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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “God, woman, remind me to show you my balls when I get home!”

  “Oh, Lawdy!”

  “Shit…”

  “Whatever present you’re plotting for me, it should be red.”

  Lighting a smoke, I quiz, “She was there?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got stills already pulled and I am uploading all of that to you as well. But wait, Boss man, I am aiming for luxury in the red present.”

  “I am certain you deserve all the perks.”

  “Last week,” she announces. “I felt like letting my gold balls swing in the wind.”

  “I don’t need to know what color of Ben Wa balls you have.”

  “Not those,” she replies as the wind-up toys go off. “They’re blue. Blue Ben Wa balls. Anywho, I called up Reo Sato for a check-in last week since we’ve, ya know, got him double-agenting this shit. He informed me that Iris has hired a team of whores, including the lovely Sakura.”

  “Hot blow job in the limo?”

  “I don’t know anything about her oral talent or a limo,” she replies. “But she was in your notes and I wanted to know who the fuck she was.”

  “She doesn’t work for The Chairman?”

  “No, she is part of Iris’ team of tension relief specs. If she was in the limo and she performed adequate fellatio…”

  “Oh,” I moan at the memory. “It was far better than adequate, G,” I cockily reply. “I would give it at least a ten.”

  “She must have swallowed,” she baits.

  “Man, she didn’t just swallow. She…nevermind.”

  “I stand by the kinky bastard comment,” she hastily says as Amber smiles and hands me a spring roll. “But wait there is more…”

  “Damn, you hit the jackpot today!”

  “Iris is sending your care package of ill-gotten gains to none other than the Goro gang.”

  I take a mammoth bite of the spring roll and mumble, “Where are they?”

  “Somewhere,” she says, pecking away. “Give me a second.”

  “Get me some fuckin’ pirates!” I garble out. “Argh! Ahoy, me mateys!”

  “You are kidding.” She questions, “Aren’t you? Because I am certain I could allocate marauders if you really need them.”

  “I need that fucking container to not arrive in Goro-Town.”

  She laughs. “Goro-Town?”

  “Do whatever you gotta do. I don’t care what you have to spend. Get the fucking thing off the damned cargo ship and on a private boat.”

  “Like a dinghy?”

  “Like I don’t care.”

  “Well, if you really want pirates, it’s in the Strait of Malacca and stopping in Singapore.”

  “Get my shit off that fucking boat,” I demand. “And put it on a plane.”

  “That’s going to take some work. I can try.” She snickers, “Water rats may be easier.”

  “Look, I don’t care about the container. Fuck the container. Take every piece of merchandise out and wrap it with a fucking bow if you gotta, but do not let my package end up in Goro hands.”

  “You’re serious about this,” she remarks. “You’re sounding more Italian by the second and frankly, it’s kind of turning me on.”

  “My hatred of Goro is quite real,” I inform, furious that Iris would heist my shit. I gently crack my knuckles and pop my fingers. “Make it happen. Call damn Alessi Ettore if you gotta.”

  “Commission? Italian shipping guy?”

  “Yep,” I say, rubbing my palms. “Tell him Raniero needs it. And then send my wife a text message that says, Game on, sweetheart.”

  “Iris is fucking with you?”

  “Ya,” I sneer. “And I am going to fuck harder.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Call me back,” I say, spinning to Deacon and Amber. “She stole the merch.”

  “We gathered,” Amber says with an adorable straight face, giving a slight nod. “If this is that important to you, you need to do whatever it takes. But I will warn you, Iris is out for blood.”

  “So am I,” I hiss as the phone rings in my hand.

  “Allo, my dear,” Georgia says. “You should sit down.”

  “What?” I ask, pacing in the living room. “Just tell me.”

  “Ettore is no longer running any ships that direction. He is working every other place under the sun but Japan.”

  “He’s goddamned lying! He just doesn’t like me because I’m an ass!” I yell on the verge of punching the wall.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Cruz mumbles.

