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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  My phone buzzes several times, but I ignore it. I’m trusting everything is running exactly as planned until...Masa Nakamura busts into my tranquil room and bursts my fucking bubble.

  “Have you seen Iris?” he asks as I nod to Min to give us a moment. She leaves, and he comes at me again with the interrogation. “When did you leave the palace? What did you do with my sister, Sal?”

  Whoa. Halt.

  I did some things to your sister last night, but her disappearance was not exactly my fault.

  “Why are you here?” I question, sitting up. “Did you fly up from Gifu just to harass me?”

  “I did!” he angrily bellows. “Because Iris is missing!”

  “She’s not missing,” I calmly reply. “She took a little vacation away from the stress.”

  “Why the hell are you here, gloating like a fat cat, and acting like everything is fine?”

  “Because I can’t change her mind, Masa,” I easily lie, continuing her story that I don’t know but do. “We’re getting the marriage annulled.”

  Like fuck we are.

  We’ll take it to the grave first.

  Wrapping a towel around my waist, I grab my phone and swipe it open to the multitude of messages. I ignore them all and send Deacon a text because he’ll know what’s going on. He’ll save my ass from the wrath of the furious brother.

  I get where Masa is at. There are some fuckers who’ve banged Cat that I wouldn’t mind putting cinder blocks on their feet and sinking them in the river. But I am not that guy.

  “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” I say to Masa as I call Deacon. He answers on the first ring. “Hey Cruz, how’s the trip going?”

  “Have you not checked your messages?”

  “Nup, I’ve been busy.”

  Being pampered all day.

  “I went to the palace this morning, took Iris her breakfast, and she was not in her room.”

  Oh. Fuck. Ya.

  “Did you check the East wing?” I question, not wanting to reveal too much. “She checked on my hands last night and said goodbye.”

  “Uh, huh,” he replies. “That’s why there was a present with a pink bow, and the sheets smelled like your cum.”

  You smelled the fucking sheets?

  Well done, ya kinky bastard.

  “Did you look everywhere?” I ask, knowing he’s onto me. And if he knows that I know about her lying about the baby, then he isn’t lying to me now.

  Because Cruz can fabricate, but he’s no seamstress. He’s not capable of weaving much more than a Jacob’s Ladder with colorful string. Not tell the whole truth—sure. Build a web to rival an arachnid—no. Big fucking difference.

  “I’ve searched the entire place. I checked the minka, the falls, even the corporate office. She is missing, Sal. Answer me honestly, did you have anything to do with Iris vanishing?”

  I want to call him out for all the shit he’s failed to tell me about—the vasectomy, the baby, and then some. But the only thing I can think about is the frantic words spilling out of my mouth, “Where the fuck is my wife?”

  “I don’t know,” he stresses. “Her important things are gone.”

  Oh. God.

  “Where the fuck did my wife run, Cruz?”

  “I’ll find her,” he assures as my initial reaction is f—uck, and my second is run, girl, run. “You get to the funeral, and I will find Iris.”

  “What if someone took her?”

  “I don’t think you understand,” he says. “All three of her ginormous trunk-sized pieces of luggage are gone. No one took her. She ran.”

  I’m right.

  And that rain-soaked engine just sank to the seafloor.

  I am fucking exhausted.

  I am about to pull my hair out between everything going on and Italy’s flight to Japan and Japan to New York.

  In mammoth, antiquated hair rollers, no makeup, and white robe with slippers, Hannah assertively knocks on my door at ten, informs me she is my date to the funeral, and orders room service. I am half asleep when she cranks on the shower and points.

  Fifteen minutes later, I give a questioning shrug at my dick, and she eagerly drops to her knees. Now, I understand it seems like a douche canoe move, but Hannah needs to find balance more than anything. She is so intricately woven into the dynamics of D/s that I know giving me head will provide an emotional boost. I am not repeating a violation but letting her choose to put the power back in her hands. I’m sacrificing my valuable sperm to do good...okay, that’s a bit douche-y.

  But she can choose.

