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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Robin?” I question. “With a Y or an I? The R’s have it.”

  His nose twitches. “Not Robin. Rachel? Renda? Rita? Ria?”

  “Rie Ford is a whore,” I mumble, grabbing the fresh bottle of wine that Mass just opened and downing half the bottle. “A fucking…”

  “Don’t,” Cruz scowls. “Do not do what you are about to do, you fucking daego.”

  “I am more fun than a barrel of monkeys.”

  “More like a warehouse full of monkeys on fire,” Cruz rebukes, taking the bottle and pouring some in his glass as Mass snickers at our banter.

  “That’s inhumane!” I cry out.

  Shaking his head, Mass laughs, “Are you two always this much fun?”

  “You’re going to cite me on being inhumane,” Cruz rebukes. “When you have the savage clown compactor on standby? Fuck you, paesano.”

  “You’re white trash.”

  “Damn straight, I am.” Cruz slams back his glass and moves my feet to stand up. “We need another bottle.”

  “There is a whole crate in the pantry,” Mass offers as we sit alone. “I didn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “That you two were…a bonded pair.”

  “He’s my fucking wife because my legal one is a ho.”

  “I am deeply sorry for what transpired,” he says as Cruz returns with two bottles in hand. “I wouldn’t have overstepped if I understood how close you are.”

  “About last night?” Cruz mumbles with a cigarette in his mouth. “Don’t worry about it. Jezebel ain’t running off with you. He likes riding bitch on my bike too much.”

  “That’s confident,” Mass marvels.

  “No,” Deacon disagrees, filling all three glasses. “That’s a decade of getting to know someone. It didn’t come easy.”

  “But I do,” I say with a sly grin.

  Mass seriously questions, “Did sharing?”

  Cruz snarls. “I wouldn’t call it sharing. Impromptu shit happens, no need to get all worked up about it. I was there. It wasn’t cheating.”

  In my intoxicated state, I slur, “But Iris riding that spic’s dick in the back of a limo, that was cheeeeeeating!”

  “Lucas Salvatore!” Deacon scolds with a stare to rival any angry mama. “Don’t!”

  He says nothing else as I flip him off, and Mass smirks with a lift of his brow in agreement. He understands because we are Italian brothers. Dom would get it too. And I am certain Durante has called me every name in the racially charged slur book because we are now at war.

  Raniero vs. Costa.

  I get to be first because I am far better looking than that schmuck, plus I have more to offer than he does. I could go home to Daddy (Cesario) today, not even beg, and turn Raniero Enterprises right side up. Costa is fighting, what could be, a losing battle. As a young man who wanted to carve out a name for himself, he turned his back on offers from Immortal to Morpheus.

  Fool.

  “Have you tried calling Iris?” Mass suggests like the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. “She might have something to say for herself.”

  Cruz and I break out into a fit of hysterical laughter as he fends for me. “Sal tried all day.”

  “The number you have dialed is no longer in service,” I mock in my best feminine voice. “Please check the number and try your call again.”

  Cruz blinks like I have fallen off my rocker. He might be right. “Then I tried to call Masa and the other twenty numbers I have for the palace,” he says, opening the jar of olives and placing it in front of me. “She is locked up tight in their fortress and not responding to calls. You,” he says, pointing. “Eat.”

  I stick my tongue out and proceed to put giant olives on each finger like I did when I was a child. They’re colossal sized. Mass snickers as my true colors show. I am comfortable in their presence with no need to put on airs. If I can throw up in front of Mass, I would probably burp and fart and all those other things we don’t do in formal settings. This is important because he wants to be my fucking hitman, and the job will require a considerable dose of real.

  “Tell me one thing,” I say, rocking in the chair. Note: it is not a rocking chair, but it has enough give in the metal—for now—for me to rock. If I break it, I’ll buy him a new one. “How was Skeet’s pussy?”

  “Sal!” Cruz scowls. “That is my sister!”

  “Ya, so how was it?”

  “This isn’t happening,” Cruz says, walking away. “I’m going to get some meat and cheese to feed your crass ass.”

