A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Condémariella,” she whispers with reverence. “Where is Mariella now? Why didn’t she become Queen Mariella?”

  “After she delivered the presents, she went home, back to the high outpost in Mexico, and said goodbye to her family before boarding the family yacht for the rest of the summer. On the first night, she stepped out on the deck, put a gun in her mouth, and pulled the trigger…for the daughters.”

  “Star of the sea…”

  24

  water of the last moment

  His Butterfly

  At the Lotus Palace, I stroll the vast grounds with Masa in quiet reflection.

  Baba passed away early this morning while holding my hand. No one else was allowed inside. I wet her lips once again and left the room in shock as I passed by Sofu, showing up after the fact.

  “I’m so sorry, Iris.”

  After almost a week by her bedside, I stopped, not bothering even to show enough respect to look at him. “No. You are not.”

  Reo escorted me to a car at the back entrance of the hospital, where we got into a black SUV. “Where would you like to go?”

  “Anywhere other than here.”

  “I will just drive.”

  With my beloved Japan’s views outside the window, I shed no tears as the rolling green hills sprinkled the horizon. Reo was a perfect gentleman, guiding my journey away from the chaos that my world had become.

  My mobster husband is off in Italy, committing sins to keep me safe. My best friend is learning combat skills from a woman in France. And I am alone, pregnant, dealing with the loss of my grandmother, and the changes that would bring.

  Aki Nakamura was a woman with a righteous quality that her husband—my grandfather—did not possess. She used her money and means to fund opposing factions of The Chairman tacitly, and she had done this for years much to his chagrin.

  Everyone in the underground is watching, waiting to see what I will do. Do I have it in me to stand against The Chairman and his oligarchic, medieval ways? I am the swing vote—will I surrender to The Chairman’s lead or follow in his wife’s sotto voce rebellion?

  In my usual Iris way, I do nothing. At a splendid party at Juliet, I would run barefoot and engage in a barroom brawl. But at the death of a royal, when I most needed to say something, I froze up.

  No one expected that.

  But they don’t understand my extremist behavior either. Gray does not exist in my world. Neither do lukewarm or half-assed attempts. I am an all-in kind of girl or AFK—away from the keyboard—with no anticipated moment of return.

  I am on and out or to be announced.

  Much like when I vanish from my husband’s grasp. I do not bother with goodbyes. It’s cut and dry. And that little fact about Iris Nakamura sends a nervous wave creeping through the underground. I can flood the masses or feed the hungry, but no one will ever know until it’s already happened.

  The four predominant ruling families in Japan weigh heavily in my mind as all we do is drive.

  Lotus (the lotus of the flower and willow world) held the middle with our main cities—Hamamatsu, Nagoya, Kyoto, Kobe, and Osaka. We were known for our engaging hospitality and ability to serve as mediators in challenges. We kept a peaceful regime, but we were not beyond primitive torture if wrongdoers found a place within our ranks.

  Our dear allies, Misuto (Mist), rule the South with Okayama, Kumamoto, and the Okinawa. Often, Lotus and Mist traded goods, services, and men. It wasn’t unheard of for Lotus members to become Mist and vice versa. We were differently paced, but the inherent belief in the centuries-old principles was identical.

  Ken (Sword) served Tokyo to the North and grew from smaller territorial gangs, such as the Goro brothers. The marked level of violence in Sword differed significantly from Lotus and Mist because they fundamentally adhered to one dictator and a solitary positioning. They refused to align with anyone. The problem with their business model was that the constantly changing dynamic of gang activity led to unrest.

  Yuki (Snow) rounded up the North in Sapporo, but they generally stayed quiet and to themselves within the region. They were far more similar to Lotus and Mist than Sword, but Sword grew exponentially due to their lucrative trades with triads. The dark forces (loosely based operations, think Durante Costa’s movement) and black societies (more mature, think Luca Raniero) interested in Sword on a world-scale are frightening, even for me.