  We’ve proven that either one of us can reject the proposition, and our relationship will survive. There is only one bitch who I won’t take a no from, and he is on the other side of the world.

  Before my actions with Hannah come into question, I will add that I am only engaging in this splendid display of oral stimulation because she is the aforementioned bitch’s sister.

  She is broken; I need a blow job.

  And we work.

  Don’t send me fucking hate mail.

  I’ve never been given head by a girl in hair rollers. Or a guy for that matter.

  There is nothing to grab onto, even if I could. My hands are fucked, but I don’t care. I beat the piss out of Durante Costa, and that made the severe swelling worth it.

  I come like a rocket—a helluva load.

  I’d spent twelve hours with dainty hands servicing me in Murasaki’s teahouse brothel. Honestly, I could’ve moved in and spent the rest of my life with giggling, blushing dolls of the Orient because they were just fun. Much like Iris.

  When she is on—dayummmm, girl.

  She can suck me 24/7—please Ma’am.

  Thank you, Ma’am.

  Skeeter’s blue eyes are compelling without her spider lashes as a splatter of my cum rests on her chin. I flick my finger and wipe it up before bringing it to my mouth and kissing her lips. “You missed a drop.”

  “Would you fuck his ire out of me, Sal?“ she softly asks. I want to question her usage of ire, but I can’t because her Southern accent jars my hard drive, spiking it to the max. She sounds like Emily. Hundreds of files automatically open with still shots and little reels of data to remind me how much losing her sucks. Beyond all the heartache and stress of the time, Emily Granger was my friend. “Can you make the imprint of the deranged violence in his eyes fade from my mind?”

  While it sounds like she is propositioning me for sex, she isn’t. She wants a Master to guide her through the winding emotional labyrinth post-trauma. She needs a therapist in a Dominant, one fit enough to carry her over the finish line. I can do it—I’ve done it before—but not before the funeral. Not until I clean up my mental desktop with Baby Emlee holding a cherry popsicle and demanding I take a lick.

  I hiccup on sounds, smells, feelings. It is nothing new, but at this moment, with the funeral bearing down on me and the love of my life missing, everything amplifies.

  Weaving to the chair, I sit down with my heart racing and pounding, commanding to be heard and demanding I listen to it. I don’t want to slow down. I damn sure don’t want to stop. I’ve been going max speed for years, with little sleep, and a lot of inebriates.

  With her empathetic nature, Hannah realizes I am not doing well and wedges her way onto my lap. She is a decade younger than me, stunningly beautiful like her brother, and more perceptive at twenty than I will ever be. “This is our second time to go to church together.”

  “... Why not Mass?”

  “It’s a Roman Catholic Church,” she informs with the charming innocence of a blonde. “There will be mass.”

  “No, you’re confused. Mass Vidal.”

  She tries to dodge away, but I refuse to release her. Staring down at my hand, resting on her lap, she gently caresses the edge of my finger. “You need to see a doctor.”

  “I’m going to when I get a chance to breathe,” I reply. “Answer my question, Hannah.”

  “Because Mass wants more than I
can give.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you broke it off because he wasn’t willing to give you enough.”

  “The problem isn’t Mass; it’s me.” She glances at the worry in my eyes. I have concerns about Mass because he didn’t relay Iris’ message. It is a red flag, but I also understand the distracting display of man love that occurred. If I give him the benefit of the doubt, I must accept the consequences if he fucks up again. “Mass wants exactly what I thought I did.”

  Hannah is scared of forming intimate relationships, which seems to be a trend in Howser-Cruz children.

  I’m lucky I have one, but do I?

  “Deacon wasn’t fully supportive of my lie,” Iris confessed, worshipping my dick with slow strides. My busted hands rested on her belly. Despite the tingling and numbness, I felt the forceful kick of our baby. I wanted to cry. And I wanted to fight. The reinvigorating energy was magical, purposeful, and fated. “He agreed not to tell you and stand by my side because he believed that was what you would want. You’ve got him programmed to take care of me. Don’t be mad at Deacon, Sal. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The deafening din of bells rings precisely at two in the afternoon when we enter the Catholic Church in New York. We aren’t late as I peep down at the girl, perfect in her presentation and the least likely to appear.