  “That rhymes!” I drunkenly giggle.

  “So do prick and dick!” He flips the finger at me.

  “And more and whore! Send her packing through the door.”

  Mass barrels over. “You are a piece of work in your natural state.”

  “Tell me, I know.”

  “She is an amazing young woman with promising submission,” he assesses, sipping his wine. “On the flip side, she needs attention, and time is something I cannot give.”

  “Because of the job?”

  “I’m not looking to settle down,” he mentions, stealing one of my second round of finger olives. “I need someone to share scenes, have some fun, and kiss goodbye until the next time.”

  “And that isn’t Hannah?”

  “Hannah had her eyes set on someone else.”

  “Yes, I fucked the chicken on that one. Should’ve kept going and put her in the big house.”

  “… Jail?”

  “No, the Swamp Shack,” Cruz adds, returning with a food porn picture-worthy tray of deliciousness. “But it would have been weird fucking my sister’s husband. I don’t know that I would’ve been able to stay.”

  “Are you looking to get laid?” Mass offers. “I know some discreet types.”

  “Discreet, are they decent?”

  “I said they were discreet; didn’t say you wouldn’t need a brown bag.”

  We all laugh.

  “Nah, I have been fucked over enough by the pink. I will stick to what I know with Cruz. I do not want another hot girl to fuck me over. No disrespect, but the next one is getting a prenup before we even meet for coffee.”

  “Is Iris going to take you for a ride?”

  “Iris isn’t getting my ride,” I mention, glancing at Cruz. “But she will get a lot of money for my time in her sweet snatch, for sure. Those call girls don’t come cheap.”

  “Especially when you marry them,” Mass consoles as we toast. “Bachelors until the end.”

  “Hallelujah!” I shout as Cruz’s phone vibrates on the table. He answers, and his jaw tightens as he sneers with an intensity.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea.”

  “Is it Iris?” I ask, standing up as he glares up to me. “Give me the fucking phone, Cruz.” He hands it over, and I walk down the deck’s steps and pace toward the olive grove.

  “Sal?” Her delicate voice hits my heart with a mallet, striking, and beating until it is pulverized.

  “I wish you would have said something about banging Costa in the backseat.”

  “Sal…Baba just died, and you want to do this now?”

  “Yes, I do, because you lied to me. You knew it wasn’t mine, and you let me take you to the altar anyway. I never should’ve married you,” I criticize, inflicting wounds that will never heal. “You were nothing but a gold digger, and baby, you found it.”

  “Sal!” she screams, crying. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I love you.”

  “Love me?” I bitterly laugh. “You don’t love me, but you should’ve killed me when you had the chance because I will decimate Lotus!”

  “Sal! Wait!”

  “There is no more waiting,” I specify, trying to keep my calm. “You should have waited before you did what you did. You should have thought about how much this would hurt what we had.”

  “Hurt what we had?” she bellows. “You spent most of our honeymoon with Cruz.”

  “You love him too!” I yell, gripping my hair a
nd pacing as Cruz walks over to me. “You love him, and don’t deny it now because it will make things easier on you. Don’t fucking lie to me, bitch!”

  “You’re such a goddamned bastard!” she mutters through sobs. “You think because you are Sal Raniero, that you can go stick your dick in anyone, and I will forgive you!”

  “Name one!”

  “Rowan!” she fiercely thunders. “Hannah! Your list of infidelities can go on for miles, but you know what? I am Iris Nakamura, and I can get on that dick and ride it until dawn or around the block a few times…”

  “Fuck you, Iris! And fuck your bastard spawn!”

  I click the end, throwing his phone as far as I can with a roar, and collapse to my knees. “How could she do this to me, Cruz?” He squats, and I grasp onto his arms, praying to wake up from the nightmare. “I love her so fucking much, but this is unforgivable. She knew, and she used me!”

  He cradles me in his arms. “I know, honey, I know.” He kisses my head as we rock in the grass. “She loves you too. She fucked up, and it cost her dearly.”

