“How old were you?”
“I had just graduated at sixteen,” he marvels. Time passes way too fast when you’re not paying attention. People fall in love, marry, have babies, attend funerals—all within the blink of an eye. “We went to the burial and a business associate of his, Gaspare Castillo showed up. He took me under his wing, and I became his lead hitman when I was twenty. I didn’t give a shit about much, and I was gifted killer.”
“You can’t tell me who your mentor was…”
“No,” he says. “But he is dead now, too. He liked to talk a little too much. Funny guy, though. His method of dealing with it was doing standup comedy. He liked to hang out at the bars after the show and drink until the wrong someone overheard him. Deep Italian and not a lick of English.”
“Did Nero?”
“Nah, he left the bar and was shot walking home by Giacomo Benedetto,” he says as I drop my fork. “You okay?”
“We are aware of your previous relationship with a certain very important woman, Salvatore,” Giacomo Benedetto said. “And we want you to know, we’re proud of the disintegration that seems to have happened.”
Disintegration—my ass.
He mentioned no names, but I knew who he was referring to.
“She is in no way qualified,” Alessi Ettore added. “Old man Nakamura has lost his mind.”
I glanced at Gaspare Castillo, waiting for him to toss in his two cents of doubt. “I tend to disagree with my colleagues. If we underestimate what Nakamura’s granddaughter can do, we are doing ourselves a great disservice.”
With his Roman nose and sexy smile, Alessi leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t mind banging her hot ass while I rip apart Lotus, though.” He patted my shoulder several times and said, “Should’ve stayed with her for that tight snatch alone, Raniero!”
“I’ll join you on that one,” Giacomo snickered. “She ain’t nothing but flesh.”
“Giacomo Benedetto and Alessi Ettore have wanted to destroy my wife since they knew she was being groomed to take over Lotus.”
“Neither of those ruffians will ever see the darkness turn to light. I promise you that,” he persists. “But The Chairman isn’t giving up his throne anytime soon, either. They could be long gone when she takes her crown.”
I gulp back my wine. “And if it becomes a problem?”
“All you have to do is say the word, and they will disappear, Capo.”
“Any limits?”
“No children.”
“Women?”
He giggles. “Women are far more dangerous than men ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s no wonder Benedetto and Ettore are pissing their pants. The last butterfly of her distinction was Queen Estrel of Immortal.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Nah,” he says. “I’m too delinquent for that. You?”
“I was offered the hit.”
His eyes expand wide as I grin like the devil. “And you didn’t do it?”
“Nah, I’m too much thug for that,” I mumble as he laughs. “I didn’t want to do it because I feared an eventual ret-hit.”
“Smart,” he praises, pouring more wine in our glasses and setting a small box on the table. “A gorgeous mug and brains too.”
A bit stunned, I ask, “What is this?”
“Ring of the Nero brotherhood,” he whispers as I slip the ring on. “Be careful where you wear it. Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replies, “you earned it.”
Lifting my sunglasses in my hair, I smile as we stare at one another, trespassing into a danger zone. “You know I would.”
“But?”
“I’m in love.”
“If he breaks your heart, I may break him.”
“I appreciate the offer. I am incredibly flattered. You’re quite the catch, Mass.”
“Just hire me, Raniero.”
“I’ll step on a Saint’s toes if I do that,” I point out. “And frankly, I don’t like pissing off the high clergy.”
“You and I both know he isn’t an assassin,” he insinuates, locking his fingers together. “No disrespect intended, but Deacon Cruz is an outlaw biker who happens to be effective at killing people. That isn’t a hitman. And somewhere in that beautiful Italian head of yours, you know this. I just pray you see it before it’s too late. You need someone to run specific hits and understand the meaning of stealth. Deacon has never proven himself to be the roguish-type.”
“Alright,” I agree. “But this stays between you and me. No one else.” He offers his hand, and I shake it. “Now, what do you want for compensation?”
“One night in the dungeon with you.”
“A real dungeon or the catacombs?”
He snorts. “The kinky kind.”
“The catacombs are damn sexy,” I confide, pulling off my sunglasses and biting the arm. “Toss on some leather, oil some skin…”
“Stop talking dirty to me,” he teases, bumping my leg under the table. “I’m going to have to go jerk one-off in the bathroom because you are as fucked up as they say.”
“I never claimed to be anything else.”
“Thank you for meeting with me,” Jonathan Finkle says in Rome several days later. “I wouldn’t have called. But this is important.”
I step inside the hotel room, and he closes the door. “Are you still working for Cris?”
“Yeah,” he nervously says as we move to the sofa in the suite. “And it’s a damn good thing I am.”
“Some intel came across the wire the other day, and I didn’t want to risk sending it any other way.”
He hands the file to me. Pictures of Iris and Durante Costa fall out along with numerous bank statements. “What is all this? I know she met with Carlo Torrente in New York and took a limo ride with Durante.”
“They have been plotting Cinco’s destruction for months,” he says as I study the graphs. “She didn’t just send Lotus and Kill Rat forces to take down the compound and hit Immortal outposts. Those close up shots say it all.”
