Sinful Hearts: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance
Sinful Hearts: Chapter 25

“You’re not bringing anyone tonight?”

I’m in the research library at work—a gorgeous, glass-walled room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of legal texts. I’ve been pouring over case studies until my eyes blur, but I push the work in front of me aside when Fumi enters.

“What?”

“To the gala. You’re not bringing anyone?”

“Says who?”

She smirks, holding up the tablet in her hand. “Says the RSVP list.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “Nah. I was going to bring Nora, but she made plans with her friends instead and ditched me.”

“Brutal.”

I snicker. “I’ll live. Are you bringing anyone?”

Fumi makes a very dry, very Simpsons-inspired “ha-ha” sound.

“I thought you were giving apps a try?”

“Oh, I was, for about thirty seconds. But as it turns out, men are awful. Breaking news, I know.”

I make a face. “That bad?”

“The number of wieners I’ve been shown without asking to see them is a legitimately terrifying commentary on the state of the world. Like, who does that? Hi, what do you do for work? What do you like to eat? Anyway, here’s a photo of my not-very-impressive worm of a dick. Can we fuck now?”

I snort out a laugh as she shakes her head in despair.

“Elsa, it’s brutal out there, I’m telling you. I mean, I could kind of wrap my head around it if you had a nice-looking dick, right? I mean if you’ve got a supermodel cock? I mean, sure, probably still ask first. But if it’s that nice? Yeah, maybe I’m down to take a peek, you know?”

I’m cracking up. First, because Fumi is fucking hilarious. And second, because laughing covers the sudden redness suffusing my face, since I’m now thinking very hard about the dick pictures Hades sent me the other day.

“But holy shit. Please spare me those badly-lit, blurry shots of your micro-dicks. And why the fuck is there always a toilet in the background? I mean if I’m taking pictures of my pussy, that shit is going to be glamour city, not taken in some fucking toilet. Like, have a little respect for your privates, right?”

I almost fall out of my chair laughing.

“Looks like your boyfriend is coming tonight…”

That knocks the laughter right out of me. I stiffen and stare at her.

“Excuse me?”

Fumi grins and sings his name at me. “Hades Drakos.”

I sputter, quickly shaking my head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, he’s clearly something.”

“Absolutely not. For fuck’s sake, he’s a client, Fumi.”

“Yeah, I’ve got clients too, girl. Even a few that are almost as criminally hot as Hades. But I’m not the one getting dragged off to my office by any of them to get fucked silly for an hour in the middle of the workday.”

My eyes widen and my face burns brighter than the sun.

“I—Fumi—” I swallow. “I did not! We had a meeting—”

“You do understand that I’m not a fucking idiot, right? Like, you know that?”

My lips press together tightly, my cheeks still tingling.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I know that.”

“Cool. Just wanted to clear that up.”

I give her a wry smile as I finally force myself to look her in the eye. Fumi arches her brows, sighing.

“So…not your boyfriend.”

“No.”

“But…”

“But. Nothing. He’s my client, Fumi. That would be completely unethical.”

“Uh-huh,” she sighs dryly. “Sure.”

“And I could get into heaps of trouble for it.”

“Gotcha. Which is why you definitely are not”—she uses her fingers to make air quotes—“hooking up with Hades Drakos.”

“Fumiii—”

“Elsaaa.”

I roll my eyes. She laughs, then sighs. “I’m not going to say a word, relax. Plus, trust me. There are way more egregious breaches of counsel-client entanglements going on in this place than you and Hades.”

My jaw drops. “Who?”

She drags a finger across her lips. “Ah-ah-ah. Steel trap. I say nothing.”

I grin.

“So: Hades.”

I sigh. “Complicated. The actual dictionary definition of complicated.”

“Well, he’s certainly easy on the eyes.”

I blush, and Fumi laughs.

“I’m just saying, if someone had to send me a dick pic, solicited or otherwise, and that person was Hades Drakos, I’m not sure I’d complain that much.”

“You can say that again.”

Shit. I did not just say that out loud.

Except I just did. Fuck.

Fumi giggles, waggling her brows at me. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I plead the fifth.”

“Bullshit. How big are we talking here?”

“Oh my God, really?”

“Uh, yes?” She holds her hands out and moves them closer and further apart, like she’s measuring. “This? Or this?”

“I am not talking about this with you.”

“Which almost always means it’s either tragically tiny or porn-star huge. And given the glazed look in your eyes after he left the other day, I’m gonna go with door number two on that one.”

My face burns hotly as I shake my head at her. “You’re a lunatic.”

She laughs, dropping her eyes back to her tablet. Then her brow furrows.

“What?”

She purses her lips, still staring at the screen. “He’s really not your boyfriend, right?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Okay, good. I don’t have to murder him, then.”

“And why would you have to do that?”

“Because he’s got a plus one on his RSVP for tonight.”

Something black and vengeful suddenly rises up inside of me, snarling. Something that rips through me with sharp claws and leaves me wanting to scream, or break something, or both.

“Oh?” I say thinly.

Fumi arches her brows. “Yeah. A Vanya Mirzoyan?”

“Oh. Cool.”

I look away.

“No. Fuck that.”

“Fumi, we’re not a couple or anything—”

“Well, still. That’s fucking bullshit. You need to make him sweat that he didn’t bring you.”

“What? No. I don’t care.”

“Sure, you don’t.”

I glare at her. But she does this ridiculous pout-face glare right back at me that always cracks me up, and I laugh.

“You’re getting ready at my place tonight before the gala. We need to make sure you’re all dressed up.”

“I dress up!”

“Elsa, I love you. But your idea of dressing up makes it look like you’ve got a hot date with a deposition. We need you dressed up like you’ve got a hot date with big porn star dick.”

