Devious Vow: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

I spend most of the morning lying in Alistair’s bed, just breathing.

Not in a weird way. In an “I haven’t been able to breathe without the crushing weight of anxiety or anger in far too long” kind of way.

That’s what life under Massimo’s thumb has felt like: a crushing weight pressing down on me. Even before him, there were all those years where I was incredibly lost and angry. Now, for the first time in forever, it feels like my head is actually above the water.

Whatever last bricks of the walls between Alistair and I came crashing down last night. And God, does that feel good.

I grin, blushing.

Fucking him three times last night did, too. Very good. But so did telling him I love him, and hearing him say it back, and knowing deep in my soul how true it is.

I’ve spent ten years telling myself I hated him for the same reason he apparently did concerning me: because admitting to myself that I was hurt because of what I felt for him was too hard. It was much easier to think of him as a callous, manipulative asshole who slept with me and then ignored me forever.

But now the truth is out there.

As if on cue, my phone rings for the millionth time. I glance down and grit my teeth as I silence it.

The truth is out there, including exactly how backstabbing and cruel my own sister is. I know Camille has issues with abandonment, and needs to feel important, like everyone’s catering to her. But there’s a line, and what she did falls about a solar system’s length past that line.

So fuck her.

One day, maybe, we’ll talk about what she did—both to Alistair and to me. But not today.

Tomorrow’s not looking great, either.

I might pencil her in for about a decade from now. Maybe.

A few minutes of blissful silence later, my phone lights up with another call from Camille. Then again. And then again, all in a row. I’m about to turn the fucking thing off, when I jump at the sound of a fist pounding on the front door of Alistair’s loft.

I pad quietly to the door of Alistair’s bedroom and crack it open. The landing outside looks down through the open loft below, affording me a clear view of the front door.

Massimo?

The knock comes again, loudly.

I texted him last night, telling him I was “sorry we’d fought”, but that I was upset and felt we “needed space”, so I was staying in a hotel. All I got in response was “fine”, then another text this morning telling me he was going to be working late.

The knock comes again, making my nerves jangle.

It’d be insane if it was Massimo. And near impossible. Why would he even think to look for me at⁠—

“Eloise!! I know you’re in there! We need to talk!”

What. The. Fuck.

My blood turns to fire at the sound of my sister’s voice from outside.

“Eloise!! Please! Please, just let me explain!!”

I don’t march down because I have any interest in talking to her. I march down so she shuts the hell up and stops screaming my name for every neighbor within a four-block radius to hear.

Camille gasps when I yank the door open in her face.

“What,” I snap coldly.

She immediately puts on one of her “faces”, her mouth drooping and her eyes watering. It’d be touching, even somewhat heartbreaking, if I hadn’t seen it a thousand times before. If I didn’t know it was bullshit.

Honestly, somewhere in an alternate universe, Camille is an award-winning actress.

“Hi,” she chokes.

“If you go into your theatrics, I’m shutting this door right now.”

The “trauma” face instantly vanishes. Her lips purse.

“Can I come in?”

I almost say no. I almost do slam the door in her face.

“You have five minutes.”

I step aside, letting her in.

“This is a really nice⁠—”

“How did you even get into the building?”

She turns, lifting a shoulder. “Flirted with the doorman. I told him I was here for Alistair.” She grins. “He didn’t even warn me that the gentleman of the house already had company…”

My face stays stony. Her smile drops.

“That was a joke.”

“I’m not in the mood, Camille.”

She nods, chewing on her lip. “Look, I just…”

“Why?” I glare at her. “I mean what the fuck, Camille?!”

“I was worried about you!”

“So you fucked three guys in my dorm room so Alistair would think you were me?”

She winces. “I know…it sounds crazy⁠—”

“Because it is!” I yell, making her flinch. “Camille, I don’t think you even realize what a horrible a thing you did. I mean, lying to me about sleeping with him is shitty enough, but⁠—”

“I already apologized⁠—”

“SHUT. UP.”

Her mouth snaps shut, her eyes darting over my livid face.

“But what you pulled…” I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. “I was sitting there in that hospital bed on the worst day of my life, and you looked me in the eye and lied to me!”

“I didn’t⁠—”

“You did!” I roar. “You fucking knew why Alistair was blocking me and ignoring my calls. You were part of it!”

“Ellie, I know you don’t want to hear this⁠—”

“Correct!”

“You weren’t ready for a relationship⁠—”

“That’s for me to decide!”

She stammers. “He… He was bad for you!”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“He—”

“Camille, I can’t do this right⁠—”

“He would have taken you away from me!!”

It’s like a record scratch, and the music dies instantly. The loft goes silent as I stare open-mouthed at my sister.

“Is that what this was about?” I choke.

“Ellie…”

“You fucking need me as an emotional punching bag?!”

I know from the way her face pales I just hit the nail on the head.

“I—you’re my sister, and if you were with him⁠—”

“I wouldn’t be available whenever you felt like acting psycho?!” I hiss. “Whenever you needed someone to confirm you as the main character of the world?!”

“Ellie, that’s rude⁠—”

“FUCK. YOU.”

The words thunder from my chest with a force that genuinely terrifies me and sends Camille skittering back a few steps. Her eyes are wild as they dart over my face.

“Okay,” she says brusquely. “I can see you’re upset.”

I bark a bitter laugh.

“Stay the fuck out of my life, Camille. I need you gone, now.”

Her eyes go wide. “You—!” she sputters indignantly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I really do.”

I march past her and yank open the door to the loft.

“But first,” I spit, whirling on her. “I want to hear you say it.”

