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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I frown in a fuzzy state. “How many people have you killed with Nero?”

  “Eight.”

  “Why don’t I know about any of this?”

  “Because I don’t talk about being a hellhound,” he whispers, holding my hands. “Darkness breeds where I am, and you belong in the light. You always did, Angel.”

  Crossing my arms and tightening the sheet around my body, I hiss, “Some shit has got to change, Nero.”

  79

  racherché splooge

  The Master

  “I only have fifty-seven minutes, but I can tell by the look you’re giving me that may not be long enough,” I bait, stretching and popping my fingers. “You’re pissed.”

  “I don’t understand what I am supposed to do now. You killed my lie.”

  I cover my mouth, trying to control my amusement. “Let me get this straight, you are mad because I saved you from getting raped by Durante Costa, killed him, and you are worried about your lie?”

  She shouts, “How the fuck do I get out of this?”

  With disbelief, I shrug. “You got yourself into it, pretty. You’ll figure it out.”

  “Or I can ask my boyfrie…” I give her a broad smile, stopping her from the error I have made so often, and she smiles, softening up. “There better not be a boyfriend.”

  “Only you,” she whispers, reaching for my hand. “You’re going to be my boyfriend, my husband, and most importantly—my lover—for the rest of your life, Raniero.”

  “I’d like that,” I mutter, leaning in to kiss her lips. “I’d really like that.”

  “You’re in with Gabe…” she corrects, “ZERØ, Servet, and Sanctum?”

  “I am hoping,” I say, faking a cough. “I can get into the Lotus.”

  Her expression blooms with a grin. “All you have to do is ask.”

  “If you thought, after the fight in Japan, that I was going to let Durante Costa anywhere near you again…”

  She touches the cuts on my face and whispers, “How long have you been tailing me?”

  “Since you jumped out of Navarro’s car in Matamoros, or you know, the last decade.”

  “Jesus, Sal…” Her eyes fill with tears. “We have to get on the same damn page.”

  “Let me explain this. I wasn’t just hired to watch after you. I made a solemn vow to ensure your safety, and I will do my damndest to fulfill that duty. I may fuck up…cause God knows, Iris, I am not perfect. But I am damn sure going to try and keep anything bad from ever happening to you again.”

  “You started your outfit,” she says.

  “And you invested in it with one too many zeroes!” I counter grinning. “So what? Lotus will be monitored, guided, and controlled by Sal Raniero.”

  She rapidly blinks, and I snicker, covering my grin and preemptively dodging before she strikes. “What if I don’t want that?”

  I lick my lips and back up, defeated. “What do you want?”

  “To succeed at this on my own.”

  “You can’t be a Lotus island.”

  “Why not?” She angrily yells. “Why can’t I be like all the boys in the club?”

  My lips rock, twitching, and curling before my arms widen. “You want to be like those boys in that club, then you fucking hook up because that is what we do. We network. We build links. We form relationships. And send each other shit for Christmas and holidays. If you want what I believe you do, which is to play in the big leagues, you’re going to have to come off of the island.”

  “I have Servet and The Commission,” she rallies. “I only got Servet on my own because my husband is a hustler from hell.”

  “Okay,” I calmly say. “And have you done anything to support that?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Tell me!”

  “Have you touched base with Raze Kola and thanked him for the visit? Do you even know where Raze is?”

  “I didn’t even know where you were until half an hour ago!”

  “I’ll tell you,” I reveal, growing frustrated. “He’s bagging up a body with Gabriel Herrera to make it disappear. This is not how I wanted this to go down. I wanted you to see me—the real me. I wanted you to know that there was a flip side to the suave guy you witnessed at the palace. My life is grim, baby. And maybe if you can’t handle it, you should be an island.”

  Quietly, she leans against the headboard, curling away from me. “I will do that. Thank you.”

  “I’m leaving,” I reply, getting up from the bed and gathering my things. “I’m sorry Durante attacked you.”

  She whispers, “He hurt me, Sal.”

  “... When?”