  “I need you to go to Japan.”

  “… What?”

  “I cannot go,” I mumble, clinging to his life rope. “If I go, I may end up killing all three of us. I am raging hard with everything going on. I need you to go do your best friend thing and report back.”

  He sighs. “Best friend thing?”

  “Please?”

  Two days pass in a drunken stupor at Mass’ villa. He is on patrol, watching over me, as I drink my way into oblivion. We haven’t even made goo-goo eyes at one another, much less flirting. My love life is dead.

  My penis is dead.

  I lay in bed in the wee hours of the morning, scanning through my phone, as the half-empty fifth of whiskey sits open on the nightstand. I haven’t showered in two days. I am starting to smell. I might be hungry, but I cannot blame Mass for not trying. He keeps bringing in trays of his home-cooked food.

  All I do is drink.

  Bad habits. Bad bitch. Bad time.

  By the way, did I mention the baby in Iris’ belly isn’t mine?

  Fucking shit. Girls, man.

  The random text from a number I don’t recognize pops up on my phone. “Can I call you?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Yes or no.”

  I contemplate for a minute, trying to decide if this is worth it. Random caller, unfortunately not an obscene one, could be Iris. That will result in another knockdown, drag-out fight, and Cruz is not here to catch my fall. Or it could be some random babe I have banged, looking to score big on a broken down Capo. Good call. Make your move, bitches. Sal Raniero is a free man again. Yeehaw. “Yes.”

  Immediately, the phone rings. “Hi!”

  “… Jaid?” Shock runs through my bones. “Where are you?”

  “I had my baby.”

  Holy fuck.

  “Where are you?” I repeat.

  “I am in Nebraska. At the hospital. Alone. You were the first person I called.”

  Shit.

  I want to say your Baby Daddy—Deacon Cruz—isn’t here. But I can’t do that. I need her to come clean on her own. “Where is Abel?” Not that it matters because I know, and she knows, and this is so fucked up.

  “He is in rehab, Sal. We haven’t spoken since June.”

  “And Merritt?”

  “He is with Nico.”

  Double fuckity-fuck-fuck.

  “What day is it?”

  “July 22.”

  “You aren’t okay,” she whispers. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  Running my hand through my filthy hair, I stutter, “Did you hear what happened?”

  “If you mean, do I know about Durante and Iris, yes. You sound terrible. You need to get up and shower. Eat. And stop drinking the whiskey.”

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “You are when you are on a path to self-destruction.”

  “What did you name him?”

  “His name is Lukas, with a k.”

  “Lukas with a k?”

  She giggles. “Yes, Victor Lukas.”

  The bomb drops, pirouetting from the sky, and I cannot stop it. I know I am not the father. That is impossible. We haven’t fucked…God, I don’t know when the last time we fucked was.

  But I sent Cruz on an emotional rescue mission when she came home last winter, and then, he snipped his fucking nuts, randomly out of the blue. I am still pissed he didn’t tell me. But—I feel—it’s because something happened between Cruz and Jaid.

  “Last name?” I dare to ask.

  “Victor Lukas Grace, born almost a month early.”

  At least, she’s not aiming for Cristos’ throne.

  “Is he healthy?”

  “He is perfect.” We sit in a dead zone of silence for a moment when she whispers, “I love you, Sal.”

  I say the only thing that makes sense, “I love you too, Prissy Pants.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Talk dirty to me,” I mutter in a place I don’t want to be in. “Help me out.”

  “You’re a junkie,” she declares. “And I’ll be your dealer, but it’s going to cost you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A one-way ticket to Ireland on a private plane.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions I can’t answer,” she warns. “Are you stroking your dick?”

  “I have been since you texted me.”

  “I wish I were there,” she says in a soft tone. “I would ride you until everything was forgotten.”

  “Mind wipe?”

  “Complete rebuild from the ground up.” She breathes as I close my eyes and palm my erection. “I want to kill her for hurting you, Sal. But I won’t until that baby is out of the nest. After then, Iris is fair fucking game, and it’s hunting season.”

