SWORN IN DECEIT

  Victoria Lum

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Sworn in Deceit

  By Victoria Lum

  Copyright © 2026 Victoria Lum

  Published by Eternal Hearts Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without the expressed permission of the author. No part of this book may be used to create, feed, or refine artificial intelligence models, for any purpose, without written permission from the author.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2026 Y’All That Graphic

  Cover Photo © 2026 Ren Saliba

  Editing by Theresa Leigh and Amy Briggs

  Proofreading by Virginia Tesi Carey

  ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-969859-01-4

  ISBN (E-Book): 978-1-969859-00-7

  Contents

  Author's Note

  Dedication

  Playlist

  The Syndicate Codex

  Prologue: THE DEVIL’S LAIR

  FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

  Chapter 1: BLACḲ VENOM

  Chapter 2: GRAY IS A COLOR

  Chapter 3: KỊLL TO BURN

  Chapter 4: A MEMORY OF RAIN

  Chapter 5: WHISPERS OF FEAR

  Chapter 6: THE STẠTUS QUO

  Chapter 7: TERMS OF DAMNATION

  Chapter 8: VAULT OF LIES

  Chapter 9: THE LETTER

  Chapter 10: DEVIL IṆ DISGUISE

  Chapter 11: THE IMPOSSIBLE TASK

  Chapter 12: THE CONFRONTATION

  Chapter 13: INTERLUDE—THE RED UMBRELLẠ

  Chapter 14: BRIDE IN CHAINS

  Chapter 15: POSSESSION

  Chapter 16: INTERLUDE—LETTERS ON THE LAKE

  Chapter 17: CITY OF GHOSTS

  Chapter 18: DETECTIVE WIFE

  Chapter 19: THE CATACOMBS’ MASK

  Chapter 20: THAṆKSGIVING

  Chapter 21: DANCE WITH PHANTOMS

  Chapter 22: HOLLOW IN MY HEART

  Chapter 23: INTERLUḌE—HOLLOW GARDENS

  Chapter 24: THE LIBRARY

  Chapter 25: THE APOTHECARY’S BLOOM

  Chapter 26: PRISON BREAK

  Chapter 27: A GAME OF CHESS

  Chapter 28: A NẸW PLAYER

  Chapter 29: SAINTS DON’T DANCE

  Chapter 30: THE FINE ḶINE

  Chapter 31: WORDS BETWEEN SHELVES

  Chapter 32: RUIN ME

  Chapter 33: THE LỊNE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE

  Chapter 34: ASHEṢ BETWEEN US

  Chapter 35: SHARKS AT THE BALL

  Chapter 36: THE HUNT

  Chapter 37: SHARP EDGES AND SOFT CARESSẸS

  Chapter 38: LEDGER OF GHOSTS

  Chapter 39: INTERLUDE - THE NIGHT OF̣ KNIVES

  Chapter 40: OBSIDIAN PAST

  Chapter 41: DESPITE EVERYTHING

  Chapter 42: TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES

  Chapter 43: HỌNEST TRUTHS

  Chapter 44: SHATTERED ILLUSIONS

  Chapter 45: KNIFE’S EDGE

  Chapter 46: THE BLITZ

  Chapter 47: THIEF OF FUTUṚES

  Chapter 48: THE SURPRISE

  Chapter 49: REALITY CHECK

  Chapter 50: THE MASK’S LAST GIFT

  Chapter 51: OMENS AND HẸARTBEATS

  Chapter 52: BROKEN CLOCK

  Chapter 53: CIRCLE OF STRENGTH

  Chapter 54: THE BLACK BOOK GOODBYE

  Chapter 55: WOLṾES AT THE GATE

  Chapter 56: THE ALLIANCE

  Chapter 57: DISHONOR AND ATONẸMENT

  Chapter 58: RAIN OF BETRAYAL

  Chapter 59: CRIMSON VOWS

  Chapter 60: WHOLE HEARTS

  Chapter 61: A NEW LIFE

  Epilogue: UMBṚELLA KEPT

  When Hearts Surrender Prologue

  When Hearts Surrender Chapter 1

  Thank You

  Also by Victoria Lum

  About the Author

  Author's Note

  This is a dark romance featuring antiheroes doing bad things to villains. Your mental health is paramount to me. For a list of potential areas of sensitive content, please visit:

  https://www.victorialum.com/sensitive-content-information

  Dedication

  To my ladies who don't see color when looking at red flags, I hope you love the king of the underworld, Elias Kent.

