Devil Mine: A Dark Cartel Romance (London Underworld Book 1)

I keep walking, unsure where I’m going, my rage and jealousy alone directing me as I get lost in this massive mansion. The gala area was cordoned off and I’m sure I’ve wandered into the private residence area now, but I don’t even remember making that decision. 

The home is old and beautiful, built in the 1950s or earlier if I had to guess. I’m trying to focus on its careful detailing to calm myself down, but my blood is still thrashing in my veins.

There’s no one, no one, who can make me lose my entire composure like Thiago can. He does it effortlessly, that’s the most infuriating part. 

I pace back and forth in a foyer of some sort, willing my heart to settle so I can access the rational part of my brain instead of the jealous viper that’s still shouting at me to track Claudia down and, frankly, slap the living shit out of her.

More worrisome than the anger though are the tears threatening to appear. I’d like to pretend I don’t know why I want to cry, but I do. Because after the long phone calls, after the shared ice cream and banter, after the arguments and the heated, tense moments of passion, he’d started to feel like maybe he might be mine. I hadn’t considered that other women could also think the same. Contending with a ghost is already enough of a weight without adding living competition.

Stomping my foot in irritation, I let out a frustrated scream at my naïvety. At those inexplicable, impractical feelings swirling around in my chest.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

My eye catches on something red. It’s an envelope placed on top of a bowl of keys and other knick knacks on a mantel. Something about it looks familiar to me, but I don’t know why.

It’s not the wisest idea — but it’s certainly the rudest — to go through a stranger’s things. I realize I don’t actually know whose house this even is. I never asked Thiago.

Curiosity makes me pick up the envelope anyway. I definitely recognize this crest. 

“Snooping around this house is an incredibly dangerous and ill-advised gamble,” a deep, cold voice informs me. The threat is mild but somehow present in his tone, like he knows he doesn’t have to exert much effort to scare me.

Startled, I turn around and come face to face with the largest man I’ve ever seen in my life. This part of the house is bathed in darkness, the lights all off except for one dimmed above the mantel, so I can only make out part of his features.

He looks to be about mid-forties, incredibly attractive with brown hair, scalpel-drawn cheekbones, and startlingly striking gray eyes. He’s a veritable mountain of a man standing at least at six foot five with large, expansive shoulders straining beneath his tuxedo. 

“No!” I say, waving my hands like there’s an easy explanation for my presence here. “Please don’t tell anyone. I just thought I recognized the crest on this envelope, I’m not a thief or anything like that.”

He comes forward, sharp, silver eyes examining me.

“It’s the crest for my secondary school.”

“Oh, this is your house,” I say lamely, my cheeks flaming red. “Then I’m doubly sorry for snooping and not knowing who invited me into their home.”

He gives me a calculating smile. It’s not unfriendly but there’s zero hint of warmth in it either. Still, he continues to entertain me. “Royal Crown Academy,” he says. “That’s the crest.”

My mouth drops in a shocked ‘o’ before I smack my forehead and laugh. “That’s why I recognized it. My brother is a professor there.”

Clear interest appears in his gaze where there was none before. He closes the space between us, taking the envelope from me and looking thoughtfully down at it. After a moment, his eyes lift back up to mine.

“That’s an interesting coincidence. My daughter is currently a student there. I wonder if he’s one of her teachers,” he says. Extending his hand, he adds, “I’m Callum.”

I place my much smaller one in his. “I’m–”

“I see you’ve met my wife, Tellier.”

Thiago emerges ominously from the shadows, a destructive expression etched across his features. The black look in his eye when his gaze flicks down to where Callum and I hold hands is so visibly hostile that a powerful tremor rocks me. The teardrop tattoo twitches menacingly beneath his dark gaze.

“Remove your hand,” he orders. “Or lose it.”

I immediately slacken my grip and pull my hand back, but Callum holds onto it. He draws the moment out for an insolently long breath. Thiago’s jaw clenches dangerously. He looks about ready to snap when Callum finally does as requested and releases my hand.

I’m not sure what game our host is playing, but the temperature around us just dropped twenty degrees.

My husband walks stiffly towards me, shoulders taut as he keeps an antagonistic eye on the other man. I’m silent, eyes pinging between the two of them, unsure what to do with such palpable tension hovering menacingly above us.