  “After I met with Servet, but before you came.”

  “You didn’t tell me,” I mumble. “I didn’t know. I can’t make things better if you don’t talk to me.”

  “And you didn’t tell me you were going to kill Durante!”

  “I most certainly did, young lady.”

  “I’m older than you,” she sasses.

  “I don’t fucking give a shit,” I snark. “I said I would play along with your scheme if I could kill Durante Costa, and you would tell me what Deacon knew.”

  She blinks away, remembering the conversation. “Fuck! I’m so tired of pregnancy brain!”

  “Stop!” I hold her close. “It doesn’t matter. Did he hurt you?”

  “He groped my breasts, told me how I was gonna feed him, and came on my face.”

  Prompting my monster, I jerk with hostility and sneer, “I should’ve tortured him.”

  And I would’ve, had I known.

  Hell, I would’ve called up my boy Cruz for some tag-teaming bloodshed.

  “You would’ve had less time than you do now,” she jokes through her tears and my enmity as we smile at one another. “We have communication problems. We’re going to have to work on this, or we’re not going to make it.”

  “And we will soon,” I promise, taking her hands. “We need to make it a little bit longer. I’ve got plans to shift the whole board, but I need you to trust me. I need you to keep playing like this baby is still Durante’s, and he merely vanished. Flew the coop. No one knows where he is.”

  “Is that what Salomé wants?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s probably upset her grandson is dead.”

  “Hardly,” I mention. “She came up with the idea when she found out her family was in danger. Same with Morpheus. He isn’t mad either. I have no idea how Ximena is, nor do I care. The Costa regime is not on my radar. They’re a small beans player.”

  Her blue-violets peer up to me. I can’t teach her everything in an hour, but if she listens to me, I can help her in ways she never imagined.

  Since I was a child, Lotus has been disconnected from the rest of the underground. Keishi had one friend, Luca Raniero, and his solitary devotion will not work on a broad scale.

  Iris has three options:

  She can return to Japan and play with the families on her turf.

  She can attempt to continue as-is and let the sharks ravage her legacy.

  Or, she can listen to me, and we can work to bring change.

  There are no other choices. She isn’t the most dynamic of competitors. Don’t misunderstand that—she’s good, but I can make her better. Her moves are fueled on emotions, and while that is okay sometimes, she cannot exist on those impetuous plays alone. She needs more longterm strategy than stealing an ocean liner worth of Goro merchandise and handing it over to Muerte.

  I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand, and she asks, “Why do you do it?”

  “This is all I know how to do,” I confess as her hands run over my cheeks. I can’t take my eyes off of her angelic face. I’ve withheld my wanton obsession since the beginning, but my compulsion to serve her every need will carry us to the ending. With her hand in mine, we’re shifting on the fly and speeding into the night. “I was born in mafia blood. I will die in mafia blood.”

  “You can’t change it,” she mutters, brushing her thumb
over my lip. “And I’ll never beat you.”

  “I never wanted to compete against you,” I compel as my eyes dance between her eyes and her lips. “I wanted to train you for something that no one else would. I needed to be the handler that built a boss.”

  Our lips skim as I grasp her arms and lay back, pulling her on top of me. “That’s rather calculating of you, Mr. Raniero,” she contends, lowering to kiss my chest. Her mouth runs a trail to my belly and draws a damp line across my waist. Her eyes flick up to mine. “You’re building a bomb.”

  “I like things that explode,” I hint as she undoes my pants and takes my cock in her heart-shaped lips. She’s sucking with all she has, and my hand drops to her head. My fingers curl in her hair. I want to pull the fine silken threads, but I hold back because one thing leads to another. I won’t push my Dominance on her body, not when her mind needs all of my attention. “I like to think I am crafting a bombshell boss.”

  I feel her giggling as she gags on my cock. She lifts and smirks. “I love you so fucking much, Sal.”

  Gripping the base of my dick in one hand, I offer her my hand. She’s quite lopsided with her giant belly. “Are you sure we’re not having twins?”