  Playlist

  "Für Elise (Epic Trailer Version)" – Hidden Citizens

  "The Phoenix" – Fall Out Boy

  "Will I Make It Out Alive" – Tommee Profitt (feat. Jessie Early)

  "Dangerous" – Sleep Token

  "Moon" – Mandrazo & Mangusx

  "Paint it Black (Epic Trailer Version)" – Hidden Citizens (feat. Rånya)

  "Cravin'" – Stileto & Kendyle Paige

  "Every Breath You Take" – Chase Holfelder

  The Syndicate Codex

  For the vow. No mercy. Our ruin for their fall.

  Rule One: Look them in the eye before you pull the trigger.

  Rule Two: Tell them their sins.

  Rule Three: No innocent women or children.

  Everything else is fair game.

  —Unofficial Excerpt, The Antihero Syndicate Charter

  Prologue: THE DEVIL’S LAIR

  The FBI Agent

  Saints Hollow Neighborhood in Chicago, Illinois

  So this is what the devil’s lair looks like.

  Across the street, a well-fortified complex of dark marble or limestone exteriors looms among the decaying historic neighborhood. Towering walls and hedges protect it from the public eye.

  I keep the engine off. No heat. No radio. No movement that might give away how I’ve been here for fourteen days, watching the compound from across the street, hoping to spot something that’ll tell me what Elias Kent’s role is in The Association.

  Guards. At least four I can spot. All armed and alert.

  Snow drifts down, but everything’s silent—like a graveyard.

  The first time I heard of The Association was in a redacted agency email mistakenly sent to me. The email vanished while I was reading it, like someone had deleted it permanently from the servers.

  IT called it a technical hiccup.

  It wasn’t.

  In their world, The Association is above the law. Evidence doesn’t disappear. It gets corrected.

  A wise person would look away. But I didn’t.

  My curiosity cost me.

  An ache settles over my lungs as I reach into my suit pocket and pull out my wallet.

  I stare at the picture, the edges marred with dried blood. I trace the nose, the lips I remember as if it were yesterday. Then I flip it over to the message scrawled on the back.

  Stop looking. Erase The Association from your memory. This is your final warning.

  Fury churns up my spine and I snap my wallet shut.

  Drop it, Tristan. It’s above your pay grade.

  As if evil has a pay grade.

  A movement on the second-floor window catches my eye. I pull out my binoculars and adjust the focus.

  A woman stands behind the glass like an antique doll kept in a case.

  Long brown hair, her gray eyes stare forlornly out into the street. Her hand clutches something on her chest…a necklace?

  Lana Anderson doesn’t look like a bride in love.

  I pick up the fragment of The Antihero Syndicate charter I found a few months ago.

  Rule Three: no innocent women or children.

  “Do you count as innocent, Lana Anderson?” I murmur. “Or is your husband using Rule Three to protect you?”

  I blow out a breath, my exhale a ghostly vapor writhing through the air.

  Then I open a new document—official letterhead, sterile wording. If I don’t survive this, at least there’s a paper record.

  I will figure out what Elias Kent is hiding.

  Then, I will take down The Association.

  FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

  Criminal Investigation Division—Internal Memorandum

  From: Special Agent Tristan Clarke

  To: Director of Organized Crime Division

  Subject: Preliminary Findings—Anderson/Kent Investigation

  Subject #1 Under Surveillance: Kent, Elias. Aliases: Rook, king of the underworld, dealer in secrets. Multiple links to underground syndicates. Formerly associated with the old-money Anderson family.

