Devious Vow: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

“Uh, Mr. Black?”

Katerina jumps out of her chair and steps in front of me before I can open the closed door to my office.

Assistants physically stopping you from entering your own office is never a good sign.

Her brow furrows. “I tried to call your cell, but⁠—”

“It was on silent. I was in a meeting with Roberto Chinellato’s people.”

I yank my phone out of my pants pocket. I groan internally when I see the nine million missed calls and texts from Kat. The first one alone is enough to get my blood boiling.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

“She’s in my office?” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Black,” she blurts quietly, looking flustered. “She…I mean, I obviously told her she wasn’t allowed⁠—”

“It’s fine, Katerina.” I exhale slowly. It’s not her fault. My step-grandmother is the kind of obnoxious bitch that makes you feel like you’re insulting other obnoxious bitches when you lump them in together.

They say people deal with grief differently. But I doubt they ever meant to include Charles Black in that statement. He dealt with the loss of our grandmother by immediately going out and dating a string of women a third his age who look like they belong on a reboot of Jersey Shore.

I mean, he took one to our grandmother’s fucking funeral as a date, for Christ’s sake.

The one that stuck around is Caroline. Charles was fifty-seven when the then twenty-year-old managed to get him to put a ring on it. And the single smartest thing she did afterward was throw her birth control away and get knocked up immediately.

Remember Maeve, my eighteen-year-old aunt? Yeah.

“I can call building security…”

“I think animal control might be more appropriate.”

Katerina gives a wry smile.

“Seriously, no need to call anyone,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders. “I can handle Caroline.”

Maybe.

The gold-digging queen herself, clad in black leggings, sky-high Pretty Woman stilettos, a fur-trimmed short jacket, and talon-like gel nails, is sitting at my fucking desk when I walk in. I glare at her as I close the door behind me, leaning against it with my arms folded.

“Hello, Alistair.”

“I assume you still have the same address, Caroline?”

Her manicured brows furrow deeply. “Excuse me?”

“For when I bill you for a replacement office chair,” I grunt. “God knows what I’d catch from it now.”

Caroline scowls. “Still an asshole, I see.”

“Still gargling my grandfather’s wrinkly balls, I see.” I wince. “Fuck, I hope he can afford to replace that chair, now that I think about it.”

I relish the look of fury tinged with genuine worry on Caroline’s face.

Yeah, that one hit a bit close.

I imagine Caroline’s always been a bitter, mean-spirited cunt. But she’s extra bitter these days. Charles, once a kingmaker of the underworld, is slowly losing his empire. He’s no longer the man to whom mafia dons and top city officials crawl in order to kiss the ring. It’s why he’s focusing so hard on Crown and Black at the moment. And Caroline hates that her extravagant lifestyle might have an expiration date.

She married a kingpin. Now she’s just forced to fuck an old man who’s rapidly losing his power.

I sigh. “Why the fuck are you here, and what the fuck do you want, Caroline?”

“I want to see my daughter.”

That would be Maeve. As of a month or so ago, though, Maeve is living with Gabriel while she finishes high school, instead of with our prick of a grandfather and this festering hemorrhoid of a trophy wife.

“Take it up with Gabriel.”

“As if you had nothing to do with that?”

I laugh. “Oh, no, I had a lot to do with removing Maeve from your household.” My smile drops as I stride across the room to her. Caroline gulps, scrabbling out of my chair and backing up against the wall as I press my knuckles on the edge of my desk and lean over it toward her. “I know you allowed my grandfather to smack her around,” I snarl. “And don’t for one single second think that Maeve hasn’t also mentioned your own physical and mental abuse toward her.”

Caroline pales. “A pack of lies, from a spoiled little brat⁠—”

“I’d advise you to shut the fuck up, immediately.”

She glares at me. But to her credit she does shut her fucking mouth.

“Now, if there’s nothing else, Caroline, I think it’s almost time to change Charles’ bed pan. He’ll probably want you to blow him, too.”

“You’re disgusting,” she mutters. “Anyway, discussing your kidnapping of my daughter isn’t all I’m here about. Where are we with the Chinellato case?”

I roll my eyes. “Really?”

“I can ask.”

“Sure, but I’m not going to answer.”

“I would consider it a personal favor.”

I snort. “In that case, I’m definitely not answering.”

We have rules in place preventing members of the board from sticking their noses into cases. Firstly, the board members are not our clients’ attorneys. Some of them, like Charles, aren’t even attorneys at all. Discussing cases with them or allowing them privileged information could open us up to a host of lawsuits and mistrials. And secondly, them sticking their noses into things prevents us—Gabriel, Taylor, and I— from running a tight, and that means profitable, ship. And the board, much to Charles’ chagrin, wants a tight, profitable ship. They voted these bylaws in themselves just a little while ago.

So Charles has sent Caroline here to pester me about the Chinellato case, because he can’t. Meddling asshole.

“Get the fuck out of my office, Caroline.”

She huffs, straightening her shoulders. “I have something else from your grandfather.”

“Shingles? Ooh, wait, I know. Antibiotic-resistant syphilis.”

