Not exactly.
I haven’t funded anything except her trip to Guam, and that was years ago. “You want the truth?”
“Of course,” she says as her voice softens. “I didn’t travel this far for a lie.”
“Not only do we have reason to believe that he is working with Stanis Kozlov, but I don’t want you with him.”
The car pulls into the driveway, and I spot my wife. Observing my smiles, Cat blatantly stares. “Someone is in love.”
“Like you cannot imagine.”
“I will stay here for you,” Cat says, grabbing my hand. I am stunned. “If it will make you feel better.”
“Deacon is here.” I grin.
“Don’t go there, little brother,” she laughs. “We’re done.”
I snicker and ask, “… Why?”
“Because I cannot compete with your cunt.” She smiles. “I will never have his all. And while I can concede that I have feelings for him, not everyone can do what the three of you do. I won’t share my lover with my brother. It’s a good time for a few nights, but I am getting older, and I need something more stable.”
“Is that Dale?”
“Fuck no,” she admits, giggling. “He’s a fucking manwhore with a good rod.”
“Johnson,” I correct.
“Don’t even get me started,” she says, laughing. “I’ll heed your warning, but I never planned on the relationship evolving.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but I will say, Dom Gennaro…highly persuasive man on the phone.”
“You don’t want him, either,” I reply as the car stops in front of the house. “He’s as big of a manwhore as Dale. He just doesn’t advertise.”
“Because he is involved with Megan Folly?” Cat snidely says her name as the idea of them together is a joke. “Or because he is banging Iris’ quasi-half-sister?”
I furrow my brow. “How did you know?”
“Because he asked if I would like to have dinner.”
“… Dinner?”
“And I said, if you are truly serious, tell me who all you’ve fucked in the last month.”
“Holy fuck,” I reply, impressed by Cat’s efforts to feed me bits of intel. “Are you going?”
“Absolutely! I swear, if you hurt that girl,” she says, eyeing Iris in the garden with Cruz. “I will steal her from you and never look back.”
“Have you no shame?” I tease, getting her multiple bags from the trunk. “You will fuck my wife, but not my lover?”
“Your lover’s dick only loves one hole.”
His Ride
Laying on the blanket in the grass, I stare up at the night sky. The stars appear so close as if I could reach up and grab a handful. I’d give them to Sal and Iris for their last night together if I could. I wish I could stop what tomorrow will bring.
Departure. Tears. Agony.
“You come out here often?” Cat says, holding an open bottle of wine. “Or just when the happy couple is crying over their last night?”
Scooting over, I mutter, “This is the first time I’ve done this.”
“Why so glum?” She sits on the blanket beside me. “Is it just Sal leaving?”
I shake my head. “I broke up with someone.”
“Was it serious?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, fretting over what the dawn holds. “I have one serious relationship.”
“With my brother?”
I cover my face with my hands and sit up. She hands the bottle to me. I take a sip. “Yeah.”
“Do you think this is going to work…longterm?”
“I try not to focus too much on that,” I reply, gulping down a quarter of the bottle. “It’s easier to think about the present.”
“If you ever decide to switch sides,” she offers. “Call me, Deacon.”
“Because you’re interested?” I smirk.
“No, because you’re going to need someone on your team. You’re going to need a friend who knows you. And that friend can’t be my brother.” She lays her hand on my cheek and presses her lips to my forehead before getting up. “And do not ever doubt my love for you, not as Sal’s lover, but as my dear friend. I will be here for you.”
“You’re too good for Dale,” I mumble. “And you’re too good for me.”
The tears crash like a wave on her cheeks. “Everything in the world has clarity in post-reflection. I was never better than you. You didn’t believe how good you were, Deacon. You live in the shadow of behemoths, but that doesn’t ever mean you’re second best. The only prize at the end of the game is making it to the end of the game. And maybe that’s some sort of cruel joke, but it’s true.”
Her words cause a pang deep within my chamber. I cry far too quickly, too close to the surface, and I make light of her remark. “The only cruelty that exists is in not knowing the future. We can talk about steering it, guiding it, and forcing the trajectory. Arrows don’t fly by being thrown.”
“You need to get away from all of this…”
“I can’t,” I insist. “He is walking on razors.”
“By his own volition,” she retorts as her disagreement with his choices appears. “You cannot save Sal from this or his undoing.”
“It’s not Sal I am waiting to save.”
“You’re still in love with her,” she accuses with a sharp stare.
I shake my head and snicker at her overt Raniero attitude. They are cut from the same cocky cloth. “It’s no concern of yours.”
Stepping closer, she uncurls her arms from her chest—it was only a matter of time before she started talking with her hands—and spouts, “It is every concern of mine. I have one family member that I love. I have one family member that I would die for. And you and I do not see this the same way.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Cat,” I huff, getting up. If she had a set of nads, I’d have thrown half a dozen punches by now. But I got a compass, and it doesn’t ever point in her direction. “Stop your fucking therapy session cause I didn’t ask for it. I don’t need it, and I am damn sure not buying.”
She blinks. “… You hate me that much?”