“Those are Torrente’s goons in all black.” I flip through the pictures until I come to aerial views of her destruction. “Jesus, where did you get these shots?”
“As soon as we found out what was going down, Cristos ordered his drone squad to scout the area.”
“Drone squad?”
“He has about a hundred contacts all over the world,” he informs. “He uses mostly local guys who are good at getting shit on film. Sometimes the shots come via phone. Sometimes they are aerial. It just depends on where it is. He pays them for the pics on the hot spots he requests.”
“Like a tabloid?”
“Pretty much,” he snickers. “He has about six who work for the company. I call them the drone squad because it’s a bunch of older retired fellows who like to fly costly remote control drones, eat at dive BBQ joints, and drink beer off of the tap.”
“Beer off of the tap ain’t bad,” I joke, bumping his shoulder. “Hmm. Well, thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “Do you think she is hooking up with a snake like Durante?”
“I fucking hope not because he’s been fucking my mom, and that would just be weird.”
“No weirder than you, Deacon Cruz, and Mrs. Trudy.”
I lift a finger. “That is much different.”
“Right,” he says, leaning back. “Because you and Deacon are planning a summer wedding.”
“Fuck you.”
“I love you to death, Salvatore.”
“You aren’t too bad either, Fink.”
He rubs my back as I fret over what to do. “Do you think she’d be proud of me?”
“More than anything, Kaci wanted you to become your own man.” He pats his thigh, and while I have no interest in pursuing a one-nighter with Fink, the idea of having someone I know fill my love cup sounds revitalizing. I kick off my shoes and lay my head on his thigh. He doesn’t waste any time before playin
g with my curls. “These stunning locks are all going to fall out one day.”
“Don’t even. That is the last thing I want to think about,” I whisper, wanting to cry. “Do you know Mass?”
“… Vidal?”
“Yeah,” he says. “He plays with the rich boys.”
“What does it say that I took an offer up to spend a night in a dungeon with him?”
“You’re not a fool,” he remarks with a snort. “And Deacon Cruz will never be the same after he loses you.”
“You got any drugs?”
“Ooh, baby, do I.”
21
Blood on My Hands and the Sauce in Her Grotto
The Master
In the quiet chapel at the rectory, I sit on the pew beside Quinn. We’ve been here for forty-three minutes.
“Are you going to answer the question, Sal?”
The question is whether I want to start a war with Kill Rat over their inability to listen to their primary investors—Deacon and me. I want to beat the hell out of the leader of Kill Rat, Stroker Mullins, for being a fucking idiot.
Originally, Kill Rat had a deal with Iris to run Houston and keep Morpheus and Immortal at bay. The idea was pretty fucking impressive and would’ve worked brilliantly until Iris got jealous of Rowan Tully and decided to attack Kill Rat with Lotus.
Yes, Iris funded both Kill Rat and Lotus and pitted them against one another. Who knows why? Maybe she did want to test her power and use Kill Rat as a practice dummy, but the idea sparks with a diabolical dictator quality and to think of my wife like that…
She was a madwoman playing with her army men dressed up as gang members.
What can I say?
I like them eccentric.
Only then, Stroker blamed Rowan for the attack, and what did she do? She went crying back to Iris. So, I come in and say, ‘Let me fix this.’
Huge. Fucking. Mistake.
Do not attempt to assist the Lotus.
Deacon and I end up going halfsies on some shamrocks, knowing full well that if Etienne upsurged in Europe, Allegiance would get pissed off, and the war would break out. The only problem with that is now Morpheus is pissed at Kill Rat, and he is our primary investor in The Brethren. See my problem?
Keep in mind—Etienne is my wife’s side project.
Handful—remember?
While Etienne and Allegiance are busy duking it out, Kill Rat—with Deacon and my investment—comes in with smooth business because no one likes drama, and we make a fuckton of money.
For some unknown reason, two days after being in Italy, Iris sent Rowan to talk to Stroker. Last time I checked, Stroker wanted to fucking kill Rowan, but Iris sent her anyway.
“Why did Iris send Rowan away?”
“You’re seriously asking me this?” Quinn says, laying his hand on my thigh. “Think about those first two days.”
“I spent them playing nurse to a puking Iris.”
“Not about her pregnancy issues,” he calmly says. “What were Deacon and Rowan doing?”
“Fucking like rabbits.”
“That is why Iris sent Rowan away,” he contends. “No other reason.”
I am not sure I believe it, or maybe I don’t want to hear it. “Iris sent Rowan into the lion’s den because she didn’t have her Irish puppet on a string.”
“No, dumbass,” Q deadpans. “Wrong puppet.”
“… Deacon?”
“Deacon Cruz will do anything to protect Lotus because that is what you trained him to do. You cannot very well expect him to be anything more. He is loyal to her to make you happy.” I put my foot on the back of the pew in front of me, and he taps my shin. “God’s House.”
“But does he love Rowan?”
“It is neither here nor there, Sal. You wanted him with Amber, and he did that until you called it off. You wanted him with Rowan, and he did that until you called it off.”
“He isn’t getting Catarina,” I grumble, pondering the situation. “Are you saying Deacon Cruz will do anything I say?”