“You’re disgusting, Alistair.”

I sigh. “Well? What? I’m on tenterhooks.”

Her mouth purses. “He wanted me to remind you not to let this Chinellato case go. If it goes bad, well…the threat remains.”

Yeah, I’ve heard this one before.

“You mean his bullshit about kicking Gabriel and I out of our own firm if we lose the case? Yeah, good luck with that,” I sigh. “Charles has clout, but he doesn’t have the majority vote⁠—”

“He does now.”

I’d laugh in her face, except there’s something gleefully vicious in her eyes.

Shit.

“Haven’t you heard, Alistair? There’s a new board member.”

I stare at her, my jaw tightening. “No, there isn’t.”

“Oh, believe me, there is.”

Caroline plucks her Louis Vuitton purse from the corner of my desk, batting her too-long-to-be-remotely-real eyelash extensions at me as she struts over to the door to my office and opens it.

“I should know,” she smirks. “Since it’s me.”

“How the actual fuck did this happen!?”

I pace the floor of Gabriel’s office like a caged animal, my teeth bared, breathing hard. Across the room, Taylor stands looking over Gabriel’s shoulder as he peers at his laptop.

“He can’t hold a meeting, much less a vote, without us there.”

“We don’t technically have to be there, but yes, we do have to be invited to non-scheduled meetings,” Taylor mutters.

“Yeah, well, I seem to be missing my fucking invite⁠—”

“Goddammit,” Gabriel suddenly snaps. He points to his screen. “Okay, Charles did technically invite us to the meeting, thereby satisfying the requirement to give us the opportunity to attend. But the invite was sent to the three of us on a separate email, where he included the word “FREE” in all caps in the subject line together with about forty fucking emojis. It—as he hoped, I’m sure—went straight to our spam folders.”

“He can’t vote his fucking wife onto the board!”

“He can,” Gabriel mutters. “And he did. Ratified by a narrow margin this morning.”

Mother. Fucker.

“I need to vent,” I hiss. “I’m going downstairs.”

Gabriel and Taylor glance at each other. They know what that means.

“Try not to break your hand again.” Taylor frowns. “Looks terrible in court.”

The Crown and Black offices proper occupy the top three floors of the midtown building we’re in. But we also rent a giant space in the sub-basement to house old records, dead files, and anything else that would collect dust up in the main offices.

It’s a stuffy, sweaty, miserable place to spend much time in. But that means no one ever comes down here unless they need to get something. Which makes it perfect for me.

In a far corner of the maze of metal shelving, I keep a practice bag, for when I just need to hit something.

Right now, I really need to do that.

I go at it the second I get to the far corner. My snarls fill the silence, my grunts echo off the metal shelves. I lose my jacket as the heat of the sub-basement begins to cook me, together with my fury. I pause to roll up my sleeves before I attack the bag again.

Jab, jab. Dodge, weave, jab, elbow, knee. Fuck you, Charles.

Sweat begins to roll down the small of my back. I grunt, pausing again to yank my shirttails out of my pants and unbutton it all the way before I start to go at the bag again.

Something clatters to the floor behind me.

I whirl, my eyes blazing. My fists are still raised as my chest heaves. I peer into the dim light before I march over to one of the huge metal shelves groaning with Bankers boxes and storm around to the other side of it.

Eloise gasps, her spine snapping straight. Her hair clings to sides of her flushed face in the humid heat of the sub-basement. Her blazer is gone, along with her heels and her blouse, leaving her standing in front of me barefoot in just a skirt and a skin-tight tank top that clings to her every curve.

My eyes drop to the hard points of her nipples before dragging back up to her wide eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing down here?” I grunt.

She sets her jaw and scowls. “You sent me down here, dickhead. Remember?”

Shit. That does ring a bell. I vaguely remember telling Katerina this morning to send Eloise down here in search of some ancient files I may—but most likely will not—need for one of my cases.

I lift a brow at her. “Again, I feel the need to remind you that I am your boss.”

“And yet, why do I get the impression you can’t fire me?”

I grit my teeth, my lip curling as I step closer to her, relishing the way her skin flushes deeper when I do.

“Because of your dear husband?” I snarl.

“Ding ding ding,” she smiles icily at me.

My eyes narrow. “I might not be able to fire you, Eloise…”

She gasps as I back her into the shelves behind her.

“But I can make your life hell here. For starters,” I glance down, letting my eyes drift over her. “Do you fucking call this office attire?”

She stares at me. “I’ve been down here for three hours and it’s hotter than Hell down here.” She arches her brows at me, a glint in her eyes as she sweeps them over me in return. “And you’re one to talk! Really?”

“I was exercising,” I mutter.

“Rules for thee, not for me?”

“It’s called executive privilege.” I turn away from her, casting my gaze over the random boxes she’s pulled from the shelves looking for the files she was sent here for. There’s a half-nibbled apple sitting on one of them. I frown when my gaze lands on the shelf behind it, where I spot a paper coffee cup and a bottle of vodka.

