Sinful Hearts: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Sinful Hearts: Chapter 15

My eyes ache. Blinking and wincing, I pull back from the computer screens, rolling my shoulders, realizing I’ve been mere inches away from them as I pore over the legal briefing Taylor forwarded me earlier today.

Hours ago. Hours that have flown by in a haze of legal jargon. I dimly remember Fumi being the guardian angel and amazing friend that she is, dropping off lunch for me earlier. Then checking in on me again at the end of the workday.

But even that was…

I glance at my watch and groan.

Five freaking hours ago.

I did check in with Nora earlier, and sent her a delivery from her favorite sushi spot for her dinner. I glance down at my phone and grin at the text message from her still sitting on the screen:

Nora

Best. Sister. Ever. I’m saving you some – NOT ALL – of this jaguar roll. Love ya

My smile widens. We bicker at times. I mean she’s fifteen: of course we bicker. But at the end of the day, she’s my sister. A flicker of anxiety sparks inside me as my mind flashes back to two days ago, when Leo and his little creep Pascha were in here.

Threatening me. Worse, threatening her. The thought of Pascha coming anywhere near my little sister makes me simultaneously want to vomit and stab him.

And I am not, by nature, a violent person.

I take a breath, shaking those thoughts from my head as I lean back in my office chair. My door is closed, but I’m sure I’m the last one still here. Even Alistair the workaholic is usually gone by nine.

I quickly reread the last paragraph of the briefing I’ve just spent eleven hours going through.

Finished.

I’m about to open a new document to type out the notes I’ve taken on the briefing for Taylor, because even if she doesn’t even need this until next week, I’m a psycho like that. But just then, my phone dings with a message.

Taylor Crown

You’d better not still be at the office with that Klein briefing.

I grin as I pick up the phone and tap out a quick reply.

Me

Guilty as charged. I just finished, though, and was about to get my notes to you.

Taylor Crown

OMG, no. NO. Fuck everything about that. I can’t believe you read the whole damn thing today. Get out of there right now! That’s an order!

Me

You’re the boss. Okay, I’m packing it in.

Honestly, thank God for her rational thinking, because writing my notes out tonight would have been pure insanity.

So I close down my work computer. But I don’t immediately get up. Even though there’s a sister and sushi waiting for me at home. Instead, blushing even though there’s no one here, I pull up Instagram on my phone.

He’s, shamefully, at the top of my recent searches.

Most of Hades’ feed is filled with pictures of his car, or boxing gloves, or old books, which the skeptic in me assumes is curated to look artsy and interesting, probably to woo and impress women.

As if he needs any fucking help in that department.

You seemed to have screwed him no problem without seeing his artsy, book post-y self.

I simmer, biting my lip as I scroll through his posts. Past the pictures of his dark, British-racing-green Camaro, and the boxing stuff, and the books, and a couple of promo posts about the Irish pub I’ve been helping Callie, Neve, and Eilish get ready to open, there are…other pictures. Pictures I would normally use, at least to myself, as ammunition to make fun of his vanity and his whole “hot, rich, and dangerous to know” vibe.

At least I would if I could stop drooling over them.

Pictures like the one of him shirtless, half in shadow and dripping in sweat, as if he’s just come back from a run or the gym.

God, it’s getting embarrassing. I need to stop looking at this picture.

But I can’t.

Obviously, it’s his abs that pull the eye first. Half in shadow, and the way the light hits them, they look insane, almost as if he’s photoshopped them. Except I know he hasn’t.

Because I know that’s what they look like in real life.

I know what they feel like grinding against my ass, or pinning me to the wall.

I flush deeply.

I know what the sweat on those chiseled abs and sinfully grooved hip lines angling down into his gym shorts tastes like.

I know what a lot of him tastes like…

It’s not just the shadowed abs, hip grooves, and chest that I like about this picture. It’s his face. It’s also half shadowed in the shot, with one side almost completely dark.

Except for his eye.

The one on the lit side is sexy enough, with that cool, ice-blue stare. But it’s his eye on the shadowed side of his face that I think is what I like most about this picture.

It’s the intensity of it. The way that even if the rest of that side of his face is in shadow, the eye seems to spark. It’s intense, and powerful, and makes me shiver.