“He will never go against you unless it is to protect the Lotus.”
“So if I told him to go make someone happy…”
“He would do it,” he rapidly answers. “Easy enough.”
“Would he need an order from me to use his dick, or would that just happen?” I ask, talking with my hands waving about. “Can he overwrite the system?”
He slightly pivots toward me. “It would be situational.”
I take my last breath before the shit explodes. “Oh. Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
I dart up from the pew and pace the length of the altar. “I may have just been played in the worst fucking way. And it’s going to be a damn landslide.”
He stands up. “How so?”
Tears fill my eyes as I fall to my knees beneath the stained glass interpretation of The Last Supper. “I can’t talk about it, Padre.”
“Can you get out of it?”
“No,” I mumble, shaking my head. “Because the consequences of one’s actions can only wait for so long.”
“You’re yammering in riddles,” he replies, laying his hand on my shoulder. “Whatever you did with Deacon and Iris, I am certain it will work out. Are we attacking Kill Rat?”
“Yes.”
From the woods, a high princess shot an arrow with a perfect trajectory and owned my ass like a champion.
Well played Prissy Pants.
Your sister would be so proud you’ve evolved into a master manipulator.
His Master
“Would it matter if I said I didn’t want you to go?” Sal asks as we sit on the balcony of Mass’ villa. “Quinn left today. You’re leaving soon.”
I smile, humored that this boy I raised into a man still needs me. “Deacon and Iris are right up the street, remember?”
He sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey. “I don’t want to be alone.”
In the light of dusk, his physical perfections stir my soul, shadows of the mask he wears drop away, and the truth reveals to be so much darker than any witching hour.
His fist clenches on the arm of the chair. “I need to talk to someone, Dominic.”
“Wow,” I say with expressed concern. This is his version of a cry for help before the bottom drops out. “You are using my full name. Hit me. Quinn mentioned you are going to war with Kill Rat.”
“War is a bit much,” he notes without stress. “I’m threatening Stroker. If he doesn’t pick a side and stick to it, I will pull out.”
“You were never very good at pulling out.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “You’re right. I like making deals and working the problem, but loyalty cannot be a mere oversight. It isn’t a lost crate or a missed drop off. Lack of loyalty gets people killed in this business every day.”
“So go meet with Stroker,” I suggest, trying to help him find an agreeable solution before tallying up a body count. “Tell him of your concerns and buy out Lotus. That is always an option. We have the money. Put enough cash on the table that his next words to Iris will be fuck you.”
“Fuck you funds,” he mumbles with a laugh. “That is what she is going to tell me.”
“No, Iris loves you, even when you piss her off. I doubt she would ever pull out of her investment in RE, and if she did, Cesario would go belly up real fucking fast.”
“I would get it back.”
I lift a brow and tilt my head. “… Do you want it back?”
Pulling at his fingers, he shrugs. “Sometimes…I owe it to Old Poppa to try and save it from Stella and Cesario.”
“You probably do,” I console, touching his arm. “I never had a relationship with my grandfather like you did. It made far more sense for me to sell to Marcello Campanelli than to play a game I couldn’t win.”
He tosses his sunglasses on the table and rubs his eyes as he leans forward, elbows to knees. “You should’ve told me you were in The Commission and Nero.”
The hitch in his voice di
sturbs me. It’s unlike Sal to be rattled in such a traumatic way without experiencing a direct hit to his psyche. “What difference would it have made?”
“Probably none,” he says. “I need to know if you’re on my team, Master Dom.”
“I am always on your fucking team, Sal.” I rub his arm, witnessing the anguish in his face. “What is bothering you this much, Boston?”
“I did my first kill.” His tongue runs over his lips. “All of your kills were Nero hits. Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t, and I’m proud of you,” I compliment, understanding how difficult these things can be. “But don’t tell me you are knee-jerking about this now.”
“No, it’s more the message someone sent to me.”
“Talk to me.”
His expression shifts to one of real distress. “Kane Parker.”
“… What the hell?”
He glances over with utter panic, and I fear he is in real trouble. “Don’t look at me with that confused expression. We never saw this attack coming.”
“She’s pissed.”
“Oh, yeah!” He rallies behind every word, punctuating his voice hard. “Like you don’t even know…”
“Why is she pissed, Lucas?”
With a snarl, he asks, “You want the long or short version?”
“Both,” I urge, shifting my chair closer. “You know I have your back.”
“Things were pretty fucked up last winter. I was under a lot of stress, using a lot more than I should’ve been, and I just wanted to be back with Iris. I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying, and I never intended it to be a command from a Master.”
“Whoa…whoa…what did you do, son?”
“I was so caught up in my shit,” he mutters, hanging his head. “I fucking missed it.”
“Luke…stop…”
“We managed to get Jaid out of the Immortal compound. And I knew I couldn’t go take care of her without getting emotionally invested and confusing the shit even more with Iris because it was already so fucked with Emily…”
“That doesn’t make sense, but I got it.” My jaw tightens as I announce, “You sent Cruz…”
A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5) Page 17
