checked in with the front door staff, and isn’t answering her phone.

My skin begins to tingle, the hairs on the back of my neck beginning to prickle. I send Tempest my tenth text message of the evening, even though she hasn’t replied to or even read a single one of them. My ears ringing, I call her again.

Nothing.

My jaw clenches and I try Lorenzo instead.

“Where are you?”

“Hey, boss,” he grunts over speakerphone. “I’m in the car, almost at the Hamptons house. Bianca needed a ride back to the city.”

I roll my eyes. “Jesus Christ, Lorenzo.” I mean, I know the guy views her as the kid sister he never had, but come on. “She can take an Uber.”

He chuckles quietly. “I know. But soon she’ll be off touring the world as some prima ballerina, and I won’t be able to spoil her anymore.”

I sigh. “Okay, just… Let me know when you’re back.”

“Everything okay, Mr. Sartorre?” he growls, concern in his voice.

“It’s fine, Lorenzo,” I shake my head. “I can handle it myself. Call me when you get back with Bianca.”

I drum my fingers on the desk, ready to call Tempest yet again when suddenly, my phone lights up with a text from her:

I exhale slowly, the knots of worry dropping away from my shoulders.

Someone’s feeling a little forward tonight.

My brow arches, and I smirk. Someone’s feeling very forward tonight.

I leave some of my best people in charge of the club and jump in my SUV to speed home. I leave it with the valet and head into the lobby.

…Where suddenly I freeze as I lock eyes with Gabriel and Alistair, who are sitting on the bench against the wall next to the concierge desk, scowling.

“Evening, Mr. Sartorre, sir!” Joey, the front desk guy, smiles at me. “These gentlemen are here to see you.”

“We were here ten fucking minutes ago,” Alistair grunts. “To see our sister, who also lives here.”

Joey shoots me a sheepish look. “I apologize, Mr. Sartorre. But you know it’s building policy that only guests of listed residents be let in. Obviously, I know Mrs. Sartorre is your wife, but we never updated the register with her listed on the penthouse⁠—”

“It’s fine, Joey,” I smile, shaking my head and turning to frown at the Black brothers. I walk over to them as they stand. “What are you doing here?”

Gabriel frowns. “Tempest texted me that she needed help with something at your place. I got here five minutes ago and was surprised to replace this guy”—he elbows Alistair—“already here with the same message from her.”

Huh. I get the distinct impression someone whose name starts with “T” and ends with “empest” is playing a game of surprise mediation between her brothers and I. Which should piss me off. But fuck it, if that’s what she wants, so be it.

Christ, has this women gotten under my skin.

“What is this, a fucking intervention?” Alistair growls.

“It would seem so,” I reply.

“Yeah, well, thanks but no thanks,” Alistair mutters. He elbows his brother to go. Gabriel stays where he is, and Alistair just shrugs. “Fine. Have fun.” He turns, and he’s starting to walk away when I just spit it out.

Fuck it. I made a promise, but my future is with Tempest. And that future demands honesty. Besides, Layla always did tell me to not go over the edge, and if I don’t tell them the truth and let them keep hating me, that’ll be it. That will be the edge I fall over.

“She didn’t want you to know. Layla, I mean.”

Alistair freezes mid-step. Gabriel’s face turns to stone.

“What the hell did you just say?” Alistair hisses.

I turn to Joey. “Joey, would you mind…”

He nods. “Of course, Mr. Sartorre.” He steps past us and outside to light a cigarette, giving us the lobby to ourselves.

“When I was a freshman at Knightsblood,” I murmur quietly, “I was in a dark place. I mean I dark. Claudia had just died, I had the loss of my parents deaths to think about, plus worrying about Bianca having a future or the proper kind of supervision now that I was away at school…”

I frown and shake my head. “Not telling you about everything that was happening—or had happened—with Layla wasn’t meant to hurt you⁠—”

“Bullshit,” Alistair snarls. “You stonewalled us just to fuck with⁠—”

“You?!” I snap back. “It wasn’t ever about you, either of you! It was about respecting Layla’s last wishes!”

Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “Why the fuck would you give a single shit about⁠—”

“Because she was my best fucking friend!” I roar. “When I was at my lowest, she brought me out of it. Look, it was never anything more than platonic. We used to joke that she was like Claudia to me, a surrogate big sister.”

“Well, she was our real sister,” Alistair snarls. “And she never once used⁠—”

“Heroin? Wrong. She went to rehab for it twice. The night she died was her fourth overdose.”

They both go silent, looking like they’re not sure if they should break down or break my face.

“She never wanted you to know because she never wanted you to be disappointed in her. She knew she had her demons,” I growl, “and she wanted so badly to beat them before either of you noticed.”

Alistair whirls to press his fists to the marble tiled walls of the lobby as he drops his head back and roars a curse.

“Why the marriage?” Gabriel says quietly. “It wasn’t to hide the drug use. That went on the record the second she was checked in and tested for narcotics.”

