Poisonous Kiss: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance

“You’re not going to work today.”

Fumi almost chokes on her toothbrush. She glares at me in the mirror before she spits into the sink, rinses her mouth out, and whirls on me.

“This has to stop, Gabriel.”

“What does?”

Obviously, I know she means me barging into her private spaces on the regular, which is something I’m very aware that I keep doing.

But what can I say? There’s something so…delightful…so primal and alluring about the beautiful way she gasps and startles when I do it that I find myself looking for new ways to shock her like that—if for no other reason that the darkness inside me relishes her fear and surprise when I do.

“This is my room.”

“It’s technically my⁠—”

“You know what the hell I mean,” Fumi snaps.

I clear my throat. “As I was saying, you’re not going to work today. We’re hosting a press luncheon.”

Fumi groans. I mean, it’s not exactly my idea of fun, either. But this is the game. Today’s luncheon essentially entails sitting down with reporters from different news outlets and giving them each “exclusive” soundbites. We’ll answer a few questions, smile for the cameras, probably not actually get to eat any lunch, and that’s it.

“Okay, but I have a fuckton to do at⁠—”

I arch a brow. Fumi inhales through clenched teeth.

“I have considerable commitments at Crown and Black,” she says. “You know, your law firm? Where I work?”

“Oh, good. I like it. Getting rid of all that angry vitriol now before we get in front of the cameras.”

She rolls her eyes.

“No, really, keep going. I’m going to go ahead and leave the room. But you just pretend I’m still here to listen, and feel free to imagine that I give a shit. My team will be in shortly to get you ready for the luncheon.”

I might catch a muttered “asshole” under her breath on my way out.

Ignoring her demands that I stop walking in on her, I step in a few times while Maddy and Chad are getting her ready. She does wear the damn outfit they’ve picked for her this time—a knee-length violet dress that bridges the gap between formal and chic and that apparently tested well with a focus group.

That’s what running for Governor apparently means: not being allowed to trust my own eyes to know the dress looks fucking amazing on her, but instead having to rely on the opinions of twenty strangers.

Great.

Bitching aside, she does look fucking fantastic in it. She looks perfect, actually. While the hair and makeup people are doing their thing with her in the living room of my townhouse, I can’t stop watching from the other room—watching, and drinking in how stunning she is. How poised, even if she’s got a poisonous tongue behind those perfect lips.

The luncheon is a whirlwind of interviews. Each news crew has commandeered one of the cubicles set up around the perimeter of the ballroom my team has booked at the Conrad Hotel. Fumi and I jump from one to the next, answering questions about my goals for office, how we met, and everything in between.

“Luncheon” is a bit of a misnomer, as it starts at one in the afternoon and goes until seven at night. At five, exhausted from four hours of media bullshit, Fumi and I join the crowd of media types, donors, volunteers, and others in the middle of the floor for a champagne toast. Alistair and Taylor even manage to sneak out of work to join, along with Tempest and Dante.

“I’ll admit it,” Alistair sighs, clinking his glass to mine. “You may actually pull this off.”

I roll my eyes as he grins at me.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Gabriel.”

I turn, smiling and dipping my chin as Mayor Vides approaches, flanked by her aides, advisors, and security detail.

“Paloma. Thank you so much for coming.”

She nods back, clinking her glass to mine. “Of course. Though…” She glances around. “I had hoped to meet your lovely fiancée that I’ve heard so much about.”

“Ahh, well, she’s…” I look around, scowling internally when I can’t see Fumi anywhere. I turn back to the mayor, smiling. “She’s making the rounds, I’m sure.”

Mayor Vides smiles back. “Well, you know you have my vocal support. I’ve already made it abundantly clear that I’m no fan of Preston’s.”

She means Preston Hall, as in, Governor Preston Hall, whom I’ll be challenging in the election.

“Neither am I, if we’re being frank,” I say curtly.

Mayor Vides tsks. “I don’t know how anyone is still a fan of his with those dreadful allegations swirling around. But here we are.”

Yeah. She’s referring to the various allegations of abuse of power, nepotism, and financial impropriety that have started to surface against Governor Hall. So far, each and every accusation has been shut down almost instantly, with, I have to admit, overwhelming evidence proving them false.

But anyone who’s ever met Preston Hall knows that if you smell smoke, there’s fire somewhere. I mean the man is a walking caricature of an out-of-touch, patriarchal shithead who spends his time trying to play grab-ass with unwilling secretaries and handing out sweet contracts to his buddies.

No one’s ever been able to make anything stick, though, and Preston has used this to paint himself as an unfairly maligned “man of the people”.

I’m going to change that, though. Because I, unlike anyone else thus far, have irrefutable proof of his bullshit. Or at least I will have, soon.

And what I’m going to have will destroy him.

“I’m so pleased that you’ve decided to run, Gabriel.” Mayor Vides smiles as she pats my arm. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“He would, you know,” Tempest grins after I say goodbye to Mayor Vides and turn back to her, Dante, and my brother.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, I know he would. Our dad was a down-in-the-trenches kind of lawyer, fighting the good fight and championing the marginalized. I know he’d be out of his mind excited to see me running for Governor.

