Poison Heart (Toxic Hearts), page 1
Copyright
Poison Heart © 2024 by Mae Pierce.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Edited by Dark Ink Publication and Paige Editorial Services
Cover Design by Starfall Designs
Contents
Dedication
Content Warning
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
Epilogue
Thank you
Want More?
Adelaide
About Mae Pierce
Also by
For all my twisted beauties who play out revenge fantasies before they go to sleep.
This one is for you.
Stay as deliciously toxic as your daydreams.
Content Warning
Poison Heart has dark themes and may not be suitable for all readers. This story is set in the 1960's and as such reflects misogynistic ideas and other practices that were prevalent at the time. Please read below to decide whether it is safe for you to read.
Non-consensual kissing
Death
Gore
Blood
Torture
Poisoning
Drugging
Death of a parent/s
Grief/depression
Brief discussion of suicide
Parental neglect/abuse
Rough sex
Biting
Gun violence
Misogyny
Smoking
Sexually explicit scenes
Domestic abuse (not main characters)
Postpartum anxiety
Pregnancy in epilogue
Eluding to terminal illness/death in epilogue
If there are further content warnings you believe should be listed please email maepierceauthor@outlook.com
1
Greenich Bay - 1962
“I don’t love her. I’ll never love her.”
Eight words is all it took for my world to come crashing down.
“You might surprise yourself, Romeo. She’s a swell girl. Just gi—” The soft timbre of my cousin Paolo reached my ears and the aching hurt surged into a fiery rage. I almost dropped the platter that held the two plates I’d prepared for lunch.
Maria had startled me when she banged on the door to the spare room, her chest heaving with exertion under her starched white apron. I panicked, but she didn’t seem to notice all the vials and bottles, not in her haste to tell me my new husband was home for lunch. A strange ecstasy filled my chest, and I tucked the vial I’d been filling into my pocket, as I rushed to prepare him a meal. Romeo’s housekeeper could have done it, but I wanted to spoil my handsome husband myself. We were technically newlyweds. Our marriage was only three weeks old. He’d been elusive since we’d said our vows. I thought it might have been embarrassment from our disastrous wedding night. My cheeks heated at the memory. Now it all made sense. He hadn’t wanted me at all.
“I didn’t marry your mousy cousin for any reason except the promise you made. An invitation to meet The Gardener.”
Bile rose in my throat, and I leaned against the wall, clamping my tongue between my teeth to stop it plastering over the floor. My chest throbbed with blinding pain. The plates trembled together, the slight noise jarring. How could I have been so stupid? Of course, Romeo didn’t want me. He was an Orazio, and I was a nobody. This wasn’t a fairytale I’d deluded myself into believing. It was a nightmare.
“She’s dear to me, Romeo, treat her kindly,” Paolo tried to warn, and I heard the sharp exhale and grunt as Romeo obviously took offense to his impertinent words, putting him in his place. Paolo was only a guard and Romeo was the Orazio heir.
“I’ll do her the kindness of not even interacting with her. You focus on brokering me a meet. I held up my end of the bargain and put a ring on her finger. I need The Gardener’s help.”
My shaky breath rattled from my lungs. I needed to interrupt before Paolo spilled his guts. I pushed open the half-shut dining-room door and glued a bright smile to my face. It stretched my skin. Garish in its fakery.
“I heard you were home. I made you lunch.” I proffered the tray, sliding it over the table. I quelled the urge to touch my hair and gripped my hands behind my back. My curls appeared disheveled because I had been anticipating working all day. Their level of neatness fell short of what was expected. My mom’s voice berated me in my head for not being the perfect wife. I had vowed to be that for Romeo. My new husband stared at the tagliatelle paired with my special Bolognese sauce. His eyes were such a light blue that they looked carved from a glacier. Cold and blank. Shivers swept through me like a snowstorm.
How had I ever thought this man was in love with me?
He was looming over Paolo, tension arresting his sharp jaw. Romeo Orazio captivated me from the moment I met him. His hands reminded me of my father’s, tanned, calloused, and used to dealing with violence. His nose had an uneven edge, as if it had been re-arranged at some point. But it only added to his allure. Dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, he appeared to be a gentleman at first glance. But tight seams and a neat tie knot couldn’t mask the coiled power he wielded with ease. His dark hair was slicked back with a perfect swoop. He’d laughed often in our short courtship, but there was no trace of his wry amusement now. He was immoveable ice.
“I can’t stay. I’m needed at work.” His stony stare passed over me and pinned on Paolo. “I expect an answer to what we were speaking about.”
My cousin had the decency to appear chagrined, his cheeks faint pink. My gaze followed Romeo as he strode from the room, giving me no more attention than he would a piece of furniture.
I wanted to crawl into bed and nurse the ache in my stomach and heart, but I had other messes to sort out. I shoved down the sharp prickle that flared through my body.
“Come, eat with me,” I offered. Maria poked her head in, wringing her hands.
“Master is leaving?” she questioned.