When I say nothing, his eyes narrow and he steps toward me. “Just fucking tell me,” he hisses.

I bow my head.

“Layla was pregnant.”

There’s a beat before Alistair suddenly rushes at me. Gabriel grabs him, yanking him back in a tight embrace.

“Easy!” he snaps at his brother.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Alistair roars at me.

I shake my head. “It wasn’t mine. I’ve already told you, Layla was like a sister to me. Touching her that way never once crossed my mind.” My jaw clenches. “It was her dealer.”

Alistair’s eyes blaze. I lock mine with his.

“He’s dead,” I growl quietly, my words heavy with meaning. “And for what it’s worth… He didn’t go well, or quickly.”

Gabriel arches a brow before slowly dipping his chin to me. Which is probably the closest I’m going to get to a “thank you”, but I’ll take it. I nod back.

Another second or two ticks by before Alistair finally sighs slowly, eying me. “We’re not remotely done with this conversation, but should we go up and see what the fuck Tempest wants?”

I smile to myself as I turn and press the elevator button. “Definitely. I’m supposed to be at the club right now. But Lorenzo couldn’t swing by to check in because he’s on his way to get Bianca.”

Gabriel frowns as the elevator door opens. “From my place?”

My head snaps around violently as my eyes narrow on him. “Excuse me?”

His brow cocks with some confusion. “Bianca’s at my house. I was just there.”

“And why the fuck is my sister at your house?”

“Easy, Dante. She’s hanging out with Maeve. They’re friends now.”

“What?” I snap. “Why the fuck haven’t I heard this?”

Alistair snorts. “Probably because Bianca knew you’d throw a shit fit precisely like this if you did.”

I grunt, saying nothing as the elevator doors close and we starts to ascend. We’re just getting off at my floor when my phone rings.

“Lorenzo,” I sigh as I answer. “I don’t know if it’s miscommunication or Bianca fucking with you, but she’s⁠—”

“They got the wrong guy, Mr. Sartorre.”

I frown, tensing. “What?”

“Sorry, yeah, I just got in touch with Bianca. She has no idea how that text about her being at your Hamptons house got sent from her phone, but that’s not why I’m calling.” He clears his throat. “I just got off the phone with my guy at the NYPD. That guy they fingered as the one who put arsenic in your wine?”

“Yeah?” I growl warily.

“They’re thinking it’s a setup.”

My blood turns cold. “What?!”

Alistair and Gabriel glance at me with frozen, concerned expressions.

“The guy has a rock-solid alibi for the dates he could have been sneaking into Mr. Black’s wine cellar. He was checked into a detox center you can’t leave for a week on either side of the night you all got poisoned.”

“Shit,” I hiss.

“Oh, and there’s signs of forced entry on one of his windows. I think it’s safe to say someone set the poor bastard up to take a fall. Might even been the same people…or person…who gave him the coke with fentanyl in it.”

“Goddammit.”

“It gets weirder, boss. They finally got the handwriting analysis back from the cork. It’s a woman’s handwriting, Mr. Sartorre. Actually, it matches someone on record.”

“Who?”

“Ninety-eight percent match with Jacqueline Sinclair.”

It suddenly feels as if the world is moving in slow motion as I turn to stare at a confused-looking Alistair and Gabriel. “The Jacqueline Sinclair? Brett Sinclair’s mom?”

“Wait, what?” Gabriel hisses.

“That’s the one, Mr. Sartorre,” Lorenzo says.

“But she’s dead. That’s impossible⁠—”

“Dante.”

I whirl toward Alistair’s cold, warning murmur, and my blood turns to ice when I see where he’s pointing: my penthouse door is open a crack.

“Lorenzo,” I hiss quietly, my adrenaline suddenly pumping hard. “Get to my place as fast as you fucking can.”

I hang up and put the phone in my pocket before I reach into my jacket and pull out my gun. My finger raises to my lips, and I use my toe to ease open the door to my penthouse. I slip inside, with Tempest’s brothers right behind me.

Instantly, I stop cold when my eyes land on a cooler with the lid open right inside the door, filled with those damned smoothies.

One of them is open and tipped over onto the floor in a disgusting, creamy greenish puddle.

Something is very wrong.

I draw the hammer back on my Glock and move toward the living room, hugging the wall. Suddenly, I stop.

Oh fuck.

Tempest is sitting in a chair on the patio off my living room—bound and gagged.

“Tempest!”

I lurch toward the patio door, when suddenly, I hear a metallic click.

“That’s far enough, Dante. Put the gun on the floor and kick it over here. Now.”

Holy shit. I know that voice.

“What the fuck?!” Gabriel hisses when he comes up behind me. “Pam?!”

Gabriel’s housekeeper steps out from behind the staircase, aiming a gun at my head.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Mr. Sartorre,” Jacqueline Sinclair purrs, her lips curling. “I want you to be here to see me exact my revenge.”