I groan, blushing.

“We need you looking like Princess Diana in the revenge dress after Charles stuck his dick in Camilla.”

“Fumi—”

“No negotiating, it’s happening. Trust me… You’re going to look hot.”

She’s not wrong.

Eight hours later, after I grudgingly submit to Fumi’s “glow up” makeover, I walk into the gala feeling like a freaking movie star.

I even stop in the foyer of the Plaza Hotel, where the event is being held, to glance at myself in one of the floor-length, golden-edged mirrors. Heat tingles through my cheeks as I grin.

I mean damn, self.

There’s a hint—maybe much, much more than a hint—of truth to what Fumi said earlier. I don’t really ever dress up. At least, not like this. Not glamorously. But tonight, I’m wearing this stunning, cherry-red Alexander McQueen gown of Fumi’s, which fits me perfectly and might be the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever worn.

Sleeveless, floor-length, with a high neck in front and scooping all the way down to the small of my back, with a slit all the way up to my thigh. I’ve got on matching red, towering heels, and Fumi spent about forty-five minutes turning my straw-straight hair into a flowing, wavy masterpiece that tumbles past my shoulders.

I’ve literally never once dressed like this in my life. And honestly, I really like it.

Fumi took so much time getting me ready that she herself is arriving a little later. So for now I’m flying solo as I float through the doors into the main event hall where the gala is being held.

“My my my!”

I blush, turning as Taylor waltzes over, looking absolutely stunning in a cream white gown that belongs on a red carpet somewhere, or in a royal palace.

“I love this color on you!”

I grin bashfully. “Thanks. It’s actually Fumi’s.”

“Well, it’s freaking stunning on you. You should wear red more often.”

“Thanks,” I beam. “And oh my God, you look incredible, too.”

Taylor waves a hand. “Meh. I usually hate these things. So does Gabriel. These are more Alistair’s bag. But, you gotta smile for the cameras and kiss some rings here and there, right?”

“Do you?”

She laughs. “Well, when you make equity partner next year, you’ll replace out just how un-fun it really is at the top.”

I blink. Taylor stiffens, making a face before she smiles awkwardly at me.

“I did just say that out loud, didn’t I.”

“I…you can totally take it back.”

She grins. “You should probably pretend you didn’t hear that. But…spoiler alert, we’re fast tracking you. You’re crushing it, Elsa. And with the yearly partnership review coming up in five months, the brothers and I are in full agreement: you should be bumped up to equity.”

My eyes threaten to fall out of their sockets.

“Oh my God, Taylor! Thank you!”

She grins, hugging me before pulling back. “It’s not charity. You’ve worked your ass off, Elsa. For us, and to get here in the first place. You’ve earned this.”

I swallow, shaking with the adrenaline rush of it all. Equity partner. Like, fuck.

“I—wow. Taylor, thank you so—”

“Just…” she grins. “Really. Keep that on the down-low for now, okay?”

“For sure.”

She grins, turning to snag two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and then passing me one.

“Cheers. To you, and to your long and fruitful career at Crown and Black.”

I end up having two more glasses of champagne with Taylor. Because how do you say no when it’s your boss, and when she’s just told you you’re getting the promotion of a lifetime, which, by the way, comes with about a four-hundred-percent pay bump.

Literally.

So by the time she gives me one last hug before going to make the rounds, I’m feeling great.

Which is to say, drunk.

Drunk enough that I flat out ignore Leo when he strides in with Gavan Tsarenko and glares at me from across the ballroom. Drunk enough that when he does manage to corner me and try and grab me by the wrist, I simply shrug him off and disappear into the crowd.

No. I’m feeling too good right now to deal with his shit or his threats. They’ll still be there tomorrow, anyway.

Tonight, nothing can bring me down.

I make the rounds myself, talking to a few of our VIP clients. Alistair introduces me to a handsome older Scottish guy named Cormac Heath, a client of Crown and Black that I’ve never met before.

I’m stunned when I’m introduced to his wife, and realize she’s the super famous modern artist Ella Veers. I mean, I’ve seen her work hanging in the Tate Modern in London, for God’s sake. So when she tells me she loves my dress, it’s sort of a surreal moment.

I drink more champagne, and enjoy the conversation, and focus on all the amazingly good things in my life.

But then, laughing at something Cormac just said, I turn, and my eyes lock onto Hades, looking sinfully hot in a black tux.

…With a pretty brunette hanging off his arm in a dress that makes mine look like rags.

I shoot daggers at him, even if he can’t see me through the crowd. I’ve never seen Hades dressed up. His go-to seems to be dark jeans and white t-shirts, or occasionally, business casual slacks with a button up shirt, no tie.

But in a tux?

Sweet Jesus.

It’s positively criminal. He looks like a fucking movie star at the premiere of his superhero action film. It’s the chiseled jaw combined with the slightly longer dark hair and the piercing blue eyes. The high cheekbones. The broad, muscled shoulders.

The general “fuck the world” devil-may-care cavalier, cocky attitude that swirls around him like smoke.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that when I look at Hades, I see pure sin. I see a man who has pushed me past every boundary I have and left me gasping there, aching for more.

Right this second, though, I see a man who has recently managed to occupy roughly eighty-five percent of my thoughts walking into the gala with someone else.

And it makes me furious, even though I know that’s not fair, and that I have no right to feel this way.

But fuck that. I do.

I grab a flute of champagne off another tray. I’m still glaring at Hades and the little princess hanging off his arm as I drink, before I realize the glass went down way too fast.

Good thing there’s more champagne at this thing.

A lot more.

I only hope it’s enough to turn off the part of me that can’t stop thinking about him.