  This isn’t to say there weren’t other families, but as far as international trading capacity, Lotus, Mist, Sword, and Snow led by a wide margin because we had franchises all over the globe. I could go to Sydney or Madrid and find Lotus affiliates, much like any big corporation.

  Where we could be stationed without coercion was another issue. Sometimes, we failed to get into a region, such as in Bangkok. We tried, and one of their organizations riddled our twelve-member compound with bullets. We abandoned the idea. Sometimes, we’re invited. I have a standing invitation from Deacon and Morpheus to place Lotus men anywhere they protect. All of their members may not agree with the idea, which can lead to conflict.

  As far as a size comparison, the closest I can come up with would go something like this. Lotus is about like Cristos was before selling off all his ships. Mist is the Campanelli’s of Chicago, Sword is Morpheus in the South, and Snow keeps an outfit about the size of The Brethren, pre-merger with Morpheus, Reckless Rebellion, and Deacon Cruz.

  I dozed off in the car thinking and awoke in the shadow of the Lotus Palace. “What do you want?”

  “My job is to serve Lotus.”

  “And if the ruler is The Chairman?”

  “It is the same,” Reo answered with a respectful tone. “I serve Lotus.”

  “And if I am the ruler?”

  “I will serve the Lotus Queen.”

  I should’ve been insulted by the addition of one word.

  I am not.

  There has only been one Queen, and the prediction that I can rise to that level is not one found in any gypsy’s fortune-telling. No crystal ball can provide the vision for the wagers. I am the underdog and the least expected to win.

  Sal and I are complete opposites on our social scale. Everyone believes he will achieve, but he isn’t even sure he wants the mafia. No one bets on Iris because she is a half-mutt with fair skin and Asian eyes the color of the deep blue sea under a full midnight moon. What would she want…what could she do…running a mob in a man’s club? She will run Lotus into the ground and leave Japan with three! She has no place in a suit, smoking a cigar while some hussy in sequins gyrates on her lap, and throwing down million-dollar deals with the bat of her overpriced eyelash extensions.

  Who the hell does Iris Nakamura think she is?

  Baba’s death will answer that question.

  “We should talk,” Masa mentions as we stop near the evergreens behind the minka, which led to the waterfall where Deacon made love to me...the same waterfall where I hid in the grotto with Sal. “We’ve been walking in silence for hours, Lotus.”

  I follow the path to the water’s edge. “What do you want me to say?”

  “We need to make some decisions. Sofu is in some distant place mentally. The family is concerned. The uncles and cousins are all asking what we should do. They need an answer. They deserve one too.”

  “I want to destroy the Goro gang with Murasaki’s help.”

  He takes out his phone, pecking away. “Next?”

  “Cristos is involved with Allegiance. Send my ships out to sea and stop the flow of merchandise to anyone but Muerte.”

  “… Immortal?”

  “Yes,” I whisper as tears trickle over my cheeks. “It will look strange like I am playing favorites for a reason.”

  “And are you?”

  “The Lotus Queen does everything for a reason.”

  “Are you justified?”

  “I don’t have to be, Masa,” I warn, wrapping my arms around my torso. “Now unless you want to see your sister swimming naked in the waterfall, I suggest yo
u depart.”

  “If you need anything…”

  “I won’t,” I interrupt. “I am at home. I am safe. And I won’t be leaving.”

  He nods as I stare at the crystalline water holding the memories of the past. I slip off my shoes and drop my clothing in a pile on the shore as I step into the lukewarm water. With my daunting highs and lows, I must find reprieve in the middle ground. I must find serenity in the seas.

  I swim a good distance out and stop as I succumb to the emotional landslide. I scream and cry and hold my belly. “You left me to clean it up, Baba…like you always did. I was nothing more than your servant girl.” I close my eyes and lay on my back, floating, and trusting the water will carry me. “And now it is all mine.”

