Jaded Devil: An Enemies-to-Lovers Mafia Romance

by Nicole Fox

  “Who the hell are you?” he asks.

  “Just a friend,” I tell him. “With a little advice for the lot of you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asks aggressively. “And what’s that?”

  I know how important it is for a kid like him to exude the aura of control. Of confidence. He’s doing a good job, but I can sense his nerves beneath the surface. “Time to go home, boys,” I say gently. “The game’s over.”

  The kid staring me down narrows his eyes and glances over his shoulder at his friends. The two boys at the very back look like they’re about to shit themselves, though the others are managing to keep themselves together.

  “I don’t think it is, old man,” the leader fires back. “And I don’t think you get to make that call.”

  “I’m gonna be straight with you,” I say. “There is something going down tonight. And you don’t want to be anywhere close when it does.”

  The kid stares at me for a moment longer. He’s tall for his age, but still a head shorter than me. I don’t blink. Eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest, we stand there.

  In the end, he backs down first. The bravado slips. The shoulders sag.

  “C’mon, guys,” he calls to his friends. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  The boys slink off the court in the opposite direction. And I stand there in the open space, staring at the broken hoop they’d been playing on.

  I’ve put my phone on silent, but the vibration still comes through loud and clear. I sigh when I realize who’s calling, but I pick up anyway.

  “Phoenix.”

  “What the hell?” he yells into the phone. “Why the fuck am I hearing about this only now?”

  “I take it you’ve been filled in.”

  “Filled in?” he balks. “Yes, I’ve been fucking filled in. And I should be filling your head with a goddamn bullet for doing something this crazy! Why the hell did you keep me in the dark, Kian?”

  He’s pissed, obviously. But it only makes me laugh. He sounds just like his father in moments like this. All dark, righteous fury. God help whoever gets in his way when he becomes don.

  “Because I gave my men instructions not to tell you until it was too late for you to intervene. For this exact reason.”

  “Are you seriously giving yourself up?”

  “That depends on how this goes.”

  “Rokiades isn’t going to just let the Lombardi girl go,” he insists. “She’s too important to his plan. He needs her to bind the Marianis and the Lombardis behind him.”

  “And the only reason he needs that is so he can fight us,” I point out. “Taking me will make him feel invincible.”

  Phoenix scoffs. “He can’t actually believe that the Clan will follow him, even if he has you.”

  I grin. He’s a perceptive one, the young Kovalyov. “I’m counting on it. He doesn’t know that taking me won’t change a fucking thing.”

  “Except that he will have you!” Phoenix roars in exasperation.

  I shrug. “I can handle myself. What’s a little torture between friends?”

  “Kian! This is madness. Even I know that. You can’t give yourself up for the girl. Why are you even considering this?”

  The answer is right there in his face. But right now, he’s too young to believe that there’s anything greater than winning. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Fuck that. It’s not the right thing for the Clan. Or for the Bratva. Or for anyone except that Greek mudak.”

  “I didn’t say I was doing this for the Clan.”

  Phoenix stops short. His silence is telling. I can practically hear the gears churning in his head. “For… her?” he asks, sounding absolutely dumbfounded. “But why? For God’s sake, why?”

  I sigh and kick a loose rock across the court. “I’m gonna tell you something you’ll absolutely hate, something that Cillian told me a long time ago: ‘Maybe one day, you’ll understand.’”

  “You’re right,” he drawls sarcastically. “I do absolutely hate that.”

  I chuckle. “But for now, I need you to stay where you are and let me handle this my way.”

  “You need backup.”

  “I have backup.”

  “I should be with you.”

  “No,” I reply. “You shouldn’t. I want you to stay put. That’s an order.”

  “Does Uncle Cillian know about this?” Phoenix has the audacity to ask. He sees right through me.

  I grit my teeth. “He’ll know soon enough.”

  “Jesus, Kian!”