  Subject #2 Under Surveillance: Anderson, Lana. Heiress to Fleur Entertainment. Entered a suspicious marriage with Kent approximately three months ago. Circumstances remain unclear.

  Observed Anomalies:

  Frosty relationship between Anderson and Kent.

  Kent demonstrates protective behavior toward spouse while maintaining ties to criminals.

  New business dealings between the Andersons and The Association have surfaced.

  Assessment: Unclear if Lana Anderson is a victim or a collaborator. May be a viable asset. Recommend a direct interview for clarity.

  Known Associates (The Antihero Syndicate):

  Queen—Sofia Kent
<
br />   Bishop—Sebastian McEntyre

  Knight—Ren (last name unknown)

  King—Rafael Mancini

  Pawn—Aleksei Morozov

  Target Network (The Association Council; Ruling Families Known as The Six):

  Berishas, Carusos, Kongs, Ivanovs, Alvarezes, and O’Callaghans

  Chapter 1: BLACḲ VENOM

  Lower East Side, Manhattan, New York City, Three Months Prior

  Obsession is a disease. It writhes through the body like black venom, insidious and corrupting. Devotion curdles into fixation.

  Until one day, it all ends in destruction.

  “Boss, it’ll rain soon. If we don’t start—”

  I lift a hand, and John immediately shuts up. He’s been my driver for the past five years. He should know better.

  No one interrupts me as I watch her from the dark sedan, keeping my distance.

  My poisonous obsession. The woman I hate.

  Except for twenty-eight minutes a day when I let myself forget.

  The Anderson princess graced a tiny Albanian café with her presence this dreary September New York morning. She clearly got fooled by the cozy exterior—red bricks, faded awnings, blue shutters—and completely missed the graffiti tagging the dumpsters and the questionable men idling in cars nearby.

  I’m here because I finally got a name—and I’m going to collect.

  But of course my zemër chooses this morning to drink her morning roast inside a front for the Albanian mob.

  Lana laughs at something the waitress says. The girl is skittish, too young, too frightened, and unease flickers in my gut. I’ve seen these tells on my sister’s face before, and I’m hit with an urge to protect this woman from whatever she’s dealing with.

  But then Lana gestures wildly, her face animated as she responds to the girl.

  The stress melts off the waitress’s face, and she smiles.

  I grip the book on my lap—Lana’s favorite book, a rendition of Hades and Persephone’s love story—wishing I could hear her laugh up close.

  That’s what Lana Anderson does to you. She blazes into your life, all warmth, sunshine, and fucking roses, and you have no choice but to be mesmerized by her. I want to bottle her brightness, inject the essence into my veins, and let it wash over me.

  An antidote to my obsession. Or the fatal dose.

  But no, I can’t die yet. My one certainty is revenge. Everything else is an indulgence I’ve rationed to twenty-eight minutes each day.

  She brings her cup to her lips, her pinkie finger sticking out like she’s having tea with royalty.

  Close your eyes. Smell the coffee.

  Lana’s eyes flutter shut, her lush lashes fanning across her ivory cheeks. A small smile tips her lips as she inhales. I can almost hear her audible sigh of contentment.

  One small sip. Lick your lips. Then go in for a fuller taste.

  My breathing quickens.

  Her thick brown hair cascades down her back in silky waves as she takes the tiniest sip, her eyes brightening with delight, then goes back for another taste with gusto, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp.

  My lips twitch into a smile. This is my favorite part, because it reminds me of the past I lost. But I don’t think about that, because right now, that past is still within grasp.

  Nothing else matters.

  Lana bites her full lip, her face flushing. I know what she’s thinking, because she told me almost twenty years ago.

  “Kian! Stop laughing.” She stuffs the rest of the chocolates into her mouth, cheeks bulging.

  She looks like a cute little chipmunk.