  Mafia funerals are all about the network, who is there and who is not. I spot the Campanelli and Fratoria clans and off to the side, and I see my kin—Cesario Raniero and Vinny Veramonte sitting with my family. Even the Boston Irish, the Flanagan’s, quietly wait to honor Carlo Torrente. In the back, much to my surprise, I see Raiko Nakamura and Murasaki Hada representing Lotus, but Dominic Gennaro didn’t show. It’s odd for a proper gentleman like Dom to not be here, but I don’t have time to think about it or even call and check on him.

  “It’s been a long time, Salvatore Raniero,” the man says with a distinctive accent from behind me.

  With a stunned expression, I reply, “Máximo Herrera.”

  The older man pulls me in for an embrace. Máximo is Zoe Hess’ father and Muerte’s younger brother.

  He’s holding onto me when Raze Kola lifts his fingers in a greeting on the other side of the cathedral. “Thank you,” I silently mouth to Raze, and he nods with a smile.

  So many people are here, it’s like a family reunion. We don’t talk business or counterattacks, which will undoubtedly occur after a lengthy grace period—a truce where both parties raise the white flag and surrender the play out of respect to the dead.

  Carlo was a highly revered God.

  This is going to take a bit.

  After Old Poppa’s funeral, the mafia went silent for almost a full seven days. We have no trouble shooting up weddings, baby showers, and holidays, but funerals—we don’t tend to mess with because we all have an expiration date. There have been a few instances of outrage, but that’s kind of like a pedo in prison. No one—even archenemies—take kindly to the disregard, negligence, and violence during a funeral or grace period.

  The mass is magnificent and long, almost two hours. We travel en masse to the cemetery. The line of limos resembles foreign dignitaries attending a summit. I don’t have a moon roof this time or my lovers to hold my hands.

  With a heavy heart, I cling to Mass after the graveside service. Saying goodbye to the ancient Black Hand isn’t easy on me, and Mass catches my emotions like a champion.

  With great composure—far better than my own—Hannah is doing her thing, consoling the family, like nothing bad ever happened to her. Like she didn’t have a shard of glass driven into her abdomen mere weeks ago by a raving lunatic. The funny part is she isn’t striving to climb up the ladder; her behavior is au naturale.

  What an incredible girl to have on my team.

  “Don’t give up on Hannah,” I encourage Mass. “She’s a tough one and worth it.”

  “I don’t know if I can put her back together,” he confides as the mist falls from the darkening skies. “I’m so damned angry. I look at her, and all I want to do is kill the son of a bitch. I want him to feel that kind of pain. I want him to suffer. It isn’t healthy or conducive for romance.”

  “I will take care of it,” I vow, knowing this is a promise I must keep. But the ending was set in stone the moment he called and told me of Hannah’s attack. This cannot be forgotten. His forbidden act must be punished. “The next time my wife gives you a message, you best tell me first thing.”

  “It was my bad,” he replies. “I’m sorry it happened. Please forgive me.”

  Holy crap. That’s weird. Almost normal.

  “The baby is mine,” I confide, trusting the guy. Not only do I have a mega-crush on the man, but he has also done nothing sketchy other than forget this one thing, and I don’t believe it was malicious or sabotage.

  We’re human; we make mistakes.

  And if you’re a man with a fucking sack, you own up to those errors and apologize for them.

  You make it right.

  His immediate reaction is the most important and confirms that I was correct in giving him another chance. “Do you want extra security on Iris?”

  “I would if I knew where the fuck she was.”

  “I’ll find her for you,” he states, laying his hand on my shoulder. “No worries. I can do this. It’s a lot easier than navigating Hannah’s battle.”

  “That depends on who you are.”

  In my pocket, the phone vibrates. I pull it out and frown as he asks, “Something wrong?”

  “Ya, Miemie never calls this number anymore.”