  I smile again. “Hey, kid,” I say, “in case this thing goes south, I want you to know… you did good in your time here. You’re a credit to your father. And to me.”

  “Kian, I swear to God, if you fucking—"

  His voice dies at once as I cut the line. I stand still for a moment, savoring the night air. Then I walk back over to my men. My phone rings again as I cross the distance, but I ignore the vibration this time. I don’t need any more distractions.

  “They’re coming,” Collin informs me when I approach.

  I check my watch. “They’re early.”

  I feel strangely calm, given the risk I’m taking in agreeing to this at all. I’ve already given orders to all my men to stop the attacks on the Greek haunts. None of my soldiers protested, but I could see the disappointment in their faces.

  It doesn’t make sense to them. Why quit when we’re ahead? Sure, we’d lost Renata Lombardi, but we have the Greeks pushed to a corner. Even if they banded together with the Marianis and the scattered Lombardi loyalists, victory is all but guaranteed.

  But they don’t see what I see. They don’t feel what I feel. For the first time in my life, I feel torn.

  I feel…

  And then it hits me.

  Maybe one day, you’ll understand. That’s what I told Phoenix. That’s what Cillian told me all those years ago when he was forced to choose between protecting Saoirse or loyalty to the Clan.

  And what I’m feeling now is what he was feeling then. He chose Saoirse. When I was younger, a part of me had always resented him for it.

  But I get it now. I finally understand.

  “Boss! They’re here.”

  I spot the black jeep pulling up outside the empty lot next to the basketball court. With a nod of my head, my men and I move in.

  The broken concrete is covered in a fine layer of sand. Every step, every puff of breeze sends it spiraling away into the shadows beyond the lot.

  The back door of the jeep opens. Rokiades steps out in a gleaming grey suit. He’s flanked by four men, two on either side, and I can tell from the bulk of his chest that he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.

  “I’m flattered you dressed up for me,” I call ahead. “Not necessary, though. I’m a cheap date.”

  Rokiades spits on the earth but says nothing. All his men fan out around him, forming a loose V that’s designed to enclose around him if gunfire breaks out.

  The fucker’s nervous. That’s good.

  I move forward a little. My men shadow me. “Where’s Renata?”

  “Eager to see her, are you?” he asks, his tone menacing.

  “Are you a man of your word, Rokiades?” I ask loudly. “Because if not, I can’t see how you can convince your own men to follow you, let alone the Italians.”

  His expression falls for only a moment before he tries to rearrange his features. “Don’t worry,” he scoffs, matching my mocking tone. “I have your precious little whore. Bring her out.”

  A figure is wrestled from within the jeep. The woman is wearing sweats and a dark hoodie pulled over her head so that her face is completely hidden from view. Two men have her restrained on either side, but she still struggles furiously, thrashing and screaming.

  I grit my teeth in fury. If I were the kind of man who didn’t pay attention, I might have fallen for the ruse. But I have been paying attention. And when it comes to Renata, despite how little time has passed since we crash-landed in each other’s lives again�
� I know her.

  I know her body. I know her mannerisms. I know her screams.

  And the woman being presented to me now is not Renata Lombardi.

  “Are you ready, O’Sullivan?” Rokiades asks, addressing me with a familiarity that irritates me.

  I clench my fists at my side. It’s as dumb a trick as exists in this world. The old Greek fucker really thinks he can try to dupe me without consequences?

  I’m no fucking fool. I’m Don Kian O’Sullivan of the O’Sullivan clan. I came to this city twenty years ago and took control ruthlessly, mercilessly, effortlessly. I haven’t given it up since. Tonight is not the night that changes.

  And yet, the insult still pales in comparison to the disappointment and panic I’m feeling.

  Where the fuck is Renata?

  Why isn’t she here?

  What has he done to her and what is he planning on doing with her?

  I glance back towards my men. “The bastard’s trying to pull one over on us,” I mutter. “Don’t take your eyes off his men. Get ready to fire on my mark.”