“He has work.” I gave her my well-practiced smile. One I thought fooled my husband, the one my mom was terrified of. ‘Work’ was an ambiguous term for a crime lord’s heir that I knew not to question. Work was odd hours, blood stains and occasionally people not showing up at the dinner table.
Like my father.
He had been a guard, the same as Paolo. Fodder for Orazio’s to churn up, a body for their army. Until one day he never returned.
His disappearance catapulted me into doing more than waiting for death to come. I didn’t want to be swept up by the shadows. I couldn’t close my eyes and ears as women were expected to do in this family. Death was my companion now.
It seemed Paolo needed a reminder.
“Can you bring us some tea?” I added, and Maria hastened away, wiping her hands on her apron. Paolo snatched a plate up and was shoveling a mouthful of food when he realized I was glaring at him. Where Romeo was pristine, collected, and elegant, Paolo was brute chaos. His wide shoulders hunched over the table, his collar gaping. His hair flopped over his forehead, and he pushed it back as he ate. Paolo and I both had dark eyes, but that was where the familial similarities ended. My cousin sprawled in the chair, boisterous and confident. His legs spread wide, ignorant to my thrumming fury. He rubbed at his freckled nose, a smudge of sauce marring it.
“I heard you,” I commented as I pulled the remaining plate in front of me. The betrayal and hurt writhed in my stomach, smothering my appetite.
“What?” Paolo asked through a full mouth.
“I remember when you introduced me to Romeo.” I fingered the fork on the table.
It had been six months ago. Paolo dragged me out of my garden shed and forced a dress on me.
“I have a good feeling about tonight,” he’d gushed, hand propelling me forward into the annual gathering of families under the Orazio umbrella in Greenich Bay. I hadn’t attended for years since my mom had given up on marrying me off.
“No one would notice if I wasn’t here,” I’d complained, but he’d overridden all my concerns.
“They would. They notice everyone who isn’t there, and you don’t want to get on the wrong side of the Orazios.”
I didn’t. I long since assumed they were the reason for my father’s disappearance. Paolo dragged me over to a man who was languid as a panther. Romeo. A man I knew of but only saw through thick crowds. Untouchable. Unattainable. My icy heart thawed. It thumped in a way I hadn’t experienced since my father left me alone. A voracious hunger took up space in my chest.
He’d looked at me, his li
Every interaction with Romeo I’d filed away in a special part of my brain. The brush of his calloused fingers on the back of my hand. The soft, sharp chuckle he made when I blurted out my disgust of eggplant. The close way he’d sat next to me, pinning me with the warmth of his eyes.
Romeo Orazio was methodical. Logical. His shoes were always a pristine glossy black and free of smudges. He’d battered through my prickly defenses. No man caught my interest before. He was a shadow made of flesh, thick dark hair, and sooty lashes. I dealt in the shadows. They felt familiar and dear to me. But after that night, Romeo bulldozed into me with a furious courtship. I’d given it up. His lies fooled me. Enough to retire my legacy. To become what my mom begged of me. A wife. A mother. And I had wanted to be a good wife. To give Romeo children. I wanted him to touch me, unwrap me, and claim me. I should have trusted my gut after our wedding night.
Romeo duped my foolish heart. And Paolo aided him.
Paolo was the instigator, and I intended to find out why.
“It was love at first sight,” Paolo said with a tight smile.
“It was for one of us,” I drawled, thin lipped, as Maria bustled in with two cups and a teapot. I asked her to set it down in front of me.
“You came together in a whirlwind. Everything will shake out fine as the dust settles.” He misinterpreted my tone. Placating me with the energy of a perpetually single man, who didn’t know what marriage entailed. Ignoring him, I prepared the tea. The rim of the porcelain cup was gold, and I poured it just below. Steam plumed from the black tea. The earthy, bitter smell soothed me as I pulled out the white vial that was still in my pocket and removed the stopper. I waited until Paolo was looking at me before I dusted the liquid with a light cover of white powder.
Paolo’s eyes bulged as I stirred it with a spoon and pushed the cup over to him.
“Milk?” my teeth were sharp, as was my bitter smile.
“Anita?” he frowned, some of his unaffected façade shattering. The steam drifted up between us, languid, unaware of the ramping tension.
“Drink,” I ordered.
“Anita?” Paolo repeated, freckles stark on the slope of his broad nose.
“You have some explaining to do, cousin,” I answered, riding the rage inside me like a rabid tiger. I straddled the beast, wrenching control of the animalistic anger. It was wild and unwieldy until I tamed it.
“I-I-I don’t know what you mean?” He pushed the plate away, eyeing the vial of white powder with wide eyes. The red mark on his nose stood out, and I noticed a matching splatter on his crisp white button-up. The sound of cicadas rattled in my ears, bolstered by filtered sun peeking through fluffy white clouds.
