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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

And this is why Dom strategically placed Deacon Cruz with Sal Raniero. He wanted Sal not to fear anyone—Suits, bikers, drug dealers in swamps, little Asian mafia dolls with a vendetta—they were all part of a more powerful lesson to embrace the person, not the package, which made Sal who he is today.

  He dominates the coveted invisible power.

  He blinks with astonishment. “Is this true, girls?”

  “I’ve known since Kaci told me,” Jaid confesses. “It was part of the reason Sal’s file stood out the way it did. She wanted to expose it all.”

  “Did you do it, Priscilla?”

  “No, Papa,” she says, glancing down. “I didn’t do it. I have done many things wrong, but this...” She breaks, crying hard. “This is not something that I would’ve done.”

  Says the woman who tied a man to a bed and forced herself upon him for a week.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Madeline implores. “I want to see some evidence.”

  “We have all of the phone records from your house in Berlin to Kate’s house in Sugargrove,” I elaborate. “Which one of you bitches is lying to me?”

  Cristos lays his hand on my arm. “We have to go.”

  “I am not leaving.”

  “You do not have a choice,” he insists, gently tugging on my arm. “We can only hold the fortress for so long.”

  “Are you aware who my husband is, Delarte?”

  “And I promised you would be okay.”

  “I am in no grave danger,” I cattily reply. “If either pulls a weapon, Deacon Cruz annihilates both.”

  Gazing up, Jaid asks, “… Deacon is here?”

  I swing the gun at her. “Don’t even think about it, cunt. You had your chance. You fucked up. You’re done.”

  Taking two steps closer, Madeline reprimands, “This is insanity!”

  I fire a warning shot. “I wouldn’t underestimate me.”

  Cristos bravely leans closer and kisses my cheek. “Don’t kill the one you know will fight for the Queen, Iris.”

  I slightly shift my gaze to him. “I wanted to kill you for bankrolling the shit CAE did to me.”

  “Do you still?”

  “If I kill everyone that dropped money into that offertory, I will spend the rest of my life hating,” I admit, finding forgiveness. “But I cannot forget the things one of these girls has done. One of them ordered my grandmother to be slaughtered. They called Kate, she agreed, and it was done all to cause disruption and turmoil. Like any of us need any more of that.”

  “Good luck, Iris,” he whispers. “I do not envy you, child.”

  “Thank you,” I kindly reply. “I am killing one of your daughters.”

  “When you’re done, kill my son.”

  Jaid sniffles as the tears stream down her cheeks. Madeline’s jaw tightens as she lays her hand on the vest where her brother carved angel wings.

  Without another word, Cristos disappears into the helicopter as Jaid asks, “Who do you think did it?”

  “I think you are in deep with Serene and using her as a shield, and you told Nicky to attack Madeline to silence her efforts with Kate because we were hot on your trail.”

  “Sal’s been with you the whole time?”

  “It’s none of your concern. Madeline failed to heed the warning. You were running out of time before we found out everything, so you sent him after Wendy. You wanted to eliminate as much competition as you could to get to the throne.”

  “… Like you did?”

  With a searing gaze, I rebuke, “I haven’t harmed anyone in my family.”

  “Bullshit,” she scoffs. “We all know that’s a lie.”

  “Iris, do it!” Madeline begs as I stare at Jaid with the barrel pointed in her direction. She is a Cristos. Cunning. Beautiful. Deadly. “You’ve got a chance to get out of this!”

  “Stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs, wishing for the chaos to end. My hand instinctively grabs for my belly. “There is only one I listen to!”

  “Kaci wanted you for him,” Jaid whispers in the softest tone. “She needed you to be his saving grace.”

  “And who will be mine?” I shout as the helicopter’s engine starts. “Tell me who is going to save me!”

  The Saint in the bird.

  The Devil sent his Saint to save his Angel.

  “The battles are for the boys, but the wars are mother against mother as it has always been,” Madeline persists. “You aren’t ever going to find harmony in a position of power.”