  “Fine,” I say, relinquishing control of what I cannot change because there is plenty I can change. “I’m fine. I’ll get it done. Give me ten.”

  With a worried expression, Cruz asks, “What are you about to do?”

  “Something I’ll probably regret by morning, but you know what? I’ve had plenty of one-night stands I felt that way about too, and it didn’t stop me from doing the deed.”

  “Git’er dun!” Amber rallies with her arm in the air.

  “You cannot be serious,” Cruz contests. “He cannot give up what he is about to for some fucking guns!” He stands up with the lips-pressed-jaw-grinding-I-am-going-to-knock-you-one-boy pose. “I’ll buy the fucking guns.”

  “It’s the principle of the matter,” I calmly state.

  “And so is walking into a dark hallway and waiting for Satan to grab your hand.” He steams, pacing with wide steps. His nostrils flare, fuming mad. “If you do this, you are gone. Mark my fucking word. I will lose you to either your head, your heart, or all the drugs you’re going to be pumping into what is MY body.”

  “It’s actually my body,” I correct.

  “No!” he seethes. “You are fucking mine.”

  “And he is my blood.”

  He grabs his hoodie, walks out the door, and slams it hard. Amber sits, wide-eyed. “Say it.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “Or go after him,” I suggest.

  “I don’t want to go after him,” she whispers. “I am your mistress, not his. And if you want me to say something, I’ve already said it. If you want to make a statement as a man, her husband, and a Capo on the rise, you put a goddamned end to her antics!”

  I peer down at her sitting on the sofa. “And if I lose her?”

  “She’d be a fool to lose a competitor like you.”

  I grab my keys and go downstairs to the empty café. I can’t risk Cruz throwing a tantrum in the middle of what will be the hardest phone call of my life. No kid ever wants to call home and say, ‘Mom and Dad, I need some help.’

  Sitting in the office, I swallow back the can of espresso I swiped from the fridge. I left money on the counter. I’m bad, but I’m not a thief—not with these kind-hearted souls anyway.

  I punch in the number from memory and listen through two rings when he answers, “Raniero.”

  I almost lose it. “Raniero.”

  “How are you doing, Sal?”

  “I need some help, Dad.”

  He’s not my dad. Nor has he ever truly been a Dad. But he’ll be a Daddy now when I need him the most, and he’ll do it because I’m willing to talk about Raniero Enterprises, Raniero Fisheries, and the Raniero crime syndicate—none of which I technically own.

  But I have a plan to own it all.

  This may be the first time I have come without the weapons of words drawn. I’m not ready to forgive him for the past, but I can’t keep living in it either. I have to move forward and find a lit place in our dark world.

  “You need some money?”

  “Nah,” I snicker. “It’s not money. I need connections. I have a crate that’s traveling through the Strait of Malacca, and I need to stop it.”

  “How soon?”

  “Immediately.”

  “Text the details on my private number, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  After sending the info, I linger around the empty cafe, knowing what happened here. I step outside to the back alley and
sit on the steps. I light a smoke in the cold night air when I spot a rat scurrying in the drainage ditch.

  A couple of times in my life, I thought I might be reduced to eating the vermin. I never did.

  And now, I never will.

  Because I am the vermin.

  A couple of rowdy, drunk people pass by on the street at the end of the alley as I light another smoke. I’ve saved plenty of drunk girls from waking up with a bad memory. I’ve taken a few home who probably wished they remembered it all.

  My wife cannot keep railroading me. I will not lay down on the tracks while she plows over the top of me. I will not diminish who I am to build her niche.

  I don’t know when we stop playing or call a truce. All I know is I am not forfeiting.

  I may lose; she may defeat me.

  And I have to accept those terms.

  But I may win more than just the battle. I may win the lustful, delirious gaze she gives every time I show up cloaked in armor—tactical or suit—and win the respect of the Lotus.

  And that makes calling my dad worth it.

  Cruz doesn’t see that.