I walk over and pluck up the cup, bringing it to my nose. After sniffing it, I turn to glare at her.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She gasps as I move toward her, caging her against the shelves.

“Were you drinking, Eloise?”

Her mouth sets. “That was down here already.”

Okay, that’s clearly bullshit. But for some reason, I don’t push it. She’s obviously not drunk, and, let’s face it, if I were married to Massimo fucking Carveli, I’d probably need some medicine to get through the day, too.

Not to mention, if I were my boss.

So I let it go. For now.

Eloise clears her throat. “Why were you…”

“Hitting things?”

She nods.

“Anger issues.”

“Okay, aside from the obvious.”

I glare at her, trying not to notice the teasing little smirk on her far-too-tempting lips.

“Reasons,” I mutter.

“So fights still have a way of finding you, huh?” She half-smiles, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. For a second, something flickers in my chest.

Then I stamp it out. Hard.

“Don’t.”

Eloise swallows. “What?”

“Don’t bring up the past like that. We’re not having a moment, Eloise.”

“I’m not the one caging you against the wall, Alistair,” she says quietly.

Her tongue wets her plump lips. Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and my eyes latch onto a tiny drop of sweat as it trickles down her collarbone and between her breasts.

Need roars in my veins. Desire throbs throughout my body. The way her fucking pheromones still start little fires everywhere in my system turns my head inside out.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

“Get back to work,” I mutter quietly, turning to leave.

“Why do you hate me so much?!” she yells angrily at my back.

I freeze, my jaw grinding.

“I don’t hate you, Eloise.” I glance at her over my shoulder, the toxic mix of desire and a damaged past scorching my veins before I turn away again. “I’d have to give a shit about you to do that.”

“What the fuck, Alistair!?” she shouts at me. “Seriously! Yeah, we were dicks to each other in school, but⁠—”

“But what?!” I snarl, whirling back on her. “But then we fucked?! Is that what you’re clinging to, Eloise?!”

“I just don’t understand what made you so fucking mean.”

“You did,” I growl. “And don’t for a second try and pretend otherwise.”

Without another word, I whirl, grab the bottle of vodka from the shelf and storm away.

I toss the bottle in a trashcan near the door, and I make it almost all the way to the utility elevator before I pause.

Shit. My jacket is still by the practice bag.

Grim-faced, my pulse still racing from my close encounter of the Eloise kind, I storm back to the far corner of the records room again.

“Merde!” Eloise is hissing from the other side of the shelves, where I just left her. “Merde! Merde!!”

Jesus Christ, now what.

Grabbing my jacket, I storm around the shelves.

Oh shit.

I watch as it happens. Eloise is standing on a stack of boxes, struggling to reach one on the top shelf. Just as I walk around the corner the bottom box of the stack starts to crumple, and the whole thing collapses.

Eloise gasps sharply as she twists and falls…

…Straight into my arms as I race over to catch her.

Her body slams into mine, torso-to-torso, face-to-face, her legs wrapped around my hips as my hands grab her ass. The force of the hit sends us tumbling backward, and I grunt as my back hits the shelves behind me and her face almost slams into mine.

Time stops. The sweltering heat of the room pulses around us, as if the very air is pushing us closer together.

I can feel her heart thudding against my chest. Fuck, I can also feel the hard, pebbled points of her nipples through the thin tank top. My hands instinctively tighten on her ass, my fingers sinking into her soft yet firm flesh as my cock thickens between us.

Her lips part, inches from mine. And I swear to fuck, her hips roll against me. Eloise’s suit-skirt is bunched up, and I know she can feel the throb of my erection against the soft, warm mound of her pussy through her panties.

For a nanosecond, standing there with her literally in my arms and her mouth barely an inch from mine, I almost cross the line. I almost slam my mouth to hers, yank her soaked panties aside, and ram every inch of my hard, hungry cock into her greedy little pussy.

But then I remember to breathe. I remember that this is reality, not fantasy.

I remember that this is Eloise fucking LeBlanc.

Liar. Backstabber.

The enemy.

Her lip quivers. Her hips roll oh-so-subtly again as her eyes lock with mine. But the moment is over. Shattered. Broken.

My face hardens as I drop my hands and Eloise gasps quietly as she slips to the ground. Her face heats as she scrambles a step back from me, hugging herself as her eyes snap to mine again.

“Maybe this is how you operated at your last job,” I growl quietly, “or how you managed to catch Massimo. But don’t ever try that shit with me again.”

Her eyes widen in fury as her mouth drops open in shock.

“You insufferable, egotistical, ass⁠—”

“Sir,” I snap, silencing her. My lips curl into a snarl as I move a step toward her. “It’s yes, sir, or no, sir, and nothing fucking more. Is that clear?”

Her lips purse tight and there’s hellfire in her eyes as they stab into me like twin blades.

“Is. That. Clear. Eloise.”

“Yes,” she says coldly. Suddenly, the room no longer feels sweltering. It’s as if someone’s opened a window in winter to let the heat out and the chill in.

“I mean, yes sir,” she sneers before she turns, grabs her blouse, jacket, and heels from a nearby box, and storms off.