Devious Vow: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

My stomach churns as the elevator rises to the offices of Crown and Black, occupying the top three floors of the stately Madison Avenue building.

In a parallel universe, this would be one of the best days of my life, walking into one of the most, if not the most, prestigious law firms in New York for my first day of employment after years of one step forward, two steps back.

But this is not that parallel universe.

After law school, I was briefly a junior associate at a firm in Chicago. But then my father back in Paris got sick, and it all went down the drain: starting with the stipulations in his living will that I be married off to Massimo, immediately.

After the wedding, Massimo forbade me from working, which made it confusing when he allowed me to take the bar exam in New York after we moved there. And it makes it extremely confusing that he’s just surprised me with a fucking job at Crown and Black.

Because Massimo doesn’t do favors, or presents, or surprises—at least, not the good kind. Which means that this position comes with strings. It comes with an “angle”.

But even that’s not what has my stomach knotting and nervous butterflies fluttering through me. Nor is it first day jitters, or anything silly like that.

No, it’s that in a minute, when I step off this elevator into the Crown and Black offices, Alistair will be my boss. And the resulting cocktail of nervousness, confusion, and outright fear flooding my system has my head spinning.

It’s hard to describe what Alistair Black and I were, ten years ago. Enemies, but not. Rivals, but…also allies, in a sense? Oil and water. Fire and gunpowder. If I’d been a man, we probably would have eventually fought each other.

Instead, we slept together.

The worst mistake of my life, but maybe the best night, all in one convoluted, dangerous package.

And then it went to shit.

First came confusion. Then came the night of pain and blood and loss. When I actually needed him, he cut me off entirely.

I remember seeing him briefly right before his graduation ceremony. After a month of no contact and him blocking me everywhere, I finally went up to him, against my better judgment, to demand what the hell was going on.

I never got my answer. Well, I did, it just wasn’t the answer I was looking for, or expected.

“From the very bottom of my heart, Eloise. Go the fuck to hell, and don’t ever cross my path again.”

That, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is my new boss.

With a ding, the elevator doors open long before I’m ready for them to. I grip my bag tighter as I step out and into the main foyer of the law offices.

“Eloise, yes?”

A pretty brunette—Megan, if I remember correctly from yesterday—smiles as she stands from the reception desk.

“Hi, yeah. It’s Megan, right?”

She beams. “That’s me! Now, I’ve been instructed to⁠—”

My phone rings loudly. I cringe, scrambling to yank it out of my bag and put it to silent. “Sorry!” I blurt. “I am so⁠—”

I freeze when I see the name on the screen.

“Merde,” I hiss under my breath, wincing and looking up at Megan again. “I’m sorry, it’s a family thing…”

She waves me off easily. “Please, go right ahead.”

I smile weakly and scurry over to a corner of the foyer before I answer.

“Where are you?” Camille blurts.

Shit.

People have frequently used the words “volatile” or “emotionally fragile” to describe my older sister. Those are the ones being nice about it. It’s not that Camille is “crazy”, it’s just…

Well, it’s hard to describe.

It’s part drama queen, part narcissism, and one huge part neediness. She hates being alone, despises not being a part of your conversation—even if she really doesn’t have anything to do with it—and she’s clingy.

And yes, I realize this sounds exactly like the sort of person you try to steer clear of, but she’s also my sister, and I understand why she’s like that.

Losing our mom when we were nine and twelve years old was rough. It really hit Camille at the worst possible time—a time when a daughter really needs her mom around. Add in the fact that I was very clearly Dad’s favorite, and him utterly retreating inward after mom died, and you get a recipe for…well, someone like Camille.

She can be a huge pain in the ass. She’s emotionally draining a lot of the time. But family is family.

Years and years ago, I secretly came up with a rating system to gauge, emotionally, where Camille was on any given day. One is normal. Ten is “call her therapist, call her psychiatrist, and call the police while you’re at it.” It’s even easier face-to-face, but at this point, I can even give an accurate reading over the phone.

Right now, based on those three words, Camille’s at a six. Not great, not terrible.

“Hey,” I say brightly, trying to invoke a positivity I don’t really feel. “What’s up?”

“What’s up??” she blurts. “What’s up is where are you? I’m just sitting here all alone, Eloise. I look like an idiot!”

My brows knit. I even glance at my phone for a second and thumb over to my calendar to see if I’ve forgotten about something.

I haven’t.

“Camille, where are you?”

“At Per Se, for lunch!”