  “How embarrassing,” she manages once she swallows, eyes sparkling. “Mom would roll over in her grave.”

  “Why?” I grin, love-drunk on her.

  “Ladies don’t eat like cavemen.”

  “You’ll never be a caveman, Elise.”

  Her sweet laughter echoes in my head. I still remember how my heart stuttered when she leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  Kian and Elise belong in another lifetime. A time when we went by different names and were completely different people.

  The echo fades. The present snaps back into focus.

  The waitress jerks, her head whipping toward the back. I frown, the earlier unease churning once more.

  Lana cocks her head. Her sharp mind knows something’s off with the girl.

  She says something to the server, and the girl shakes her head, eyes frantic. Lana’s frown deepens. She tucks a curl behind her ear.

  My fingers twitch. I imagine that silkiness wrapped around my fingers, skimming my face—if I went to her.

  I won’t.

  But in another life, she’d trail her fingers up my chest, a teasing smile on her lips.

  She’d recognize me.

  Not as the mobster she’s wary of, but as a boy from the past who went by another name. A boy without the ugly scar on his face and blood on his hands.

  My jaw tics as I catalog her—her tan dress straining over her sensual curves, the faintest hint of cleavage playing peekaboo, her fiddling with a small puzzle box she still hasn’t managed to open yet. We’re on the third week with this one, a record for her.

  It never seems enough—these twenty-eight minutes representing a number that’s haunted my darkest and happiest moments. There are always details I miss, and I absorb them like a starving man.

  Ping.

  Twenty minutes.

  Fuck. I’m running out of time.

  A memory drifts into my mind. A beautiful girl who smelled like roses. Her luminous gray eyes sparkled with mischief as she plopped down beside me in the rundown park near my home, looking completely out of place in a seedy Chicago neighborhood controlled by the Albanian mob.

  After pulling my silver lighter from my pocket, I click it on and off. It belonged to my father and was the only thing that survived the night my world ended. The sound takes the edge off, but useless memories still hum beneath the surface.

  A lanky man with tats on his face and a leather jacket swaggers into view, his lips curled into a sneer. My hackles rise. Lana stiffens. The server flinches when he leans down and mutters into her ear.

  Then he does the unforgivable.

  He touches Lana. Drags his filthy, disgusting finger over her unsullied skin.

  Skin even I don’t deserve to touch because I’m dirty, depraved, and not worthy.

  A growl rumbles in my chest. John clears his throat. His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror.

  “Should I—” he begins.

  “No.” My voice is quiet. Cold.

  I will handle him.

  Lana balls her fists and stands, getting in his face. Her untouched water sloshes onto the table. She points to the girl, then at him, her mouth moving at breakneck speed, clearly giving him a piece of her mind.

  Blistering heat rushes up my spine. My zemër is brave—that quality’s never changed.

  God, she still doesn’t know how dangerous the world is out there.

  How tempting it is for predators to break her.

  Men like him.

  Or me.

  The lecherous asshole grins and pats her cheek like she’s a petulant child, not a thirty-four-year-old woman.

  He just signed his death warrant.

  I imagine removing his hand from his body. I’m not the type to build gruesome shrines, but maybe today’s the day.

  Or I can feed it to the rats—God knows there are too many of them in the city.

  My blood boils, but I force myself to remain still because Elias Kent is anything but impulsive. I’m patient. Calculating.

  Senators quake in my presence because I can end their careers with one call. The mafia, the Bratva, the Irish mob? I can destroy their supply routes because I control the very people who make them available.

  Beneath a veneer of civility, these powerful men have an unhealthy penchant for young girls and questionable funds hidden in offshore accounts. Bribery. Trafficking. Drugs. Every dark flavor of hell.

  But I’m a dealer in secrets. I know them all.

  The asshole leaves the table, and the waitress crumbles, tears sliding down her face. She scurries away. I fist my lighter and remember how helpless my sister was—how helpless this server girl looks.

  Helpless no more, not if I can help it.