But my father also knew exactly what kind of a person I was. Which is why he pushed me to follow him into law. To follow a path, with rules, guidelines, and markers. Play by the rules, and you stay in the light. Step off that path, and you risk showing them the monster underneath.

“Shit.” My thoughts are interrupted by Alistair’s hissed curse. I glance up to see him glaring daggers at his phone.

“What’s up?”

He grimaces. “Tell you later.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “Because it’s shitty news.”

“Alistair, just tell⁠—”

“Dwayne Halbertson is going to walk.”

My blood pressure spikes. “What?!”

Truth be told, Crown and Black mostly handles civil cases, not criminal ones. But in this situation, I was more than happy to make an exception.

Dwayne Halbertson was a groundskeeper at the Hamptons estate of Sam Cruz, one of Crown and Black’s wealthiest retainer clients. A year ago, Sam’s brother, sister-in-law, and fifteen-year-old niece Kelsey were visiting from Colorado. Somehow, Dwayne got Kelsey alone, where he raped and then beat her to death.

“How in the fuck⁠—”

“The evidence office mislabeled the goddamn sundress,” Alistair growls murderously, his face as livid as mine as he glares at his phone. “And the defense just figured that out.”

Mother. Fucker.

“They’re claiming broken chain of command, and technically speaking, they’re right.”

The double-edged sword of a fair and just system is that the truly corrupt can exploit that fairness to escape punishment. In criminal court, evidence needs to have a clear chain of handling.

The short version is, if someone writes the dates wrong, or doesn’t sign evidence in or out correctly, that’s considered a broken chain of command. That means technically, the evidence could have been tampered with, which makes it inadmissible in court.

In this case, that’s going to be catastrophic.

Dwayne was careful about where he trapped her—behind one of the maintenance buildings, where there weren’t any security cameras. He even managed to get her body off the grounds without being seen, dumping her in the woods a few miles away.

He did a dementedly good job of covering his tracks, but he missed two splotches of blood at the hem of her sundress. One splotch was Kelsey’s. The other was his own.

That sundress was the single piece of physical evidence tying Dwayne to her death. And now it’s off the table, as far as the trial is concerned.

The monstrous darkness in me snarls and drags its claws against the bars I keep it locked behind.

Yes, Dwayne will walk. But that does not mean he’s going to escape justice.

Sometimes, it takes a monster to put monsters away.

Dante and Tempest pull away to go mingle—there’s no doubt in my mind that Dante probably knows more than a few faces here, either through Venom or his own web of information gathering.

Taylor and Alistair melt away too. I’m about to go hunting for Fumi, when I spot her.

My eyes go dark.

Fumi’s across the ballroom talking with a handsome if dangerous-looking Japanese guy. I’d brush it off, and assume he’s just another reporter, or maybe one of the campaign volunteers, but Fumi looks upset and uneasy, and he looks straight-up menacing as fuck.

I scowl as he steps closer to her. When his hand juts out to grab her arm, a snarl escapes my lips.

I’m moving before I realize it, storming across the ballroom, all but shoving people out of the way. Just before I get to them, Fumi manages to yank her arm away, whirling and disappearing into the crowd.

“Good evening,” I growl, coming to a stop in front of the fucker. I take in the broad shoulders, the lean but muscled frame. I also don’t miss the tattoo ink snaking down his wrists under his suit cuffs.

He smiles at me, recognition in his eyes, mixed with something else.

“Ahh, Mr. Black,” he says easily. His voice has a slight accent, but his English is flawless. “Or should I say, Governor Black.”

“I don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch, Mr.…”

The man laughs quietly. His eyes don’t.

“That’s a good one, Mr. Black. I do so enjoy the idioms in the English language.”

“Do we know each other?”

“Well, I know you, Mr. Black,” he smiles. “In fact, chickens aside, I hear it’s quite certain you are going to be New York State’s next Governor.”

“I like your source,” I say dryly. “But you have me at a disadvantage: you know me and I still don’t know you.”

He smiles without answering.

“Who are you,” I growl quietly, the polish quickly vanishing from my tone.

“I’m an old friend of your fiancée’s, Mr. Black.”

My hackles rise.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. We went to law school together.”

“Which law school was that?”

There’s a short pause that I really, really don’t like.

“Columbia,” he finally says. “Yes, Fumi and I go way back, Mr. Black.”

A spark of something ignites in my chest. My back straightens a bit more. My teeth grind.

I don’t like his insinuations one fucking bit. And I certainly don’t like the insane feelings of what might be goddamn jealousy that those insinuations are stirring up inside me.

“Anyway, I’m afraid I was just leaving,” the man says with an easy smile. “But it was good to meet you, Mr. Black. Good luck with your campaign.”

Without another word or even a handshake, the man turns and fades into the crowd. I’m tempted to follow him, but a cleared throat behind me interrupts me. Meredith, dressed up and for once without her tablet clutched in one hand and her phone in the other, frowns when I turn.

“Who was that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. An old classmate of Fumi’s from Columbia, supposedly.”

Her brows furrow. “Hmm, well, speaking of Fumi, I might need you to deal with something.”

“What kind of something?” I growl.