  I get up, lock the door, and return to the chair. I notice an unusual teal colored paper in amongst the shipped goods and bills. I carefully pull it from the stack and notice the peculiar business name, KMH, Inc. in Florida. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but those are my deceased wife’s initials—Kacilyn Mae Hope. The enclosed check was worth a quarter mil. I snap a picture of the paper and return it as it was.

  With an eerie feeling, like I’m being watched, I shiver as my phone rings, and I jump. “Raniero.”

  “Same, son,” he chuckles. “Done.”

  “Do I want to know how?”

  “Old freebooter friends,” he chuckles. “When you coming back to the States?”

  “Soon,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “Look, Dad, I heard you’re having some trouble with RE. If you want me to take a look at things, I don’t mind. I know you won’t ask, but if there’s anything I can do, shoot me an email.”

  “Your sister...Mom,” he corrects grumbling. “Shit! Stella! She is putting your legacy six feet under.”

  Like fuck she is.

  “Reinstate my access to the system.”

  “I can do that,” he says. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I mutter, almost smiling. “And Dad, don’t tell anyone I’m coming back.”

  “I would never!” he heartily chuckles. “The surprise is the best part, but Stella is going to be pissed.”

  “I bet,” I snicker.

  “Oh, I meant to ask,” he says. “Do you know where Durante Costa is?”

  “Nah,” I snarl. “Probably in a hole somewhere.”

  “Well, he stole about ten mil from Torrente, and the kids are pissed. If you see him, put a bullet in his heart.”

  I’ll do one better, Dad.

  “Will do.”

  Now I know why Carlo had a hit out on him, and why Serene’s hired gun—a precious Buttercup—was in New York City.

  Only one question remains—who took the money and why?

  89

  Rats in Cages

  The Master

  Packing my bags for Dubai, I contemplate who had the means and mind to pickpocket ten million dollars from Carlo Torrente—because that was who the money belonged to. It’s not an easy feat, like swiping someone’s wallet. Big money requires a certain finesse that not many possess.

  Durante took his own sweet time, embezzling the funds over the years. The pro in question used a rapid snatch technique. Between grabbing items for the trip, I mentally compile the list.

  Stella Raniero.

  If the whole of Raniero Enterprises is on the fritz, she is a likely candidate, but I don’t think for one-second that she would bail out the family business with the money. That would be beneath her to figure out longterm sustenance. Better to cash out, spend it all, and worry about how to buy the next Dolce & Gabbana handbag when the credit card was denied.

  That is how she rolled.

  To each their own.

  Serene Cristos—I will never get used to this.

  She needs money even less than Stella, but it wouldn’t be about grab and go for her. It would be all about gloating with the knowledge that she did it. She thrived on a sense of accomplishment that was far superior to others. For all I knew, she still loved Delarte Cristos, and she was pissed about his marriage to Trudy Diaz.

  Worse consequences have happened for fewer infractions, so anything is possible. Still, I don’t like the word.

  Jas Torrente.

  He may be the least likely to have robbed Durante. Though I don’t doubt his ruthlessness, stealing money is not his gig. He doesn’t need it. He had a trust fund, and I’ve taken care of him because he worked his ass off after retiring from the SEALs. Jas is far more likely to have killed his father than stolen the money back.

  Not every killer is a thief; not every thief is a killer.

  And not to bring up the massive-(Nicky)-elephant, but just like murdering men aren’t his forte—swindling isn’t truly Jas.

  Vinny Veramonte.

  I only include him on the list because of the recent knowledge I have stumbled upon. He wants to leave the mafia unless working for his son—me. I wouldn’t think he needs the money, but he is a party boy with a gambling problem. So it’s plausible, albeit unlikely because I would see that as a misappropriation. He’d lose his growing relationship because I would lose all respect.

  Iris Nakamura Raniero.