“For not waiting? For not chasing me? Nah, I’m over it,” I carelessly say, knowing my words will scrape her heart over the pavement. “But it’s a little late now to be talking about your friendship and loyalty to me when I sat with your ass in the hospital for weeks, and as soon as you could, you ghosted. You ran away from me.”
“Deacon, please…I know what happened,” she begs, grabbing my arm. “We need to work this out.”
“I don’t need to work anything out. Your mind is too closed for a boy like me, sweetheart. So take your condolences elsewhere. I’ll stand in line before I am shut out.”
I turn my back on her. She won’t stab me. She is too full of regrets about losing me. I could hold up a damn rainbow billboard, walk around in hot pants, and scream how gay I am, but it won’t stop the droves of women from beating on my door. And it’s fine. Women are fine, but they’re never going to do what he can.
I never considered what the marriage of Sal Raniero would bring. Or that Sal’s loverboi would become the most eligible bachelor on the block.
Keep knocking.
No one is home.
His Butterfly
“They had a fight,” Sal mentions from the window as I towel dry my hair.
“You should go check on him,” I reply, sitting on the bed, “and have a drink.”
“Cruz can handle Cat,” he sneers. “She’s looking to get hitched.”
Brushing through my hair, I laugh. “She’s barking up the wrong tree, especially since he’s with Rowan.” He shifts his weight between his feet. “Sal…”
“He is breaking it off with her.” I furrow my brow as he stalks closer. “But I don’t want to talk about Cruz’s romantic life.”
I lay back on the bed. Naked, my belly protrudes. I run my hands over the bubble and try not to think of what tomorrow will bring. “B
ecause his only romance is you.”
“It’s not that bad,” he teases, and we laugh. “Okay, maybe it is.”
He lays down on the bed, tucking his broad frame between my thighs and placing his hand on my belly. “What are you doing?”
“Talking with my son.”
I grin. “It may be a girl, honey.”
His wide emerald eyes peer up to me. “Go with this.”
“Sorry.”
“You need to be good for Mommy when Daddy leaves,” he gently whispers. “Don’t beat her insides up too much. You keep growing…and I will too. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I will welcome the blood under my nails and the ache in my heart if it means keeping Mommy safe.”
My fingers lightly touch his damp curls. “… Is that why you are doing this?”
“Is there a better reason?”
“No,” I say, curling my finger at him as tears fill my eyes and threaten to spill. “You’re having a standoff with your son.”
“You’re damn right, I am,” he mumbles, kissing my belly. “I love this child endlessly, but without you, safe and sound, none of this, including him, is worth it.”
“This is a dark place…”
“Nooks and crannies, the devil is in the details,” he eases, cupping my cool breasts with his warm hands. “There is always a pecking order. People just don’t want to see it. They want to pretend everything is equal, wrapped up in a nice package with ribbons and bows, but the heart is a violent place, pumping blood in the chambers and trapped in a rattling cage. It isn’t pleasant harboring sin.”
“You would choose me over this?”
“I always choose you over anyone else.”
“And Deacon, who does he choose?”
“He chooses you, too,” he informs, engulfing his lips around my breast. His tongue skims over the nipple, and I arch to meet his subtle grinding against my nest.
“Because he loves me more than you?”
“No,” he contends, blinking up to gaze at me. His mouth soars over mine, silencing my demons. His hand grips his shaft and aims towards his sanctuary. He wants to pray. He needs to repent. He must be forgiven tonight because, after tomorrow, there is no stopping the train of guilt. He pushes inside, feeding his greedy cock in my shelter. “Because I trained him.”
“And if he breaks protocol? What if he rebels?”
He snorts. “You’re talking about Deacon Cruz. He will never go against me.”
“You’re that certain?”
“I am,” he maintains, making love to me. “He will take care of you in my absence. He will provide as if he is me.”
“He isn’t you though, Sal,” I whisper, clenching my fingers into his ass cheeks. “Sometimes, he is better than you.”
“Behaving better and quantitative love isn’t even in the same ballpark, Darlin’.”
“We can’t compare cake to bananas?”
“Fuck no,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t have Cruz any other way. His loyalty to you drives the whole machine.”
“He’s the fuel?”
“No, that’s you,” he moans, picking up the pace between my thighs. “He is the mechanics, the engine itself. Without Deacon, we won’t survive the war.”
“The Raniero-Nakamura war is an arranged marriage set in stone from ages past.”
“Not that war,” he replies, distracted. “God, I want to spank you.”
“What else do you want to do?”
He grins as we find our playful reverie. “I want to fuck that cupcake until you’re screaming my name.”
“And?”
“I want to bathe you in ice and wrap my hands around that delicate neck of yours.”
“God, yes…Sal, I’m going to come.”
“Let it go, baby,” he encourages, pumping deep and purposeful. “Come on my dick, Angel.”
This isn’t happy love; this isn’t mad love; this is passion—an urgent lust that builds from one hand holding, one dance, one goodnight kiss, and one tiny human trapped in a womb. He has his own four chambers with rushing rivers of red and marrow containing the codes. He is new bones with an old soul.
He is Sal.
He is me.
“Who is the war between?” I ask, gritting my teeth as I erupt, and he spews hot, wasted seed into me. “Tell me now so I can prepare the troops.”