“What do you want me to⁠—”

“I want you to admit that you went to my dorm room. How you knew Alistair was coming there because I told you he was. And how you fucked Ansel Albrecht and his buddies, and made it look like me.”

Her face rearranges back into that pathetic “woe is me” look she had when she walked in here.

“Eloise,” she fake-sobs. “We’re sisters!”

“We sure are,” I snap. “And that is what you do for your sister. Do you know what I do for mine? I marry a psychopath who has me hit, and who abuses and kills women in front of me, so that YOU can stay the fuck alive!!”

For the first time since she walked in, Camille keeps quiet.

“I don’t owe you anything more than that, Camille,” I say quietly, pointing to the open door.

Wordlessly, unable to meet my eye, she walks out, then turns.

“Eloise—”

“Goodbye, Camille.”

I slam the door. Then I go back upstairs. For another five minutes I hear her knocking. Then, she’s gone.

Who wants a drink?

Alistair has, of course, hidden or possibly thrown away every drop of alcohol in the house. And I’m too nervous about being seen to leave and get some. Delivery is out, because Massimo has access to my accounts and I’m too paranoid about him spotting me having alcohol delivered to Alistair’s home.

So I spend the afternoon watching mindless television, using Alistair’s Peloton bike, taking a long bath, and then reading a book—Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving, which is one of my favorites.

I’m about to text Alistair to ask what we should do for dinner, when my phone buzzes with a number I instantly recognize.

My dad’s house in Paris.

“Bonjour?” I murmur cautiously.

“Ms. LeBlanc?”

I frown. “Yes? Who is this?”

“Bonjour, Ms. LeBlanc, my name is Rosa; I’m your father’s caretaker.”

We’ve emailed a few times since Marie dipped out to St. Tropez and hired Rosa. But we’ve never actually spoken on the phone.

Instantly I tense. “How’s my father?”

“Oh! Tout bien!” She says cheerily. I like her already. “Everything is good, Ms. LeBlanc. He’s just fine.”

I exhale slowly. “That’s great.”

“Of course. I apologize if I frightened you. It’s just that I’ve been cleaning out your father’s home office at the request of Mrs. LeBlanc⁠—”

That would be Marie.

“—and I came across some things I thought you might want.”

My brow furrows. “Oh?”

“Oui. Just some papers and a letter—” She laughs musically. “I promise I didn’t read them. They were all clipped together with a post-it note with your name on it.”

“Weird.”

“Would you like me to put them in the mail for you? I can send them express.”

I smile, curious. “You know what? That’d be great. Thank you!”

“Ce n’est pas un problème!”

I give her Alistair’s address, obviously. Then we end up chatting for a few more minutes about my dad and random stuff before we say goodbye.

I’m grinning when I hang up. My father might be in a coma, but at least now I have a voice to go with the stranger watching over him, and Rosa seems fantastic.

I’m lounging on the couch in panties and one of Alistair’s shirts when there’s a knock on the door.

Instantly, my mood sours again.

Goddammit, Camille.

I glance at my phone, and of course, there’s a bunch of texts that I missed while I was chatting with Rosa.

The knock comes again, and I roll my eyes as I reluctantly get off the couch and stomp over to yank it open.

“You’re not fucking dy⁠—”

My heart lurches.

Rocco smiles cruelly at me. His gaze takes in my attire and bare legs, making my skin crawl before they drag back to my face.

“Mrs. Carveli…”

I jolt out of my frozen state and try to slam the door closed, but he’s way faster, and stronger. Rocco shoves the door open as I stumble backward into Alistair’s loft. He smiles darkly as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

“Rocco, listen to me⁠—”

“This isn’t a good look, Mrs. Carveli,” he growls. “At another man’s house? Dressed like this?”

“Rocco—”

“Mrs. Carveli, I see more than people think I do. It’s one of the reasons I’m so valuable to your husband. It’s my job to look out for him.”

I swallow, my eyes dropping to the gun in the holster at his waist sticking out from under his jacket.

“So when I get the impression that his wife is fuckin’ around with her boss⁠—”

“Rocco, hang on! I’m only here because⁠—”

“I think you need to come with me, Mrs. Carveli.”

“I don’t think so.”

He smiles grimly. “It wasn’t a request. Let’s go.”

I shake my head.

“Now, Mrs. Car⁠—”

I bolt and run, sprinting for the spiral staircase up to the landing. If I can get to Alistair’s room, I can lock the door and call⁠—

I don’t even make it to the stairs.

Rocco grabs my waist, hauling me backward as I flail my arms and legs.

“Don’t touch me!!” I scream, trying to hit him, but failing miserably. “Don’t you fucking touch⁠—”

Rocco hurls me to the ground and I groan when I hit it hard. As I scramble to my feet, a roar behind me has me whirling back toward him.

Holy shit.

The roar wasn’t Rocco.

It was Alistair.

He slams into Rocco, sending him backward over a chair before lunging at him. His fists slam Rocco’s face over and over before the thug manages to kick him away. He lurches at Alistair, whipping out a vicious looking blade that has me screaming and scanning the loft for a weapon of some kind.

My eyes land on the poker in its little stand next to the fireplace.

That’ll work.

I rush over to grab it. When I turn back, I go still.

Alistair is straddling Rocco, the knife knocked to the side, punching him again and again and again. Blood splatters from his fists, and the dull wet thuds of meat being pulverized fill the room.

Abruptly, mid-swing, he stops.

We’re both silent. Alistair stares down at the totally still body. His bloodied fists drop, and he turns to stare at me.

“Alistair…Are you okay?”

He shakes his head grimly, standing and wiping his hands on his shirt. Then he glances down at the carnage on his clothes.

“Fuck.”