  As Hannah Cruz offers sympathetic gestures, shakes hands, and comforts with her easy smile just like a future Queen, Mierne’s British accent catapults with the force of a random terrorist bombing.

  “Nico murdered Deacon’s sister, Wendy Cruz.”

  The phone slips from my fingers and drops in the mud. A cold shiver consumes every inch of my skin as Jas casts a concerned glance to me. He knows.

  Rushing to my side at his father’s funeral, I scout the crowd one more time and fully understand what I’m up against.

  In an unheard-of quiet statement, Delarte Cristos did not show up for the funeral of a God. His absence is akin to spitting on the Torrente family and everyone they are associated with, including my Lotus. His blasphemous lack of regard is a statement of intent—we aren’t going to battle; we are at war.

  Fuck with my war.

  And I will fuck you up.

  Heretic. Heathen. Sinner.

  I am a Nero disciple of Sanctum, bound in the righteousness of scandalous priests, and the only holy order is in bloodshed. The chilling drizzle turns to rain, and I cry into Jas’ shoulder. “I need my Saint.”

  61

  Into the Lands of the Big Dicks

  The Master

  The next day, we take a quick private flight outside of Boston, where Hannah will stay under Vinny’s watch at my farmhouse. Mass will be there, so I don’t have to worry about Dad hitting on Cruz’s sister. I get them settled in and realize that I have had all of my cars moved to Texas.

  Sometimes, I don’t think.

  “I need to buy a fucking car,” I grump at Dad before hitting the Uber button.

  “Why?” he asks, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Take the Vette. She is in the garage.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Not yet,” he laughs. “I’ll ask her next time I’m inside of her for a jolly ride.”

  I laugh. Fucker is filthy. Just like me. “What are Chelle and you doing with the house?”

  “She’s keeping it,” he says. “I don’t want it. Too many memories.”

  Stretching my fingers out, I ask, “Why don’t you move in here?”

  “Because this is your house, son.”

  “I am never moving back to Boston,” I remark. “The climate is too challenging.”

  “Yeah, Cesario is.” I smile at his understanding. “Maybe I’ll move to Texas. Fran has wanted to leave for a wh
ile. She’s such a Daddy’s girl. Is Cat staying in Texas?”

  “Ya, I set her up in my loft. She’s been hitting the bars on Main Street and complaining that only older, rich guys hit on her. I asked her what she wanted, and she told me someone hot, young, and stupid.”

  “Sounds like Catarina,” he chuckles. “Are you filing for a divorce?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I say, checking the time and wishing I had more of it to spend with the old man. “I gotta get outta here. I have to meet Cesario at the warehouse, and I have dinner with my sex-addicted sister.”

  “Runs in the family,” he remarks with a chuckle. “Take the car. Leave it at Nonna’s place.”

  “Did you restore the place?”

  “I may be a bit of a seedy fellow, but I am a good son, Sal. I’m an old fashioned guy with a moral compass pointing only at those I care about. Some people think that makes me a crook; I believe that’s what makes me a man—defending my family and preserving mine.”

  I stand up, and he follows. His hug is profound, and he refuses to let go until I do. He kisses both of my cheeks, and I do the same to him.

  “I have to go home to Texas.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “I don’t want to fucking do this anymore,” I admit, but refuse to show any emotion. “I’m so fucking angry at Nicky.”

  “You want me to do the deed?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I got this. I have to grow up. I didn’t expect it to be defending Cruz.”

  “Are you doing it because of Hannah or Deacon?”

  “I’m doing it,” I mutter, forming the sentence. “Because he’s going to go after the people I love the most next.”

  “Stick to your guns and trust your gut,” he says as we walk to the garage. “And tell Gennaro I said hello.”

  I furrow my brow. “... Dom?”

  “Yeah, if you’re going to be the big man, you need to know who he has been hiring all these years to do his dirty work.” He winks and places the keys in my hand. “Don’t look back. And don’t look down.”

  I am stunned by his admission when I blurt out, “I’m not scared of heights.”