  I have to consider her because she didn’t publicly display her attendance at the funeral. She kept herself hidden, distanced, and uninvolved as opposed to proclaiming—the Lotus is present. If I think purely about Rie Ford, then there is a chance she could’ve taken the money. Oink. Oink. However, aside from her checking in under Rie, she hasn’t been acting like a money-grubbing whore. She is far more polished than that.

  I finish tossing a few more items in the bag and stare at the boxes I bought to ship everything back home. I start folding the panels and zipping the tape roller across them when one name pops into my head that I hadn’t considered.

  Dale Archer.

  Broke, but not—at least if I trust Cristos. I wish we had some clue where all of his funds were and not just the money from Archer Agency and Cyclone Indies.

  With two large boxes sitting in the middle of the bedroom, I grab my notebook and a pencil, twist my hat around, and plop on my belly on the floor. I write out everyone’s name.

  “Is it coloring time?” Cruz asks with a grin. We hadn’t talked much since the fight last night. He pushes the box out of the way and crawls down on the floor, belly down, with me. “What’s with the diagram?”

  “Who stole the Torrente funds, and why?”

  He stares at the names. “Mark Iris off.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “Not a chance in fucking hell,” he contends. “She doesn’t need squat. She has all of Lotus plus all of Sal Raniero under her dress.”

  “I’d like to be under her dress,” I mumble, drawing a heart around her name. “What else?”

  “Kill orders on Cristos were from Serene and Carlo.”

  “Ya,” I say, staring at him.

  “There is one you don’t have on that list.”

  “Who?”

  “This is absolutely the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Amber squeals from the door. “Do I need to go make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, boys?”

  “Woot!” Cruz yells as I give him a high five. “Can we have sippy cups of chocolate milk too, Mama?”

  She rolls her eyes and flips him off. “I’m not a Mama now. And I’m never going to be a Mama.”

  “Bullshit!” I argue, tapping the pencil on the pad until Cruz presses his finger on it. “Mae thinks you’re her Mama.”

  “I’ll be back,” she says, dismissing the Mama notion with a wave. “I’m running downstairs to see what Ilaria can throw together for you two.”

>   She leaves the apartment, and he looks at me. “You don’t want to see it, but Jaid should be on there, especially if she isn’t getting her inheritance for another…what, seven years?”

  I scribble her name down. “Who else?”

  “Why do you want to find the money?” he inquires, studying. “You certainly don’t need it.”

  “Because whoever took it, can’t be trusted.”

  He eyes the list. “But do you think, Durante, stole it from Torrente to share with someone or to keep for himself?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “Durante could have been working with Stella, but if that’s the case, then I damn sure needed to make that phone call.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” he says. “I’m worried. We’ve got a lot of little fires. Where was Mass? Who took Torrente’s money? How do we get Mae away from Serene? What if someone posts bail on Nick?”

  “No one is posting bail on Nick unless they’re one sick motherfucker.”

  With a serious expression, he inquires, “And last but not least, why are you helping Rowan Tully?”

  I smirk and roll over on my back, looking at him upside down. “Because I want to see what she does with it. I want to see who she sells it to. I am calling it the Rowan Effect.”

  “Who do you have watching her?”

  “Niamh Byrne.”

  “You are one twisted son of a bitch,” he praises, touching my cheeks and running his finger over my eyebrows. “That’s almost genius.”

  “If I know who she is selling shit to, then I may get more intel. It may go to random clubs that I don’t give two shits about, and then again, she may sell it off to a bigger fish in the sea.”

  “Like?”

  I shrug. “Could be anyone.”

  “You have ideas, or you wouldn’t have a mousetrap.”

  “Jaid.”

  “You think she is still involved with Dale?” he asks, peering those blues into my soul. “Because if she is, we have a huge problem on our hands.”

  “Ya, because Archer isn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, and Jaid damn sure is. Serene and Cristos are both removing themselves from her, but one of them is lying. Serene is handing over her inheritance, not to Kade or the baby in her belly, Zachary, but Jaid. That seems weird to me.”