Devious Vow: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

The whole party instantly falls silent. Then come the nervous titters and half-smiles, as if everyone is trying to figure out if Massimo is joking or not.

I know by the cruel way he’s smiling at Eloise that he’s not.

At. All.

My eyes snap to her. She also understands, probably better than anyone here, just how serious Massimo is. And I don’t get the sense that allowing some other man to “win” his wife is any sort of kink of his.

This isn’t about him at all. It’s about hurting Eloise. Because he’s a bastard.

My hands close to two white-knuckled fists on the green felt table in front of me. Across from me, Don Genovisi glances curiously at our host.

“What’s this about, Massimo?”

Massimo grins savagely as he spreads his arms. “I know some of you have doubted my abilities to lead as my father did. Let this convince you that I am twice the leader he was. Let this show that I am perfectly happy to do anything at all for those who call themselves my friends and allies.”

He turns to level a withering gaze at Eloise, who’s gone white and is utterly silent.

“Anything,” Massimo growls. “And let me assure you, I’m quite serious: the man who wins this hand gets a night with my dear wife. And nothing is off the table.”

I can see protests already forming on the lips of some of the players at the table. These might be hardened men who live lives of crime. But everyone has limits, and this is clearly beyond the pale for most of them.

“Isn’t that right, dear?” Massimo smiles as he stands, knocks back the rest of his drink, and walks around the table to Eloise. Ice-cold lethality burns in my veins as he yanks her to him and dips his mouth to her ear.

Instantly, her eyes bulge. Whatever color was left in her face drains away as she trembles.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

I’m beginning to stand before I even realize it. Suddenly, there’s a hand on my arm. I glance to my left, to where Carmine Barone is sitting next to me. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives me a knowing look as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

He turns to his right, as if looking for something in his jacket pocket draped over the back of his chair. He uses the motion to lean into me slightly and whisper.

“Half the men in this room are his soldiers. Unless you have a death wish, let whatever this is go. Trust. Me.”

I don’t respond verbally, but my jaw clenches tightly as I sit back down and turn to glare death at Massimo.

“I’ll ask you again—isn’t that right, wife,” he says loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Eloise smiles a weak, sickly smile.

“Yes,” she mumbles awkwardly. “That’s right.”

Massimo chuckles, turning to grin wickedly at his guests.

“You heard it from the horse’s mouth. One night, anything goes. Now, shall we play?”

He cracks his knuckles and strolls back to his seat.

Motherfucker. Whatever he’s just threatened her with, it’s working. Because instead of screaming, or running away, or telling Massimo to go fuck himself and that there’s no way she’s participating in this sick game, Eloise is just standing there.

Slowly, my pulse thudding hotly, I swivel my eyes around the poker table. There’s me and then Carmine Barone, who seems to understand that there’s more than meets the eye between Eloise and me, but is for some reason not saying anything about it. Going around the table, there’s a man I think I know as Sammy “The Hatchet” DiFresno, Frankie Paciano, who runs one of the tribute families to the Barone empire, then the dealer, then Don Michael Genovisi, then a grim older guy all in black who I don’t recognize, Massimo himself, and lastly a guy who I believe is an underboss in the less powerful Abato family.

“Come on!” Massimo grins as he raps the poker table in front of him. “Let’s play!”

I clear my throat, turning to him. “Massimo, what is this?”

“This, counselor,” he shrugs, “is how I have fun. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

In fact, I have a giant fucking problem with that. But I’m also not suicidal, and falling on my sword right now wouldn’t help Eloise anyway.

There’s one way out of this: play, and win.

“This is how the big boys have fun, counselor,” Massimo chuckles.

Across from me, Don Genovisi suddenly turns to level a hard gaze at Eloise.

“Mrs. Carveli does not seem to be enthused with this game, Massimo,” he growls.

“I think I know my wife better than any other man here, Michael,” Massimo tosses back.

Don Genovisi shrugs and stands from the table. “Maybe so, but this isn’t a game for me.”

Massimo snorts. “What, because you’re married?”

“Because I’m not an animal,” he fires back coldly. He straightens his jacket. “Thank you for the party tonight, Massimo. I think it’s time I left.”

He nods to his number two, Vincent Cave, standing behind him. The two of them and the small contingent of Scaliami men peel away and make their way to the door. Michael begins to take a step toward Eloise with a concerned look on his face.

“Leave, or sit, Michael,” Massimo barks. “Do not presume to talk to my wife.”

Michael shoots Eloise one more long, worried look. Then he turns to leave with the rest of his men.

Massimo sighs. “Well, that cuts the pussy out. Are the rest of the men ready to play for keeps?”

Every other guy at the table smiles wolfishly and nods.

“How about you, Mr. Black,” Massimo grins, turning to level a piercing gaze at me. “I doubt this is how they play in law school. Think you can keep up?”

I have to play, and I have to win.

There’s no other option here.

“I think you might not wish to be so quick to assume the fortitude of men you’re playing poker with, for these kinds of stakes, before you know how they play, Mr. Carveli.”

That gets a round of hoots and chuckles from the crowd. Massimo smiles mirthlessly at me with malice in his eyes.

“So be it, Alistair,” he growls quietly.

The dealer begins to distribute the cards. I feel another tap on my arm as Carmine Barone leans close while pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“Your reputation at the poker table precedes you, counselor,” he mutters under his breath. “You do you. I can run interference.”