When Thiago reaches my side he throws a venomous glare at Callum before turning towards me, cupping my nape and slamming his mouth savagely down on mine. I gasp breathily, caught completely off guard, and he uses the opportunity to thrust his tongue into my mouth. Greedy, impatient hands grab generous fistfuls of my ass and use them to pull me tightly against him, his entire body rigid with aggression. He bites my lower lip in warning, sucking the tender skin into his mouth as he fists my hair and yanks it painfully. I grasp desperately at the lapels of his tuxedo, attempting to keep up with the violent, territorial assault, and completely forgetting that we have an audience.

God, it’s been weeks since he kissed me. I’ve missed the feeling of his lips on mine.

The kiss is over almost as abruptly as it started. Thiago pulls away just enough to make me stumble into him, his pupils blown, his eyes black, and his  now lipstick-covered mouth stretching into a darkly arrogant smile.

Dazed, I let him drag me into his side, locking me against him with a hand clutching my waist. He turns towards Callum with my lipstick still all over his mouth. The obscenely possessive way he lazily licks his lips is done purposefully, the dangerous tone and throttled emotion in his voice an explicit warning.

“My wife, Callum,” he snarls. “Mine.” 

My stomach sinks. This has nothing to do with me. It’s a power play between the two of them, with Thiago feeling threatened. A cartel boss can’t have somebody else hitting on his wife so he just did the human equivalent of pissing all over me to mark his territory. My earlier anger comes roaring back to life.

Callum smiles at Thiago, clearly amused by this crude display of jealousy.

“Very entertaining,” he comments unemotionally, before sliding his eyes slowly back to me. “So, you’re Tess,” he adds, smile growing. It looks almost unnatural on his face, like he isn’t used to it.

Thiago’s hand tightens painfully on my waist. Pressed up against his side, I can feel the anger vibrating through his body growing more powerful with every passing second. He’s clearly furious.

But so am I.

“I am. It’s lovely to meet you,” I say, sweetly. I’ve never used that tone with Thiago.

Angry eyes whip down to stare at me, the intensity in them like lasers trying to bore a hole into the side of my face.

“Likewise. We should continue our conversation at another, less inopportune, time.”

An irate growl starts deep in Thiago’s chest and rips from his throat. He pushes me behind him and goes toe to toe with Callum. Even after everything, my reflex is still to protect him, to grab his arm with both of my hands and try to hold him back. Thiago might be meaner, but Callum is bigger and I don’t want him to get hurt.

Instead of being able to restrain him, he pulls my weight easily after him. He keeps his arm extended behind him, shielding me away from the other man.

Impulsively, I thread my fingers together with his.

“You won’t be continuing anything with my wife. And if I ever find you alone with her again, I’ll kill you without a moment’s hesitation,’ Thiago promises, teeth bared. 

An amused smirk is the only answer that meets his furious threat. Next thing I know, he releases my hand and punches Callum in the jaw.

“Thiago!” I shout, grabbing his arm once more.

This has gone too far now.

Callum’s face snaps to the side and stays there. He doesn’t come back swinging. He chuckles humorlessly, gingerly cuffing and stroking his jaw before turning back towards us. Those gray eyes ignore me and focus solely on my irate husband.

“I’ll let that one go because you’re clearly feeling territorial over your new bride, Diablo.” His eyes narrow to murderous slits. “That same kindness will not be extended twice. Question my commitment to my wife again and I’ll find my finger twitching on the button next time I’m playing with the F42 missiles.”

“Get the fuck out of my face while I’m still playing nice,” Thiago sneers.

The standoff between them goes on for fifteen more taut seconds before Callum jerks his head, turns on his heel and starts to walk away.

He pauses at the door. I hold my breath, afraid that he’s going to come back. Instead, the corner of his lip lifts and he simply adds, “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t matter. Because then Callum disappears, leaving me alone with my husband in a foyer that isn’t nearly large enough to house both of our eruptive, trigger-happy tempers and all the anger we’ve amassed between us. 

I back away, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Thiago turns slowly back towards me. My heart jumps into my throat when my eyes collide with his erratic, unhinged gaze. His nostrils flare in bad temper, his jaw so tense it looks painful. He works it back and forth angrily, no doubt grinding away the top layer of enamel on his teeth. His chest heaves angrily, a massive black cloud hanging over him.