“Sins are hidden in the unholy.”
I gasp, unable to breathe as the tears slosh over my cheeks. “Lucas…”
“There is no stopping it.”
With a shaky voice, I plead, “His saint cannot resurrect you.”
“And I cannot readjust what has always been.”
Shit.
What do I say when I know the love of my life follows in the footsteps of Gods and Kings? What do I say when the baby between our bellies will grow up to be like his own?
Sal is a killer.
And the Capo.
I am Lotus.
And a creator.
15
unpleasant reminders of things long forgotten
His Butterfly
“Where is he?” Deacon asks as I stand outside the bathroom in our bedroom. I point to the door and tilt my head as I press his ball cap to my nose. I need to smell him to calm down. Braver than I, he busts in to find Sal hunkered over the toilet. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I have to go to meet Mass in Paris.”
“And this would make you puke?” Deacon smarts off. I snicker as Sal rolls his eyes and flushes the toilet. “Get your ass in the fucking shower, and let’s go!”
“Wait,” Sal says. “You’re coming with me?”
“Who else is going to take you to Paris?” Deacon shakes his head. “Shower!” Sal drops his pants and disappears into the steam. “Did you load your backpack?”
“Ya, I got everything but toiletries,” he answers as Cruz starts gathering the necessities into a pile. I slip inside and quietly wait. He stops the task at hand, carefully picking me up and setting me on the counter before loading Sal’s toothbrush and shoving it into the shower stall. “Don’t forget my fucking mouthguard.”
“I won’t,” he professes, glancing at the agony in my eyes. “He will forget to wear it, but I won’t forget it,” he whispers as I giggle and allow one teardrop to fall. “You gonna be okay for a few hours?”
“I am going to take a very long nap,” I reply with a fake smile, putting his ball cap on my head. “And maybe read a book.”
“After you eat something,” he reminds, pointing at my belly. “Feed the baby.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Deacon is on it this morning, but that is not unusual. We need a schedule, and he will make sure we stick to it. His role is multi-purpose and ever-changing, the jack of all trades. Odds are between Sal’s and my work that we would forget to have the baby if it wasn’t for Deacon. He is integral to our process. Sal is right; Deacon is the mechanism driving our mayhem.
“Hurry up, Nero!” Deacon barks as Sal heaves again. “Stop that shit! Right damn now!” A minute later, Sal holds out the toothbrush, and without missing a beat, Deacon grabs it, shaking the water off, and adding it to the pile. “You’re done.”
I slide off the counter as we migrate from the bathroom to the bedroom. Deacon digs through the backpack at lightning speed when Sal, not bothering to wrap the towel around himself, informs, “I have clothes in Italy.”
“Where is your wallet?”
“Drawer,” Sal scoffs, drying off. “Get my rosary.”
“You’ve got four in this bag,” Deacon mumbles. “And you are going to the hub of all things Catholic.”
“Cool,” he snarls, staring at me. “I’ll steal one from a priest.”
I lower my head and giggle as Deacon provides the mandatory parental scowl.
Sal never asks to postpone or delay despite his emotional upheaval. He marches into the trenches of his delirium, the soldier of his war. It’s remarkable to see him like this. He hates this life. He hates that h
e is leaving me. But he does it, very robotically, even with glitches. He is programmed to respond and hit the target without fail every time.
He may need to stop and puke a dozen times, but by God, heaven, or hell, he will get there. His tenacious spirit and hardcore determination are his most admirable qualities. Sal goes to put on his suit pants when Deacon interrupts, “Jeans, brother.” He points to the chair at the stack of classic-Sal clothes—ripped jeans, white t-shirt, socks, and a black hoodie.
Deacon is so prepared for any situation that I start to breathe a little easier. He will take care of me. In many ways, better than Sal. Deacon will dress me, feed me, bathe me, and be my puppet on a string while waiting idly by for Master to return home. He’ll take me shopping in Paris and provide cups of tea while I pace the floor on the phone with Masa in Japan.
It won’t be easy to be without Sal.
But Deacon’s only job is to make it easier for me.
I have an entire team of several hundred minions led by Masa. Sal has a small handful of people he genuinely trusts—Deacon, Dom, Quinn, Dragon, Georgia, Jas, Kevyn, Mass, Moses, Swain, and Lani—at his disposal. I would add Jaid and Nico, but outside issues distract them from the Dark Prince’s mission.
I run Lotus with one command, but the business of Sal Raniero isn’t that big…yet. Where there is an ease to my magnificent Lotus, there is an interpersonal distance. Out of thousands in the Lotus franchise, I don’t know anyone working for me other than Masa.
That scares the shit out of me.
I have this beast of a legendary family business, but the detailed control is out of my hands. I envy Sal.
He is a classic mobster, knowing where his people are at all times, and at the end of the day, he knows where their loyalties lie.
So we’re the same but different.
We shuffle down the grand staircase, and Deacon opens the door to the sweet ride. “You ready?”
“I’m going to Paris by motorcycle?”
“You riding bitch, or am I?” Deacon grins.
“Is that even a question?”
A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5) Page 12