I turn to arch a quizzical brow at him, but he’s already pointedly looking away.

Interesting. He’s not the ally I would have expected, but I’m not going to say no to any help right now.

The dealer reminds us that this is Texas Hold ‘Em as he reveals the flop. My eyes are squarely on Eloise.

Hers are squarely on mine.

We both know the stakes right now.

Slowly, the game unfolds. Given that this is a single hand game, Massimo and the dealer have announced there are no limits on raises. And so slowly, the pot goes up. And up. And up.

I’m playing my pocket pair of sevens as best I can. The flop doesn’t help me, nor does the turn. But when the dealer flips the river, my pulse skips.

Suddenly, I’ve got triple sevens.

I’m distracted, obviously, by Eloise. I keep looking at her, even if I know how dangerous a move that is right now. But I can’t help myself. She looks horrified with every raised bet, and ill every time one of the other men at the table turns to eye her up, or makes a laughing comment about taking what belongs to Massimo.

It takes everything I have not to explode.

Slowly, players begin to drop out. The guy to my right—the underboss from the Abato family—folds first. Next, it’s not lost on me how Carmine purposely drives Sammy “The Hatchet” DiFresno past his comfort zone, constantly egging him on until Sammy too taps out. He shoots Carmine a dark, vicious glare before he abruptly stands from the table and storms over to the bar.

The guy all in black is next to fold. Frankie Paciano keeps a strong face going, and he goes way past my usual comfort zone. But this time, there is no comfort zone.

This is win or lose everything.

Eventually he folds, too. Then, it’s just Massimo, Carmine, and me. And Massimo is looking a little more nervous than when the hand started.

The dealer announces a quick break, and we all get up to grab drinks or hit the bathroom. I resist the urge to walk over to Eloise and instead make my way to where Massimo is slugging back a whiskey at the bar.

“Mr. Carveli,” I mutter quietly, “I think perhaps this has gone on long enough, don’t you?”

He turns to sneer at me. “I thought you had more balls than that, Mr. Black.”

I smile as politely as I can. “Massimo, this is your wife we’re talking about. I think the game is over.”

“It’s over when I fucking say it’s over,” he snarls. He turns and claps his hands. “Back to the table! We’re finishing this.”

When we sit again, the raises continue for two more rounds. Five minutes later, we hit a breaking point. Massimo gulps down his drink, slams his glass angrily on the table, and then clears his throat.

“We’re done.”

Thank God.

“Show ’em.”

What the fuck. He’s not ending the game? He’s saying he actually wants us to show our cards to find out who wins?

“Massimo—”

“Show your fucking cards!” he bellows.

I glance at my triple sevens. It’s not the world’s strongest poker hand. But it’s not terrible.

Unless he has better.

Next to me, Carmine sighs. “Fuck.”

He flips his cards, showing nothing.

“Nice bluff,” I mutter pointedly at him.

He arches a brow. “You’re welcome.” He leans in and lowers his voice as he grabs his jacket. “I might ask you to return the favor one day.”

Massimo flips his cards triumphantly, showing a pair of aces.

“Pocket rockets. And that, counselor,” he grins, “is how you⁠—”

I drop my cards on the table. The room goes silent for a second before it explodes with shocked hoots and catcalls.

Triple sevens beat a pair of aces.

I just won.

Men clap me on the back. Some say vile, disgusting shit involving Eloise that makes me want to punch their fucking teeth down their throats. But I just stand calmly. My eyes find Eloise’s in the crowd, and I dip my chin as she silently mouths “thank you” to me with relief on her face.

“So, you win, huh?”

I turn to see Massimo stand from his chair and slowly approach, looking at me coldly.

“Massimo—”

“You want to fuck my wife?”

The catcalls stop abruptly. The whole damn room turns chilly as Massimo comes to a stop in front of me.

“Is that it, counselor?” he growls quietly. “You want to fuck her?”

I smile one of my professional, disarming smiles at him. “Take it easy, friend. We’re just playing cards⁠—”

“Take it easy?!”

He barks the words, sending a ripple of nervous looks through the onlookers. Massimo starts to laugh.

“Take it easy, he says!” he chuckles. “While he plays to fuck my wife!!?”

You could hear a fucking pin drop with how deathly silent the room goes. Massimo gets right in my face, uncomfortably close, as his eyes stab into mine with a manic, psychotic glint to them.

Suddenly, he starts to laugh.

He grins, guffawing loudly and boisterously as he steps back and whirls, laughing at the guests until the laughter starts to spread nervously.

“I’m joking, counselor!” he barks, still laughing as he turns to me and claps me on the shoulder. “I’m just fucking with you, Alistair!”

Holy Christ.

The man is a lunatic.

But the entire room is laughing now. The tension is fading.

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Massimo turns just in time for Eloise to slap his face, whirl, and storm out of the penthouse. The laughter starts to die down again, but Massimo grins and shrugs, getting the good times rolling again.

“Drinks for everyone!” he crows. Everyone’s heading to the bar as he turns to smile icily at me. “This is how I joke, counselor.”

I incline my head. “Hilarious, Mr. Carveli,” I deadpan.

He grins a manic, twisted smile as he steps closer to me, his eyes piercing into mine. “A joke, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Because you’re not actually trying to fuck my wife, right?” he says in a monotone, his smile utterly gone.

“No.”

Trying? No.

I already am.