But somehow, it also reveals a vulnerability in him. There’s something haunting in that shadowed eye that grips me and won’t let go.

The—no joke—two thousand comments on this particular post are almost exclusively from women, of course. Every single one a fawning, nauseating, emoji-filled gush about his looks, and his abs, and how sexxxy he is.

My lips tighten even skimming them.

But not one of them, at least not that I’ve seen, mentions the shadowed eye.

And I kind of like that. It’s as if that look I see every time I perv this picture is for me and me alone. My dirty little secret.

Just like the rest of him.

I obviously know about Hades’ reputation. I know ours was probably one of a string of a million nights just like it for him, all with different women ready and willing to do anything and everything with him.

That makes me furious. Like, stabby furious, even if I have no right to feel that way. Because I did trick him into sleeping with me. And I did it knowing exactly who and what he was. Is.

I mean, that was kind of the point.

But still, even if thinking about all those other girls being with him makes me want to scream, I can block them out. And I do that by letting my mind go blank and simply reliving that one night.

Every touch. Every kiss. Every whimpered moan from my lips and growled command from his. And once I’m drowning in the heat of those memories, everything else fades away until I can imagine that it’s just him, and me.

No one else. No other girls.

Just me.

Me and my secret sin.

The loud knock on my office door sends my heart into my throat.

…And my thumb fucking double-tapping the picture of Hades I’ve been drooling over.

Mother. FUCK.

My face goes white as I stare at the solid red heart icon. Crap, I don’t even follow Hades. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know I’m on Instagram at all, let alone creeping his pictures.

And I just “liked” one of the hottest pics on his feed, which was posted like fifteen months ago.

Holy cringe.

I could unlike it, but he’ll still get the notification. Groaning, I close the app and drop the phone on my desk before my eyes drag up to the door.

“Yeah? I’m still working in—”

The door opens, and I turn to stone.

I was ashen enough for “liking” Hades’ abs. When Pascha walks into my office at ten-fifteen at night, I go white with fear.

He smiles cruelly as he steps in, closing the door behind him.

“You’re working late.”

I swallow, feeling my pulse begin to thud heavily in my ears as my throat closes a little.

“What do you want?” I croak.

Pascha’s lips curl up at the corners, as if he’s caught the scent of my fear, and he’s getting off on it. Which might actually be the case.

I shudder and quickly stand as he moves toward my desk.

“I said, what do you want?”

My nails dig into my palms, trying to keep myself from shaking.

Or running.

“Look, it’s only been a few days. If you want me to replace something on the Drakos family, you’re going to need to have a little more patience—”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

He keeps strolling toward me—slowly, unhurried. The fear begins to knot and twist in my stomach, turning my blood to ice.

“I beg your pardon?”

Pascha comes to a stop by my desk, leaning against it casually with that thin, creepy smirk on his face.

“I know what you did, you know.”

My brows knit. My jaw clenches tightly, as if to stave off the fear.

“I have no idea what you’re—”

“It was no random man who fucked you, was it?”

My insides turn so cold they could actually freeze and crack. I try to swallow, but it’s futile. I try to breathe, to utter a single word, but nothing comes.

Pascha’s lethal smile curls demonically at the corners.

“It was Hades Drakos, wasn’t it…you little whore.”

Beneath the ice, something heated and furious snaps.

“Whom I sleep with is the furthest thing from your business you can possibly imagine,” I hiss quietly.

“Ahh…” he grins, slowly raising a finger and shaking it, along with his head from side to side. “But not in this case. Because he’s the enemy. The very enemy your father wants you to be spying on. And instead you went out and fucked him.” Pascha’s eyes turn dangerous. “This does not paint you in a very good light, now does it?”

The room goes quiet. My pulse thuds heavily, my blood thick in my veins as I try and hold back the sheer terror. Because Pascha is like a shark right now, circling me, sniffing for blood in the water. If I show fear, that’s like opening a vein. And he won’t waste a second in tearing me in half.

“I think you should leave.”

He smiles coldly. “No. I don’t think we’re even a little bit close to done here.”

I swallow. “Okay…so what’s your plan, Pascha?” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Go tattle on me to Leo? He himself suggested I screw one of them to get close to the family. Do you really think he’d care?”