Meredith sighs, turning to nod with her chin. I follow her gaze and groan.

Shit.

Fumi is across the ballroom on the other side of a giant ice sculpture near the buffet table. And she’s talking with Emily fucking Puthe.

Emily’s a notorious, prying, boundary-crossing, piece of antagonistic tabloid scum masquerading as a legitimate journalist. A reporter who was most definitely not invited today, since her bread-and-butter inflammatory stories usually fall just this side of libel.

“I’d have intervened myself, but⁠—”

But this isn’t Meredith’s first rodeo with Emily. The last time Meredith tried to get the “reporter” to back off from one of her clients, and gently pushed her away, Emily tried to file an assault charge against her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”

Once again, I find myself storming across the room toward Fumi. Just before I reach her and Emily, I pause behind the ice sculpture to listen to their conversation.

“Ms. Puthe, I know what you want me to say.”

Emily laughs lightly. “Oh? What’s that, Ms. Yamaguchi?”

“You want me to get angry and tell you my relationship with Gabriel is none of your business, so that you can print something vaguely libelous in your tacky tabloid about how my bad response to your invasive questions suggests my fiancé isn’t fit for office—or something equally as moronic and childish.”

“Well, plenty of people⁠—”

“Would you like to know the real truth about our relationship, that no other media representative in this room has heard today?”

Emily is positively salivating as she grins. “Definitely.”

Shit.

I’m about to step out from behind the ice sculpture to stop this before Fumi nukes my entire campaign, when I stop cold.

“The dirty truth, Emily, is that there is no dirty truth. We’re just two people who love each other, and I think that’s what makes Gabriel’s campaign so appealing to voters. He’s not some larger-than-life, power-hungry demi-god. He’s just a man who loves me, and I’m just a woman who loves him. There. That’s it. That’s the dirty secret.”

I’m grinning at the sour look on Emily’s face when Fumi suddenly turns, and our eyes lock as a slight smirk twists the corners of her lips.

“And here he is now!”

I don’t have time to prepare. I don’t even see if coming. She crosses the two feet between us, grabs onto my tie, and pulls herself up on her tip-toes to sear her lips to mine.

When she does, my reaction is…automatic. A given. A primal response to the heat of her body, the scent of her skin, and the taste of her lips.

My arms encircle her, one grabbing her hip and the other snaking into her hair as I kiss her back. My tongue demands entrance, which she gives, parting her lips as a little moan escapes her throat.

I’m aware of cameras flashing around us, and various gasps and giggles, followed by light applause.

Then we’re breaking apart, and the moment is over.

Fumi turns to beam at a supremely pissed-off Emily. “Sorry, was there anything else you had questions about?”

“I…” Emily scowls. “No. I think that’s all.”

Without another word, she turns on her heel and storms off into the crowd. Fumi turns back to face me as I raise one brow.

“What was that?”

My body tenses as she leans up into me again, her lips nearing my ear while looking like she’s kissing my cheek.

“That was called acting.”

She pulls away, and that besotted look in her eyes that I saw when Emily was watching clicks off, like someone flipping a light switch. Then it’s just regular Fumi looking back at me, her shoulders lifting casually.

“Playing my part, right?”

My brows knit. “I see.”

“Also, your guest list tonight is rather…lacking.”

“Sorry, what?” Meredith interjects as she walks over. “I can promise you, Ms. Yamaguchi, the guest list tonight has been painstakingly selected for maximum⁠—”

“Where’s Ed Lee?”

Meredith frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Or Wendy Kanemoto? How about Kevin Wu? They’re⁠—”

“Yes, I’m aware who the larger Asian players in the caucus are, Ms. Yamaguchi.” Meredith gives her a tight smile. “Ms. Kanemoto and Mr. Wu were obviously invited. But with their busy schedules⁠—”

“See, that’s why you invite Ed Lee.”

Meredith looks pissed. “Ed Lee, the”…her brows knit tighter as she starts tapping on her phone… “alderman?”

“Yep.”

My campaign manager arches a brow. “All respect, Fumi, I’m really quite good at my job. Aldermen don’t swing state-wide elections.”

“No, of course not,” Fumi smiles sardonically. “But that particular alderman plays weekend pickup basketball with Kevin Wu of the tenth district. And his sister’s husband is a cousin of Wendy Kanemoto, of the sixth. If you’d invited Ed, he’d have brought two of the most influential party members from two of the biggest Asian voting districts in the state. It’s amazing how people’s schedules open up when they know their friends will also be at an event. But I’m sure you knew all that,” Fumi smiles. “You’re very good at your job.”

Without another word, she lifts her glass in salute, turns, and walks away, her violet dress swishing around her ass in a way I really don’t need it to right now.

I pull my attention back to Meredith, whose mouth is hanging open. “She’s…”

“Good,” Meredith finishes. “Very good, actually.” She turns to give me a small smile and a cocked brow. “We’ll have to work on that bitchy chip on her shoulder, but…” She shrugs. “I like her a lot.” She smirks at me. “Hope you can keep up, boss.”

Yeah…

I turn and manage one more glimpse of Fumi before she vanishes into the crowd.

Me too.