  My soldiers stiffen, but before I can give the order, I hear about a half a dozen guns cock behind us.

  “I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” Rokiades says with a triumphant smile. “We’ve got you surrounded.”

  I frown. My men had done a complete sweep of the place beforehand. A dozen blocks in every direction, cleared out of anyone who posed a threat. If Rokiades had had men hiding in the area, we would have sussed them out.

  “Surround them,” Rokiades commands.

  His men close in around us from the front. As they do, I risk a glance over my shoulder at our ambushers in the rear.

  My eyes go wide as I recognize the gangly youths I had warned off only a half an hour ago or so. Fucking little shits.

  The young man, the leader of the group I squared off with earlier, walks around and stops in front of me.

  “Gimme your gun,” he orders, stretching out his hand towards me. He’s got a gun of his own aimed right at my chest.

  I narrow my eyes at him, but I don’t argue or fight. I just hand it over.

  “Boss…?” Collin asks, his tone thick with tension. Neither he nor any of my other men have lowered their hands or moved out of their defensive positions.

  “It’s alright,” I say, making a snap decision. I raise my voice a little. “I’ll come quietly, Rokiades. But my men get to walk out of here alive. All of them.”

  “I’m a generous man,” Rokiades concedes. “I’ll agree to that.”

  “Go,” I hiss at my men. “Now.”

  “Boss—”

  “Now!”

  My men back away, leaving me where I am. The young man in front of me removes the clip from my gun and empties it. Bullets clatter onto the concrete beneath our feet. When it’s done, he tosses the useless weapon aside and focuses on me again.

  “Start walking,” he says. He prods me in the ribs with his pistol.

  “Out of curiosity,” I ask, “how much did he pay you?”

  “Enough to get me out of this neighborhood forever,” the kid replies solemnly.

  “Yeah? Well, then, no hard feelings.”

  47

  Renata

  A Few Weeks Later

  “I said I’m not hungry.”

  Rokiades grimaces. He’s proven himself to be a man for whom appearances mean everything. Not his own appearance, of course—he looks like a greased-up pig with a hair overgrowth problem, and that hasn’t changed. But I have to maintain my body. I have to look pretty and perfect and young.

  Ironic, really, considering the mark he’d left on my face when he struck me is only now beginning to heal.

  I glance around the massive dining room. There are guards stationed at every entrance. Not exactly unusual in this place, but I have noticed the amount of security has increased significantly in the last week or so. I wonder if that has to do with fear about an impending attack.

  Maybe Kian’s planning on rescuing me.

  I cringe at my own thoughts as soon as I have them. When I had become that girl? The fucking damsel in distress who waits on a man to save her?

  Also, when had Kian O’Sullivan become the prince in this twisted fairy tale?

  I look down at the plates on the table. My lunch consists of a few thin slices of baked chicken and a side of limp boiled vegetables. Rokiades, on the other hand, is feasting on a medium rare steak, potatoes dripping in butter, and bits of crispy bacon floating around in a dark red wine jus.

  I’ve barely eaten in days. But even still, my stomach doesn’t crave food. My appetite is nonexistent. And because of my morning “training regimen,” I’ve been feeling nauseous every morning this week.

  The sick fuck forces me to run on the treadmill for at least sixty minutes every day at the crack of dawn. If I slow down or refuse to work, he has one of his men beat me. On the days he’s feeling particularly malicious, he beats me himself.

  I’ve gotten so used to the pain that I barely feel it anymore. I don’t feel much of anything anymore, really. But I am getting curious as to what his plans for me are.

  Things have been suspiciously quiet of late. The last I’d heard of Kian was when Rokiades put me on speaker so that Kian would be able to hear my screams. I’d never heard the outcome of that particular conversation, but I do have a set of cigarette burns down my left forearm commemorating the moment. A nice little souvenir from my soon-to-be husband.