  I glance over to the sparkling falls, wishing I could find sanctuary with Sal, but it is too far of a swim in my depleted state. I love him so much.

  And I will miss him dearly.

  I shoot upright and drift down into the water, opening my eyes in the clarity. Thousands of bubbles cascade to the top as I hold the control, seek the solace and find the integrity in our immoral state. My husband is in grave danger. My baby will be born without a father. And what will I say?

  Daddy was a Capo.

  Daddy died by a bullet.

  A mean, bad man who didn’t agree with Daddy pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

  And what will that mean to a two-year-old?

  How can I justify that?

  His association with the Lotus puts an ample target on his back. No amount of regret or I am sorry can resurrect the dead.

  Sal died to keep Mommy and you safe…Daddy died in vain because there is no safety in these blood-soaked lands.

  I don’t want to say those words. I can’t. I won’t. Because those words guarantee the baby in my belly will have vengeance, spite, and hatred before ever taking its first breath.

  And I, as the Lotus Queen, refuse to poison my child with the air we breathe. I won’t contaminate his or her lungs with the brutality we thrive in.

  I surface from the water and breathe slowly. “I must do something. I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

  Spinning to the shore, I spot Reo Sato holding a towel. I swim over, not understanding his motivations or courtesy. I bravely step out of the water, on full display for his scouting eyes, and take the towel.

  He turns to depart. “What do you want?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What the hell do you want with me?” I ask, wrapping the towel around my body. “Are you hoping to assure your place in the Iris army? Do you intend to kill me? Or maybe I am way off, and you want to fuck your way to a crown.”

  Rubbing his goatee, he snickers. “I want to serve you, Iris, in whatever capacity you see fit. I will not kill you. I am not an encroacher or a florist looking to pluck the Lotus out of the water. I am a man with a reputable skillset offering to help you in any way you need.”

  I look at my clothes and shoes, which seem so far away from my hand. “So, you do want to fuck me.”

  He picks them up. “No, I don’t. Calm down. Stop thinking that I do.”

  He walks a few steps away as I suddenly feel rejected. Chasing after him, I angrily rip off the towel and hiss, “Is it because I am pregnant? Is this body not good enough for you?”

  I blink up to his enormous height as he bends and pecks me on the nose. I grab his whiskers and pull his mouth to mine. Without passion, he softly kisses me as a friend would. “Iris, I’m on the other team.”

  My eyes open wide. “Oh, fuck!”

  He laughs as I flush beet red. “I figured you would be understanding.”

  “I misread the signals.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, grinning. “I should have been clearer at the beginning in the hospital. I do not date women. I do not fuck women, as you say.”

  “You are a safe harbor?”

  “I am as safe as they come, but I will be deadly if anyone trespasses on my Queen.”

  His reverence is my first real taste of power, and I understand the addiction.

  And greed.

  25

  no migrant to these blood soaked lands

  The Master

  Three days later, I’m sitting in Berk Polat’s kitchen in Marrakesh. “Why here?” I ask as he scans over the papers concerning Condémariella. “What made you pick Morocco?”

  With his glasses on, he grins, and I see my reflection in twenty years. “I love the people, the food, the culture, the spirituality of this place. You need to find someplace where you feel bound by the lands.”

  I snicker. “It seems like a pipe dream, Berk.”

  “Most dreams are until they are in your pipe.” He tosses his glasses down and rubs his eyes. “You aren’t ready for this.”

  “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

  “You realize,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “That you have the blessing of Immortal.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Use it wisely,” he advises. “That bond is nothing to take lightly. While they’ll be good to you in honoring Mariella, if you fuck them over, they will erase you.” He smirks and tilts his head at the bowl of fruit on the table. “Have an orange.”

  I smile and laugh. “Is vitamin C going to save me?”

  “No, but they’re tasty.”

  “I need a magic pill to save me from all of this shit.”