“I’m not a prop, Thiago,” I snap. “You can’t just kiss me to score points in whatever pissing contest just went down between you two.”

His voice is quiet but his words are vicious and demanding when he speaks.

“Did you enjoy having his attention on you?”

He’s got to be joking. He was just upstairs entertaining his backup bride in front of me.

Furious, I brush past him, intent on storming out without a backward glance. His fingers close around my elbow and he yanks me back against his hard chest.

“I asked if you liked having that motherfucker’s attention on you, Tess,” he lashes out, shaking me. “Were you trying to make good on what you threatened me with just now?” 

I glare at him, eyes shining with wrath.

“You deserve nothing less.”

With a teeth-baring snarl he fists my hair and yanks my head back, opening my throat up to him. His hand closes around my neck, collaring me tightly. He runs his nose up the column of my throat, inhaling gutturally.

“I can fucking smell him on you. Him,” he snaps. “On you.” A dangerous rumble vibrates in his chest and then he’s growling in my ear. “It’s lingering on you and changing your scent and it’s driving me fucking crazy. You should smell like me, not him.” He bites my neck punishingly. “Were you hoping he’d fuck you just so you could prove a point to me? Or was it your plan for me to walk in and find you two together all along?” I whine when he bites my ear next, his jealousy turning him feral. “You have a cruel streak in you, Tess. I was wrong, you’re no angel.”

His mouth crushes mine, the kiss made up solely of violence and fury and territorial rage and absolutely no care or attention. Arousal and need war inside my brain and heart, but I won’t be distracted by my physical reaction to him like I was ten minutes ago.

Gripping his hand, I rip it from my throat.

“You’re a selfish, hypocritical, prick,” I seethe. 

“I am?” he questions incredulously. “You’re the one who reacted upstairs when Claudia touched me when all you needed was five minutes with the first man you ran into to turn around and do the exact same thing you accused me of.”

“I shook his hand!”

“You were alone in a dark, isolated area with him,” he shouts furiously, crowding me against the wall and forcing my head to tilt all the way back. His eyes drop to where my lips part in shock. He doesn’t stop to let it moderate his sharp tongue. “Would you have opened your legs for him next?” he demands, irate, eyes remaining fixed on my mouth. His voice drops to a cruel hiss. “Used those pretty lips to beg for him when you should have been begging for me instead?”

How dare he? Rage comes to a boil inside me and my hand flies.  

I slap him. The crack echoes against the walls.

Then terrifying silence descends between us.

I realize just how dangerous it is to strike a man like him when his head turns slowly back towards me, all traces of humanity gone from his gaze.

Pinning me against the wall, he takes my wrists and shoves them brutally above my head. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You are!”

“I won’t apologize for my reaction to finding you alone with another man,” he seethes through clenched teeth. “That’s not something I ever want to fucking see again.”

“This isn’t about Callum. Or Claudia for that matter. It’s about you. About me,” I shout. “You married me only because you needed to win. There’s no way you could let the bride you bought run away from you. Your ego simply couldn’t take the rejection of being told no. You did it to control me. To show that no one triumphs over the great Thiago da Silva,” I spit out bitterly. “And, bonus, you did it for the boost in social capital my name gave you. You didn’t marry me because you wanted me or were planning on making room in your life for me. Your heart is completely closed off, so stop with the possessiveness and the jealousy and leave my heart to its own desires. I’m just a stand-in, so don’t pretend to care, don’t pretend you want anything from me other than getting me to finally submit to you so I can be the most expensively purchased prostitute of all time.” I laugh humorlessly. “Well I refuse to be someone who warms your bed simply because the person you really want is dead. Go mourn your precious Adriana and let me go.”

My voice cracks on my last plea and I hate it. Hate that he hears that weakness, that he likely sees the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but weeks of pent-up anguish and resentment are trying to break free.

Then his hands are tangling in my hair again and his mouth is back on mine like he didn’t hear a single word I said. I shove at him. I bite. I try to slap him again. Shock freezes me in place when my left hand connects with his lip. He fingers the spot, his thumb coming away from his mouth with a thin pinprick of blood. My ring must have cut his lip.

But instead of getting angry, his heated eyes find mine and his smile stretches into an evil grin, revealing teeth partially stained with blood.

“That’s right, fight for me, amor.”