  Jaid blinks with a pleading in her eyes. “My baby…”

  “The baby you conceived during a rape!” I roar fuming. “You tortured and starved Deacon for a week!”

  “And I went down for ninety days, and Sal never came!”

  “Because he knew it was a load of shit!” I challenge. “Why would he want to save a girl who he knew put herself in that position?”

  “Wicked secrets are spoken in the darkest of night,” Madeline pleads. “Lukas is a heretic, a spawn of a Cruz and a Cristos! Kill her, Iris!”

  Tears stream down my face as my finger shakes against the trigger. The begging in Jaid’s eyes traumatizes every instinct I have. She is the mother of Deacon Cruz’s baby.

  With desperation, Madeline shouts, “Kill her, Iris! Do it, or she will destroy you, your husband, and your unborn child!”

  I have heard enough.

  “This is a one Queen world, bitch.”

  I fire a single shot, landing in Madeline Grace.

  “You did it.” Jaid trembles at the monster I’ve become. “Why did you choose her?”

  “Because no child is a heretic,” I mutter, staring vacantly at the ground. “I suggest you leave before I decide Lukas deserves a better mother.”

  “I’m getting on the plane with my father,” she says, walking past me. “I am sorry, Iris.”

  “You ever come near my husband again, and I will skin you alive.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  I need a cigarette, a stiff drink, and an illicit night under my husband’s strict hand.

  I step away from the helicopter, watching as Cristos and his daughter prepare to leave. I pull out the second part of the letter from Sal explaining all of it.

  I inhale the scent of the paper and burn his words in the fire pit before anointing my bare feet, dipping my toes in the water.

  I am lost in his flames.

  The wife of a Nero.

  The blinding memory flashes a bright strobe in the darkened forest of my recollections. The skeletons nimbly march with the heavy din of footsteps in the debris as I stay eclipsed in the shadows. With my toes sluicing in the sloshy mud of minutes passed, I reconcile the heartache and vow to hire a therapist to be accountable for the registry of my grievances.

  The scars won’t be forgotten.

  My hair blusters around in the whip whirl of the helicopter blades as it launches into the sky. I drop the gun to the ground with a heavy thud. My head lowers with regret, knowing I should’ve begged for transport away from this gruesome place.

  This dark jungle is infesting me.

  The memories relentlessly hunt, coursing over my body, tearing at my flesh, and impacting my heart with punctuated jabs.

  I cannot escape.

  When the beast hovers overhead with those who departed, I spot the passenger who exited upon arrival. The black ball cap restricts the movement of his delicate tendrils, just like he prohibits my disappearance.

  They will not get out of this alive. They will be ripped apart, shredded by sharks, as saltwater pours into the wounds and tenderizes the meat to be fed to gators in the swamps. And I will be forgotten—left to die—withering in the sun, the decomposition hastened by the elements.

  A rotting flower.

  X

  East of Eden

  November 2019

  PART II

  96

  Facts of the Actual Event

  His Butterfly

  “Where would you like me to go?” Amber asks as the plane touche
s down in Gifu.

  My homeland.

  But not my home.

  “I would like you to go to Texas,” I say, clutching the armrest. “And throw together a nursery.”

  “You want me to be an interior decorator for a baby we don’t know the sex of?”

  “… Please?”

  She holds up a finger. “Don’t say yellow.”

  “If I don’t say buttercream, will you agree?”

  “Yes,” she says with a smile. “But I know nothing about the Swamp Shack.”

  From my purse, I pull out the keys and toss them to her. “These will help you break-in.”

  “So, I am busting into Deacon Cruz’s residence to build a nursery?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What if he catches me?”

  “He’ll frisk you down, handcuff your wrists, and hose you down with his gun,” I snark. “Basically, your sex life with Cruz on any given day.”

  She grins and shakes her head. “I don’t know if I hate you or love you most days.”

  “You love me.”

  Her eyes roll up as she nods, and her grin expands. “Probably. And if I see Jaid?”