I exhale slowly. Yeah, I know what this is. Again, it’s not that my sister is delusional, or forgetful. It’s that she’ll create a scenario in her mind where you fucked up, for which she will then “forgive you”. It’s manipulative as fuck, but…that’s Camille. The problem is, once she’s come up with this scenario, she genuinely gets into this headspace where she starts to believe her own bullshit.

This is exactly what’s happening right now.

Today, Camille has concocted a scenario in which I’m apparently standing her up for a lunch date at the very expensive, very posh, Michelin-rated Per Se restaurant. Normally, the “fix” for this would be to go over there, come up with some sort of apology, and just have lunch with her, because that’s the easiest damn solution. And hey, I hear the food’s great.

Except today, I can’t do that. Because today I’m here, in hell, working my very first day as Alistair Black’s underling at Crown and Black.

“Camille, I’m so sorry.”

She sighs heavily. “It’s fine, I understand. You get forgetful sometimes. Just get here. I’m doing the chef’s tasting menu. The uni risotto is supposed to be insane⁠—”

“No, Camille, I can’t come. Not today.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Why not?” she spits in a clipped, annoyed tone.

I blow air through my lips. “I’m at work, actually. It’s my first day.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Massimo,” I mutter, like that’s the only explanation anyone needs. “He… He got me this associate’s position at the law firm he’s going to be using for business.”

Camille squeals. “Oh my God! Ellie! That’s so amazing!”

For all her crazy, again, she’s also my sister.

“I’m so fucking happy for you!”

“Thanks!” I gush back. “It’s…overwhelming. But I’m really excited to⁠—”

“Wait. Which firm?”

Shit.

My silence speaks volumes.

“It’s Crown and Black, isn’t it?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck, Eloise?! Do you fucking hate me?!”

I grit my teeth. “Cammie, it wasn’t my decision. Massimo⁠—”

“You’re seriously working for Alistair?!” she snaps coldly. “After what that piece of shit did to me?!”

To you, and to me. To hurt me, by hurting you.

Which sounds so shitty, but I know it’s true. Alistair doesn’t do random. Whatever happened with my sister and Alistair—however murky the facts are—was done to hurt me. That’s bad enough.

What makes it awful is that now I’m working here, under him.

“Camille, I’m sorry. It’s not at all my decision. Massimo made it pretty fucking clear that I don’t have a choice⁠—”

“Yeah, kind of like how I didn’t have a choice.”

My eyes close. “Camille, let’s talk⁠—”

“Enjoy reminiscing with your piece of shit ex-boyfriend, you backstabbing bitch.”

She hangs up abruptly, and any wind that might have been in my sails when I walked in here dies instantly.

Goddammit.

I sigh as I silence the phone and slip it into my bag again. Then I turn and plaster a smile on my face as I walk back over to Megan.

“Sorry about that.”

“No worries.” She smiles, then lowers her voice. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but…sibling?”

I make a face and nod.

“My brother’s a handful, too,” she grins, clearly trying to put me at ease. “I totally understand.”

I smile weakly. “Thanks.”

“But we should hustle,” she says, her smile a bit more nervous now. “Not, uh…not everyone might understand, if you know what I mean.”

I do.

She means Alistair won’t understand. Or care, for that matter.

I follow Megan down the hall into a huge, open-concept office space full of low cubicles.

“This is the main floor, where the associates, junior associates, and aides all have their workspaces. The conference rooms are here too. Third floor is for the legal libraries, boardroom, and offices of the board members”…she gives me a conspiratorial wink…“when they’re even here, that is.”

I follow her up a gorgeous, sweeping glass and steel staircase in the middle of the huge open space that leads up to a second floor that rings above the first.

“Here on level two…” she continues as we get to the top of the stairs. “Partners’ offices and conference room.” She turns and indicates a gorgeous, all-glass corner office filled with stunning art, beautiful mid-century furniture, and flowering plants. “Ms. Crown’s executive office. Down there…” She points to another glassed-in corner of the building, this one far more masculine; all wood, brass, and dark hues. “Mr. Black…Gabriel Black, that is,” she adds. “And then, if you’ll follow me…”

I swallow the large lump in my throat as I follow Megan to the last corner of the floor. This office is glass, too, but unlike Taylor’s and Gabriel’s, the blinds are drawn, obscuring the interior.

“Mr. Black’s office,” she says with a slightly nervous smile as we stop outside the closed door. A young, pretty woman smiles at us from behind her desk just outside. “Mrs. Carveli?”

I smile. “It’s actually Ms. LeBlanc.”

Her brows knit as she glances back at a stack of papers in her hands. “Oh, well…hmm.”