  Carefully, she slides on, and I gloat as she warns, “I’m going to handle you in a minute, boy.”

  “I think I handled you,” I reply, sticking out my tongue.

  She swoops down, wanting to kiss me, but between her short height and the ball, she can’t reach. “Oh, my God, I can’t fucking kiss you while we have sex!” She almost starts crying. “I’m so fat!”

  “You are not fat,” I reply, patting the bed and helping her down. I kick my pants off and stare at her dewy mound. “You’re damn gorgeous is what you are,” I praise, crawling between her thighs and licking her slit. Her hands pat my shoulders; she wants my dick. Raising, I thrust in slowly. “If I have my way, we’re having six kids.”

  “Can we make it through one, first?”

  “Ya,” I say, lowering and kissing her sweet lips. She latches her legs and arms around me. “We can practice in the spring.”

  “Shit, I married a virile breeder,” she moans with each stride. “I’m going to be pregnant until I’m fifty.”

  “Nah, just forty-nine,” I quip, laughing, and her eyes widen. “You love me!”

  “I do, but this is so hard without you. Make me a promise?”

  “Anything.”

  “When we get home,” she whispers as I admire her lush boobs. Putting a finger under my chin, she forces my eyes to hers. “Can we stay?”

  “Yes!” I dive for her nipple, sucking and loving all of her plentiful curves. She arches beneath me and offers the other one. “Do you need to be even?”

  My mouth encircles the left, and she gasps in ecstasy. “Yes! God, Sal… Don’t stop!” I take my time even though I know we’re running out. “Fuck me, baby! Fuck me hard!”

  I release the hardened peak. “I am not fucking you like an untamed beast.”

  “Please,” she begs in agony. “Please!”

  “No, baby. Because I won’t be able to control myself. I’m going to want to spank you. I’m going to want to hurt you. And I have limits right now with Goblin on board.”

  “I hate you!” she hisses. “So much!”

  “Oooh, hate fuck,” I snap, pinning her wrists down and giving her a hint of what is to come. It’s just a little hit of a drug we’re both addicted to, and it will have to be enough for now. “Bite me!”

  She clamps her teeth hard on my bicep, “Fuck, that hurts,” I mumble, but she doesn’t stop. The pain is good, and my hip movements intensify. “You’re such a bitch, getting me to fuck you harder by hurting me.”

  She glances at me. “You aren’t the only one building a boss, Capo.”

  “Hardly,” I honestly reply. “There are a lot of steps between where we’re at and holding a title.”

  “Not to me,” she whispers, kissing my arm. “You’re always going to be the boss of me. I am just not very good at letting it happen. I want to resist and fight it and believe you don’t want what is best for me. But somewhere in my heart, I know you do, and I know who you are. You’re the head Lotus cheerleader.”

  “Damn fucking straight, I am!” I boom as her wetness saturates around me. “And now, I’m going to come all over your petals.”

  “Do it!” she encourages. “But don’t you dare pull out. Come in the petals. Loaded little eruptions. They unsuspectingly see me, and get you.”

  “That’s it,” I moan, edging closer. “Exactly.”

  “… What?”

  “How we change the perception of Lotus,” I say, hanging on by a thread. “We bait them with you and eliminate them with me.”

  “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  80

  Little Leprechaun Go Away

  The Master

  The constant banging at the door wakes me up an hour after arriving at the apartment in Italy. I shuffle to my feet, understanding there is no way the horny rabbits in the bedroom will stop what they’re doing to answer it.

  I don’t bother to look who it is because I just want them to go away. I’m caught in a post-Lotus-orgasmic bliss, and frankly, whoever it is can fuck the fuck off.

  Opening the door, I find Rowan looking desperate as she pleads, “I need something for Kill Rat to sell off and quick.”

  “You should not be here,” I warn as she barges inside. “I’m serious. You need to go. This is not a good idea.”

  God. No. Bad.

  Red lights and warning sirens are warming up for a mega meltdown.