  “You aren’t going to see anyone.”

  “Let them refuel the jet and go,” I urge.

  “Are you going to be okay here?”

  “I’m in Japan!”

  “You’re also the most feared cartel leader in the world now, Lotus,” she reminds. “That doesn’t come without serious risk, and you are pregnant.”

  “When did Amber Rosen, whore galore, become so compassionate?”

  “It’s probably hormones,” she says as my eyes widen.

  “… How far?”

  “Not at all!” she reassures. “God, no! The river runs red.”

  “Go decorate!” I encourage giggling. “If you find something you like, buy it. Don’t think. Buy!”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Feeling Goblin kick, I instinctively lay my hand on my belly. I don’t know if Cruz has told her that he’s snipped. I found out in the dead of night after he asked for eggs. He confided the entire assault through the gruesome details that no one—man or woman—should ever have to endure.

  If Amber becomes pregnant, the most likely to be the father is Sal. I’m pretty confident I’ve been screwing around a hell of a lot more than she has. I try not to think about the affairs, but it stings like a burning wound somewhere in my black heart. I won’t ever stop him, so I bandage it the same way.

  I am not sure he’ll ever stop me.

  A vicious, never-ending circle of infidelity.

  Separating the physical from the emotional and crossing our fingers that no one gets hurt. I do something, and he reacts; he does something, and I react. We cut deep, aiming to harm, and upping the ante until it’s no longer worth playing because one of us is depleted.

  I long for intimacy with my husband that I have found in Cruz. I want to believe Sal is my best friend, and I will even claim such. I don’t know if he is. I don’t know if we can be, so I sent the message ending our relationship.

  “You scared me,” I whisper. “I was starting to think there was something in the water.”

  “Have you been around them?”

  I laugh. “Not lately.”

  The plane stops on the tarmac, and I spot the limousine and two SUVs waiting for me. “What’s wrong, Iris?”

  “Nothing,” I say, feeling a little lost. “I miss Sal. Home. You know.”

  “You’ll be home soon,” she contends, staying positive. “What are you going to do if Keishi won’t give you Lotus?”

  “I’ve more than proven myself capable of taking the helm once and for all,” I reply, wobbling up. She reaches to help me. “I left everything south of the border in complete disarray. I may have to usurp his ass.”

  “You’re so fucking sexy when you do that,” she admits, diving her tongue in my mouth. Her gentle kiss is sweet and the perfect refresher to finish this. “You give me a boner, Iris Raniero.”

  “Lady kind?”

  “I have a deep emotional connection to my toys,” she says with a straight face. “It is an honor to be by your side.”

  I grab her crotch. “Keep your dick out of Hannah Cruz.”

  “Maybe I’ll make her paint,” she ponders. “In a thong or something.”

  “That is something I would do,” I concede. “This is Lotus-approved.” I kiss her cheeks and lips once more. “Be good, Amber.”

  “I love you, baby girl.”

  “Boom!” I wink and blow her a kiss as I carefully descend the steps.

  “Welcome home, Lotus,” the driver says, opening the door to the limousine. I roll inside and spot the middle-aged furry man sitting with a frolicsome smirk.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I sass, not giving one iota if I come across rude. “Besides a man who needs to shave?”

  He offers his burly, stained hand to me. “I am Nero Berk Polat, Ms. Nakamura.”

  “Well, you got the last part right.”

  “Where did you come from?” I ask. I am staying at the minka because I refuse to be waited on hand and foot by one hundred servants. I might murder them all in my current state because I want to be left alone.

  For all I know, I may kill the fine-looking man shaving his beard while I sit on the counter. It took some maneuvering to get my big bad ball of a baby up here.

  “Morocco.”

  I pucker my lips, pouting at Sal’s unwillingness to just let me go. He most assuredly received my text message and ignored it. Fucker. I’ll use his bodyguard on his dime, no problem. With hesitation, I sigh, “I assume my husband hired you.”