Megan pats my arm. “I need to run back downstairs. Anything you need, just come ask, okay?”

I smile weakly at her. “Thank you.”

When she’s gone, I turn back to the confused-looking girl—Katerina, if the birthday cards tacked to the wall behind her desk are to be believed.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s just…” She smiles brightly at me. “It’s definitely Ms. LeBlanc?”

“I never changed my name when I got married. So, yes, technically, still Ms. LeBlanc. Is that a problem?”

“No!” she says, with all the sincerity of a punchline. “Not at all. I mean, it won’t be…as soon as you go down to HR and redo all your paperwork and on-boarding documents.”

My face falls. “Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s…” She makes a face. “Well, I’m sure it won’t take too long. In the meantime…” She glances at the closed door to Alistair’s office. When she looks back at me, the look on her face screams good fucking luck, sister.

“Well, he’s ready for you.”

“Sorry I’m a little late. I had a family thing on the phone I had to⁠—”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mention that to him.”

“It’s my sister⁠—”

Katerina cuts me off by stabbing the intercom button on her desk. “Hi, yes, Mr. Black? Ms. LeBlanc is here.”

She’s got an earpiece in, so I don’t hear his reply. But the way her smile falters and the color drains from her face tell me everything I need to know.

Ten years ago, I made the mistake of sleeping with my enemy. My bully. Though, I suppose I was his, as well.

But if any tiny part of me was thinking that ten years later, he’d let bygones be bygones and consider it all water under the bridge, the naked look of fear on his assistant’s face dashes that idea in a heartbeat.

Katerina’s eyes drag up to mine. “Like I said: he’s ready for you.”

Cold dread drags its nails up my spine as I turn toward the door. I walk to it slowly, my breath coming shallow and fast.

My fingers close around the knob. I twist, push, and then with as deep a breath as I can muster, I step into the room.

Alistair is sitting behind his desk—jacketless, with the sleeves of his Oxford shirt rolled up to mid-forearm—and I freeze when his eyes lock with mine, ice blue, piercing, like he’s trying to flay open my very soul with his gaze.

“Close the door.”

I quickly turn to shut the door behind me. When I turn back, my gaze momentarily drops to his forearm and to tattoo ink that I don’t remember from before.

“Eyes up here, Ms. LeBlanc,” Alistair growls. My gaze drags up to his, over the chiseled line of his jaw and cleft chin. Over the sinfully perfect lips and regal nose, until I’m once again captured by that lethal look in his eyes.

“Or is it Mrs. Carveli,” he says with a hint of a sneer. “I seem to be confused on that point.”

“It’s…” My throat closes, choking me for a second, and I quail at the way his lips curl at me. “It’s Ms. LeBlanc.”

“Well, Ms. LeBlanc,” he growls. “You’re late.”

“Alistair, I’m so sorry. I⁠—”

“First. Of. All.”

He stands abruptly, his voice barking across the space between us.

“You will refer to me as Mr. Black. Or sir.”

I stare at him open-mouthed.

Sir? He can’t be fucking serious.

“Is that clear, Ms. Leblanc?”

I nod. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Save the yeahs for someone who isn’t your fucking boss. It’s yes, sir and no, sir. Got it? And apology accepted.”

My brows knit. “Wait, apology? I wasn’t⁠—”

“I don’t care.”

I flinch at how abrupt his words are—how viciously he’s staring at me. How cold the room feels as his gaze stabs into me.

“Just as I don’t give a single fuck why you were late. Just know that it’s never happening again.”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You understand…?” Alistair raises a significant brow.

You’re fucking joking.

I swallow my pride and clear my throat. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.”

“So, what should I⁠—”

“Whatever I ask, whenever I ask it.”

He slowly stalks out from behind his desk and moves toward me. It’s like watching a jungle predator prowling through the shadows, and just as triggering to my adrenaline. My pulse quickens as he moves closer and closer, and I keep waiting for him to stop, but he doesn’t. He just keeps coming closer.

And closer.

And closer.

I gasp, my spine jerking ramrod straight as he stops right in front of me, looming over me with his broad shoulders and black gaze. With his masculine scent of something woodsy, citrusy, and spicy engulfing my senses, arresting my pulse.

“I…I’m not sure what you mean…”

Every nerve in my body explodes as he suddenly grabs my jaw, lifting my gaze to his as it slices into me.

“What I mean, Ms. LeBlanc,” he snarls, “is that from now on…” His thumb and forefinger tighten on my chin, making me shudder.

“From now on, I fucking own you.”