His lips curl. “There’s getting close, and getting too close. One could consider what you did spying. Or, that you’re working with the Drakos snakes against your father’s and Gavan Tsarenko’s interests. And that would not be wise…”

I bite back a gasp as he takes a step toward me.

“…or healthy.”

My face pales, my nails digging hard into my palms.

“I won’t tell, though.”

He says it with a sudden smile, and I stiffen.

“I won’t, really.”

He moves close. I don’t want to, because I do not want to show him how scared I am right now, but I take a step back almost on instinct.

Pascha grins.

The shark has caught the scent.

“I’m sure we can come to an…agreement.”

My skin crawls at the lascivious way his eyes slowly drift up and down my whole body when he says it.

“Leave,” I choke.

Pascha shrugs, his eyes still locked on mine.

“Are you sure? If I leave right now, it’s not going to end well for you.”

His voice rasps out like broken glass.

“Ask me what I want for my silence.”

My teeth grind, hatred and abject fear twisting in my stomach like two blades as his words hang in the air.

“Fine,” I hiss. “What the fuck do you—”

“Show me your tits.”

I go numb. Bile rises in my throat, and the room spins.

“No.”

His eyes bore into me as he tilts his head to the side.

“No? Then things are about to get ugly for you.” He grins. “And for your sister.”

No…

“Maybe she will be happy to show me what’s been growing under that training bra—”

“Fuck. YOU,” I snarl, venom dripping from my lips.

“Gladly. Now fucking show me, or I will be at Nora’s door next, and I won’t be asking her for the same thing quite so nicely.”

“Here!”

It’s the pure, unimaginable horror of him harming Nora. The very idea of this monster touching her, or even thinking about her like that, smashes down every last barrier and shred of resistance I have left.

“Fine! Here!”

Shaking, tears in my eyes, I unbutton my blouse and yank it open.

“Happy?!” I sneer. “You fucking creep!”

Pascha’s brows lift. “A little. But not completely. The bra, too.”

I look away, tears starting to trickle down my cheeks.

“Please…”

“Oh yes. I’ll enjoy this so much more if you use that word.”

I could try to protest or fight him on this. But it’s already over, and he knows it. Threatening Nora was the final stroke.

I’d do anything to keep him from hurting her.

Anything.

I go into a numb, fugue state, like I’m shutting down or checking out of reality. I look away from Pascha as I unclasp the front of my bra, feeling the cool air against my skin.

Feel the malignant touch of his gaze drift across my body, slowly turning me to stone.

“Get on your knees.”

I choke, actually dry heaving as the horror of what’s happening fully crashes down on me. My eyes drag back to him, pleading.

“No—”

I sob when I see the blade flick open in his hand, his beady eyes filled with predatory hunger.

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“Don’t do this…”

I choke, sobbing as Pascha shoves me to my knees, frenzied mania in his eyes as he frantically works his belt open.

“Make it good, my little whore,” he snarls. “No teeth, or I’ll cut your throat and fuck that in—”

The door to my office slams open so hard it almost breaks off the hinges. I can’t see properly through the tears blurring my vision. All I see is a dark shape fly across the room, roaring, and slam into Pascha like a truck.

It’s only then, as I watch them both go crashing over my desk chair, that I realize it’s Hades.

There’s no long, drawn-out fight. They don’t trade blows. Hades just kneels astride Pascha’s heaving chest—arms bulging, teeth bared, and eyes demonic—as his hands wrap tight around Pascha’s throat.

And squeeze.

And squeeze.

And squeeze, ignoring the flapping, flailing motions of the Russian’s arms. Ignoring the knife as Pascha makes one weak, futile attempt to stab him. Ignoring even the way I’m staring at this grisly scene unfolding right in front of me, as if I’m in a nightmare from which I can’t wake up.

Suddenly, it’s all over.

Pascha’s arms drop and go limp. His body stops jerking and writhing. His chest stops rising and falling, and his head lolls to the side, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

Lips blue and lifeless.

I blink, and slowly, my eyes lift. They replace Hades’, blazing right back into me with a look of pure, lethal power.

Pure snarling rage.

Pure possessiveness.

I can’t look away.

I don’t ever want to look away.