  “I asked him to avenge my children’s deaths by killing two Montesino family members,” he informs, cleaning the straight razor under the water. “He has more than fulfilled his obligation, so I shall fulfill mine.”

  I scrutinize over the man. He’s rugged, built like a tank, and I have no doubt—deadly. “Which is?”

  He scrapes the razor on his cheeks. “Your new bodyguard. Clean cut?”

  “Give me that damn thing.”

  “He said you were skilled with sharp objects,” he informs, moving between my legs, which is awkward but necessary. “I hope he wasn’t lying.”

  “No, Sir,” I reply, continuing to trim his beard to a more manageable size, as opposed to his methodology of covering his cheeks in nail glue and pile driving into a brown bear, ripping out its fur, and believing this is a socially acceptable form of facial hair. I feel his steady gaze on me. “What?”

  “You’re Japanese.”

  “Half,” I readily admit.

  “… And?”

  I smile. “English.”

  “My wife was French and Spanish.”

  “Was?”

  “She was taken by the Montesinos along with my four-year-old twins when I was doing contract work for them. We found the remains of the children, but not my wife.”

  “The hit was for you?”

  “More or less, in part, I am sure,” he mutters. “There were other reasons. We need new blood.”

  “Mr. Polat…”

  “Call me, Berk.”

  “Berk, eighteen people died in Rio. More than half of those were Montesino,” I say, stopping my crafty hair project. “If you need me to send in more for a complete mop-up, I will do it.”

  He gives a melancholy smirk. “He said you were good to those you cared about, and a wretched bitch to those you hate.”

  “I do not fuck around.” I take a breath, easing the tension. “Do you have a file on your wife?”

  “I do,” he says.

  “Can you send it to me?”

  “Of course,” he tenderly replies. “Thank you for everything, Iris.” His finger tucks under my chin. “Thank you for avenging my family. I will serve you and yours for the rest of my days.”

  The Master

  In the darkened living room of my apartment, I listen to Gabe imparting his version of the story—from Muerte�
��s abduction at the gala to the mass shooting led by his men at the Montesino mansion. We’ve been on the phone for four hours as I transcribe the details. I’ve got thirty-two pages of documentation just from Gabe.

  Dante won’t be nearly as forthcoming because we’re not nearly as close as Gabe and me. Gabe is like my homeboy, and we talk all the damn time; Dante is more like a fierce rival—he knows of my existence, and I am aware of his, but we don’t shoot the shit.

  Father is in the ICU.

  Madeline is dead.

  Crazy fetish killer/rapist is out on bail.

  Ma isn’t speaking to me.

  Master kicked my ass outta the nest.

  And said, “Fly, boy!”

  After the shooting, I expected my pregnant wife to run away. It’s her thing.

  Chaos erupts, and she flees.

  I have come to think of it as her fight/flight response kicking in; it’s survivalist, much like Cruz, and at one point, I liked to run away.

  Part of the enjoyment in our mafia game is anticipating the opponent’s next move. I knew Iris would bolt, so I sent Amber to pick her up in Rio. I called Sato and arranged for the Lotus jet, knowing she would want to fly to Japan and make a final plea to The Chairman after the shooting.

  What happened south of the border was a series of cascading dominoes, one crashing into the other. No one planned that outcome. I mean, maybe Muerte did, but certainly not Iris or me. She was a ruthless Queen, but hitting a place with children? Not her thing.

  She had to be freaking post-shooting.

  I reacted accordingly and sent Berk Polat as her new bodyguard. She probably cursed my name, but I don’t care. She needs a rabid, frothing wolf, smacking its fearsome jaws like Berk Polat.

  He was hungry, and I needed a ravenous motherfucker because Iris was twelve handfuls of trouble.

  Did I mention—I’m fucking crazy about that girl?

  If that’s not enough—Cruz broke up with me via a fucking text message sitting open on my iPad.

  “Everything I did, I did for you. The lies. The deceit. The killing. I know you are mad. And I also know we are through. I can’t stay. And I won’t raise my baby in your world.