“Don’t play stupid. It insults me. You said you’d introduce Romeo to the Gardener if he married me. Why? How could you do this to me?” Despite my efforts, my voice cracked, throat convulsing around my shattered trust. He’d set me up, led me into a loveless marriage. I should have trusted my initial reaction. Men like Romeo didn’t notice women like me, I made sure of it. Paolo’s nervous gaze flickered between the tea and my impassive face. He cracked, a sigh erupting out like a fissure.
“I meant well. You would never find a man always locked up as you were. You need more than your work. You and Romeo have so much in common. I thought he would see what a catch you are, eventually. Give it time. He’ll realize how special you are.”
I wrinkled my nose. Give it time? Wait around until a man deigned to give me his attention? As if I didn’t have worth in my own right? An empire at my fingertips. One I almost gave away. And then there was the pesky business of Romeo wanting to meet with the Gardener. He wouldn’t dismiss me so easily if he knew the truth.
What he wanted was standing right in front of him. I was The Gardener. In all her mousy glory.
“Drink.” I pointed at the cup. Sweat peppered Paolo’s brow, glistening like stolen jewels.
“Please. I know you’re perfect for each other. If Romeo would pull his head out of his—” he cut off before he cursed in front of me. Another reminder that he believed me weak. I flattened my hands on the table. Paolo needed to be reminded of who I was, and what I was capable of.
“Swallow the damn tea,” I ground out, and he lifted the cup to his lips. The porcelain shook. His throat made an audible gulp as he took the liquid into his mouth. I could imagine what he was thinking right now. He didn’t know if the white powder was toxic.
Good.
“You would have let me give everything up. I was going to devote myself to Romeo and our future family.”
Pain flared through my limbs as I landed back in reality with a thump. What had possessed me to change my entire being, for a man? My love drugged mind had kept me in a thrall for months. I thought it was sacrifice, that we were both giving up things for this marriage. But it had only been me, the ultimate fool.
“I know I—” Paolo interrupted, and I cut him off with a slash of my hand.
“You know nothing,” I hissed. My heart cracked with the force of the betrayal. Paolo was the only person who knew my secret identity. He organized the drops, rare as they were, through a network of hand picked, convoluted intermediaries. We never relied on the same person more than once, to make it more difficult for someone trying to ascertain my identity. My modest nest egg had amassed in a bank account he managed. I’d always expected to live life alone and needed to be independent. Paolo had gotten fat off my skills and now he’d moved me around like a chess piece, thinking he knew best.
I was about to remind him who the brains behind this operation were. My hair was dull brown, my form scrawny. I was no great beauty, nor charming debutante. But underneath that cultivated façade was a calculated, cold woman. Paolo had forgotten I didn’t feel things the way he did. Shadows shrouded my insides, muting everything. The only emotion I really experienced was anger, the rest were easy to compartmentalize. I’d only ever truly cared for two people in my life.
Romeo and my father.
One was gone and the other a liar. Paolo was the closest thing I had to a friend, but my heart thumped feebly, the warmth I reserved for him draining away. His lips turned to slivers, pale worms. The rims of his eyes reddened. This blend worked quick, mild as it was. Paolo’s cup clattered on the table, and he groaned, his arm banded around his waist. I stood and leaned over him. I brushed a damp curl back from his forehead, satisfied at the way he flinched. His shoulders bowed, crunching his stomach to stem the cramps I knew would course through him.
“Are your guts churning? Is pain lancing through your chest? Do you feel you might pass out right now?”
Paolo toppled to the ground, his hands clawing at his stomach. His face crashed into the soft, white carpet. I’d been planning to replace it, pitifully grateful by Romeo’s off cuff permission to re-decorate. Something to keep me busy and out of his hair.
“Y-yes,” he gasped.
My laughter was a warning chime.
“Now you know how I feel. Knowing you played my heart in a game with stakes you couldn’t pay. You can tell Romeo The Gardener will never meet with him. She would rather swallow her own wares than help him.”
“Please,” Paolo moaned, writhing on the ground. His underarms were dark with sweat and a sickly, sweet smell wafted off him. I rested the toe of my shoe on his shuddering stomach.
“You work for me. Do you understand?” I pressed down on his stomach until he cried out. The soft mass convulsed under the light touch. His eyes scrunched shut and his forehead was slick with sweat. “You don’t do a damn thing without my say so, got it?”
“I’m dying,” Paolo panted, his skin-tinged green. But his agreement increased when I pressed down harder.
“I’m sorry. Whatever you want,” he cried out in agony.
“You’re not dying, but you’ll need to find a bathroom soon,” I informed him. “You’re going to be in it for a good while. Take this as a warning, Paolo. I won’t be used again.”
“Anita,” Paolo sobbed as I walked away. It was a pitiful, ratchet sound. My creation fell his muscular form in minutes. These men, they built their muscles, tucked weapons in every sleeve, but I could destroy each one with a flick of my narrow wrist.
“Call my name, but you know who I am, Paolo. Remember that while your insides expel from you. Remember it if you ever think of crossing me again.”