  “Sell it off,” he suggests, sinking two fingers into the fleshy pulp. “Or lock it back up and give it to your daughter. Let it become her problem as was done to your wife. Do you have any idea who the other eleven are?”

  “Not a fucking clue,” I admit, peeling the orange. “And even if I did, where would I start?”

  “You’re sitting in my home,” he points out, staring at the stack of papers. “She left you all of the puzzle pieces. Put them together. You are a thinker. Stop thinking you can’t do this. You know who I am Sal.”

  “Ya, I do.”

  “Servet and my family will respect Mariella’s wishes if you invoke her points, but do not expect our bridging the gaps between Servet and Immortal. We are not friends. We are one of the twelve who received a box.”

  “What did you receive?”

  He heartily chuckles. “A box of empty pistachio shells.”

  “From Asia and the Middle East…a drupe fruit.” I pause and rewind as the data flies at lightning speed. “6911 High Drupe Road…the house Kaci and I had.”

  He winks. “Very good. Now, what else?”

  “I don’t know anything else, but it isn’t a coincidence. Nor is it a coincidence the deeds to the oil were in my box.”

  “Remember who they were intended for, Sal.”

  “Not Kaci,” I say, blinking up at him. “And not me.”

  “No,” he says. “You know.”

  “Serene.”

  “So why did her Daddy name that old farm road after a drupe?”

  I gasp, unable to breathe. “It’s a shell.”

  His eyes flicker, and his lips twitch. “And what was old Holland Archer hiding?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  “Errr,” he loudly buzzes. “No more I don’t or I can’t. Think, dammit!”

  Lowering my head, I sigh, “He sold everything—cattle and oil—off to Cristos.”

  He’s bouncing with me at lightning speed, not taking any shit or giving me time to contemplate possibilities, much like the way Dom would. I am oddly comforted by his lead in a platonic way. I’m starting to believe I need his presence in my life—chain-smoking, salt-and-pepper bearded, old goat—a brutish man to lead my cavalry. “Why?”

  “Because his eldest son and Serene’s twin brother, Stephen, died of leukemia.”

  His head shifts. “Stop believing everything they told you.”

  “Did Stephen not die of leukemia?”

  “Why would a successful businessman sell everything off because his son died?”

  I slump in the chair with frustrat
ion. “To use it as an excuse to get out of a situation he never wanted to be in.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, he points at me. “Which was?”

  “With that much money?” I shrug. “Anna was there before they were…which means the mafia was there. Holy fuck…”

  “And how did he meet Demetrios Cristos?”

  “Holland Archer got involved too deep, but he couldn’t cut it. He used Stephen’s death to save face…Serene was born in 1969,” I say, racking my brain and struggling to find the intel. “And Stephen died in 1979. Everything lines up. The mob had to have pressured him out. And that means Anna knows.”

  He waves his hand in the air. “Don’t put too much stock in forty-year-old memories from a woman who is eighty with dementia. You cannot crucify Anna, not now. The question is, would she tell you?”

  “Maybe?” My mind is on fire, running through vaults of memories. “Does your father still run the cartel?”

  “In an overseer position,” he replies, sucking on a slice of orange. “He’s an old man, much like Anna. My brothers do most of the heavy lifting.” He laughs. “But why are you in my kitchen? You aren’t here to claim the wishes of a fifteen-year-old mafia princess.”

  “I need a hitman.”

  “You were serious in Italy,” he replies as his lips twitch from the tart sweetness of the fruit. “Why not Massimiliano? He is highly regarded.”

  “And dangerous.”

  “I will assume the rumors concerning your preferences are true.” He pops another bite in his mouth. “Because you would have to be a fool to choose anyone over Mass. For many years, there were two punks,” he informs, lifting two sticky fingers, “who were the boys all of the men wished they could still be.”

  “Mass.”

  “And you,” he adds, licking his fingers. “You should hire the best.”