  His lips are slicked with blood from the steak. “Suit yourself,” he says. “You’ll cave soon.” As I watch, he forks a disgustingly large piece of meat and stuffs it into his mouth. Some of the jus gets on his mustache, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The nausea resurfaces again, but that’s the one good thing about never eating: there’s nothing left to throw up.

  “You look pale,” he adds.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because I have to look at you,” he growls. “And I’m not interested in seeing a pale, scrawny, sweaty little whore.”

  “You prefer your whores radiant and smiling?” I ask sarcastically, before I can stop myself.

  He reaches out and clamps my nipple through my sheer shirt. I bite back a scream as I try to slap his hand away, but the cuffs around my wrists prevent me from making the gesture effective.

  He twists aggressively. I cry out, unable to hold it back anymore, and sag away from him.

  Rokiades holds on for a moment longer, just to prove he can. Then he releases me. “What have I told you about that tongue of yours?” he chides. “It gets you into so much trouble, glikia mu. You make me hurt you when I don’t want to do that.”

  I resist the urge to sling another sarcastic comment at him. Instead, I look down at my plate and push the food around without actually eating anything.

  “Eat the vegetables, at least,” he barks.

  “I told you, I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t want you so thin that you look like a walking fucking skeleton,” he snaps. “I expect you to look the part. My wife will not be a goddamn zombie.”

  I grit my teeth to keep from lashing back out, but I still don’t bother touching anything on my plate. He growls low, though thankfully he drops the fight—for now.

  One of Rokiades’s men appears from the first entrance and walks up to him. He leans in and whispers something in his don’s ear. I study every expression that flickers onto Yannis’s face. He looks focused at first, then his brow twists with annoyance.

  “Fucking contain him,” he hisses low, but. I still manage to hear him. “He’s one fucking man!”

  It takes every ounce of willpower to keep my expression neutral.

  “Yes, sir,” the man mutters, chastened.

  “Get out of my sight.”

  “Uh… sir? There’s one more thing.”

  “What?” Rokiades snaps impatiently.

  “Dr. Lenore is here, sir.”

  “She has answers?”

  “I believe so, sir.”


  “Good. Make her wait. I’ll talk to her after my meal.” Rokiades dismisses the guard with a wave of his hand.

  The man slinks off immediately, but I continue to watch Rokiades. I don’t give a shit about his doctor, but the first bit of news I find intriguing.

  “Something going on?” I inquire.

  “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “I’m interested,” I tell him. “I’m playing the part.”

  “Then stay out of my affairs. They don’t concern you.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And yet you need me,” I point out. “Without me, you wouldn’t be able to do any of this.”

  “I need nothing more than your pussy,” he retorts nastily with a leering smile. “After you give me an heir and a spare, you will be of no use to me. Heir and a spare. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “And if I don’t?” I ask the question calmly, but my chest feels tight with anxiety.

  “Oh, you will,” he says with deadly calm. “Or you will die trying. There’s plenty of room in the graveyard next to my other wives, darling.”

  I shudder at the thought. “Who’s this ‘one man’ your tough guys can’t seem to contain?” I ask, changing gears quickly.

  Rokiades’s eyes flash to mine. “I thought I told you to stop asking questions that don’t concern you.”

  “Who do you have?” I ask, ignoring him altogether.

  He shoves himself away from the table so hard that his chair clatters back onto the sleek marble floor. He ignores it and keep his small, dark eyes fixed on me. “You will learn to stay silent,” he says. Then he leans in closer and adds, “Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to cut out that smart little tongue of yours.”

  Disgust rolls through me like a tidal wave. I have no doubt he’d do it. But I act as though I’m unconcerned with the threat.

  “Bah! Forget it. You’ve ruined my appetite,” he scowls. He turns and storms away from the dining room table.

  I expect another nipple twist or a slap on his way out—both are par for the course these days—but he doesn’t do either. I raise my eyes from my lap to watch him vanish from the room.