  “I should’ve married you…”

  “I would have.”

  “I know,” I mumble as the feelings rush through my body. “I’m so fucking hard, baby. God, I am going to come soon.”

  “Do it, Sal,” she challenges as I explode onto my hand. “Come inside of my wet pussy.”

  “God! Yes!”

  I hear her moan and imagine her writhing in the sheets. “Fuck it, harder. Fuck it…yassssss!”

  “Flip over,” I whisper. “I’m escorting your ass to the stars.”

  “Only if we’re doing this the right way.”

  “Tell me you didn’t just…”

  “I did,” she answers. “In the private hospital room with my son in the crib. I did, for you.”

  Fuck.

  What in the hell just happened? How did my life get so fucked up? And the real twist is I didn’t do any of this. This wasn’t my addicted, neurotic, bipolar shit. This was my girl fucking some douche canoe in the back of a limo.

  I am fucking pissed.

  I am the Capo. I have a mistress. I have a lover. I get all the fuck ups, not my Angel.

  Not my Angel.

  This was why I couldn’t save Jaid from the cartel and sent Cruz to heal her shattered soul. My feelings get sloppy when she enters the picture. I have passionately loved her longer than I have loved Cruz.

  And that scares the fucking shit out of me.

  We end the call as I drop the phone, stumble out of bed, and crash to my knees.

  Hail Mary, full of grace…blessed is the fruit of thy womb…

  Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners…

  No prayer can save me now.

  29

  f e e d t h e beast

  The Master

  “What are we doing?” I ask Mass as I stop and barrel over. According to my watch, I have traveled nine miles. I am not twenty anymore. Nor am I in shape to do a half marathon, unlike Mass, who works out like a damn bodybuilder and eats like one too. So far, his only vice seems to be tobacco.

  Glistening with sweat, he pants and smiles as I lean up. “We’re killing the demons before they get out of
hand.”

  “They’ve been out of hand for years,” I mumble, parking my ass on a low cement wall. “Stuff goes wrong, and I lose my shit. I fall apart.”

  “I’m surprised Sibyl didn’t give you as much mental training as they did physical and academic.”

  “They did,” I inform. “I ignored it because, by that point, I was already in CAE.”

  “They fucked with your head,” he points out before walking into the corner shop.

  I enjoy running in his small town, but he is trying to kill me. He returns, tossing a bottle of water to me. “Drink up. We’re not done.”

  “You are a sadist.”

  He laughs. “And so are you.” His discipline to himself reminds me of Dom’s control in the dungeon—compelling and immersive. Mass doesn’t fuck around. “Your need for pain alters the wires and distracts from where you should be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He kicks back, stretching out his tanned, muscled legs. “Feeding one, you starve the other.”

  “You are saying I can’t have both…”

  “You would be better off choosing one side and staying there,” he says, tapping my head. “It doesn’t matter which you choose, but volleying from side to side is doing you, specifically you, more harm than good. Your system cannot take it, and you break down. You run at too high of energy to plummet as you do for there not be complications.”

  “I didn’t ask for therapy.”

  “No, but I said if you came to Nero, I would take care of you.” He pats me on the thigh. “This is me doing that.”

  “You think the problem is I sit between Deacon and Iris.”

  He smirks. “I am fine with that. It isn’t a problem. The source root of it is in you, listening to the shit in your head, and undermining every move you make.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “The Irish.”

  “We’re severing our ties,” I say. “We can’t continue to work with people who beg for guidance and then refuse to listen to us.”

  “Do you like Stroker Mullins?”

  Leaning forward, I shrug. “It’s neither here nor there.”

  “Stop!” He lifts his hand flat in the air. “That is your first mistake. You need to form an opinion on everyone you work with, how much you believe in them, and what you stand to gain from the relationship. If there is no gain, sever the ties, regardless of the connection. The business of Sal Raniero needs to be moving, not stagnating in toxic waste. Elevate and uplift. Remove the shit from the pond.”