  “Please, Salvatore.”

  “There is nothing I can do,” I lie, not wanting to get involved with this, her, or Kill Rat. I walk over to the coffee table and notice my phone lighting up with text messages. “I have no merchandise to sell you cheap.”

  Fuhgeddabout the sixteen warehouses.

  “You must have something we can flip,” she maintains, dropping her purse and unbuttoning her blouse.

  Bitch, please…you think that will work after the thirty-one decadent minutes I spent in my wife’s sheath?

  Try again.

  She tosses her shirt on the chair, and I immediately pick it up. “Put your clothes back on. We are not doing this.”

  Ignoring my request, she scrambles to her purse, producing a vial of ivory dust and a razor blade. “Let’s cut it and fuck.”

  “Let’s not,” I insist, growing increasingly irritated. “You need to go.”

  She sits on the sofa without any invitation, dumps the contents on the glass, and starts making long, fat rails. “We need to talk. Stroker is about to sign a deal with the Bratva.”

  Fuck.

  Though, at this exact moment, I do not give a shit. I want Rowan, her drugs, and her perky rack out of my house. “Because Stroker needs money?”

  “Yes,” she pleads. “Kill Rat is going down unless we have some merchandise or merge. My father never wanted it to be like this, but Thomas Byrne is determined to make this complicated. He hates Kill Rat.”

  Because his sister, Niamh, is screwing the leader.

  “Even if I did have a crate full of bangs for you to sell, you’re not going to get rid of them fast enough to make a difference.” She’s not Cruz, who can have shit pre-sold for months in advance. “You need to let it go.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “Mine,” I callously reply. “I am on my side. I am not comping your weapons or selling them cheap.”

  “So you lied,” she says. “You have a product, and you won’t sell it to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter what the fuck my inventory is,” I inform. “I am not doing business with Kill Rat anymore.”

  “Because you think we’re a bad investment.”

  “No,” I state. “I know Kill Rat is a bad investment. There is no think about it. And sex and drugs for a prepayment ain’t gonna cut it.”

  Stumbling out of the bedroom, Cruz mutters, “Who
the hell is knocking on the door at this hour?”

  His Ride

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Rowan?” he questions, eyeing the girl, who is cutting the coke, and me, who is holding her shirt and looking perturbed.

  “Hi, Deacon!”

  “Get the fuck out of Sal’s house.”

  “Please,” she says, getting up and following me to the kitchen. “I need something to sell, or Kill Rat is merging with the Bratva.”

  “No, they’re not,” I hiss, opening the water bottle. “The real reason you are here is to distract Sal from whatever you think he is doing.”

  “You mean like sending multiple shipments to the players in Central and South America.”

  “I don’t know who is filling your head full of this garbage,” I asked, pissed off. “But they’re as fucked in the head as you are. Why would Sal be sending shipments down there?”

  “To distract Delarte Cristos from the Allegiance deal,” she accuses. And she’s right, but I am not telling her that. I glance at Sal getting more enraged by the second. “If he gets Cristos back on his side, the whole thing falls apart.”

  “Oh, so this isn’t really about having shit to sell, is it?”

  “No,” she implores. “Kill Rat needs the deal, and if you two clowns fuck it up for me, I am going to spill everything…”

  I step closer. “You’re going to spill what, Rowan? You going to go tell the whole world that you’re a crazy fucking lunatic?”

  “I’m going to tell them the truth behind Carlo Torrente’s death.”

  “He had heart problems,” Sal argues. “It was a well-documented fact.”

  “And your precious wife constructed the deal with Jas that set the plan in motion.”

  “You fucking leave Iris out of this!” Sal roars as I stand between Rowan and the pit bull fresh off a beach visit. “Down, Sal.”

  “Yeah, get down, Pretty Boy,” she retorts, intentionally trying to trigger him.

  His chest bumps into my back as I maintain my ground. He isn’t killing her, not on my watch cause I’ll do it for him. Through gritted teeth, I warn, “You need to get the fuck out of here.”