Deacon leans forward. “What happened?”
“Someone already has a bid on it,” I discouragingly mutter. “How the hell…”
“Damn, that was fast,” Deacon says, glaring at Sal. I do the same.
“What?” Sal shrugs as we persecute him with a scowl. “I didn’t do it. I’ve been a bit preoccupied. Typically, yes, I would’ve been on that shit in a heartbeat, but I’ve been a little off.”
Exactly what I said earlier.
7
Intoxicating Maeve
His Butterfly
The limousine barely pulls into the enormous lot as Sal suddenly barks, “Stop the car.”
“What are we doing?”
“Clearing our head and walking.”
Putting his sunglasses on, Deacon grabs his coat, opens the door, and steps out. Sal tosses on his in the car before following and waving to Dom and Nico strolling across the parking lot. I hand Sal’s trench coat to Deacon.
It’s all paced, methodical, routine. Deacon and I tango like an award-winning dance duo in caring for Sal because he’s the one who matters. Not me. Not Deacon.
This day...this time...is Sal’s to grieve.
“You ready, pretty?” Deacon peeks in the car and smiles.
Truth be told—no. I’m not ready, and I don’t know if I will ever be ready. I’m the girl everyone suspects of foul play. They won’t say it to my face, but the rumor mill is rife. The media is sprawling all over the lot as I slip my fingers into Deacon’s hand.
The boys are talking with Sal when I note Dom staring at the side of my dress where the fabric is noticeably darker. He steps closer and whispers, “Why are you wet?”
“Best not to ask,” I reply as he hugs me tight. “Sometimes—things—explode—in—vehicles—soda—tacos—”
“Penises,” he slyly whispers in my ear, and I blush.
“That too!” I laugh as Deacon helps me with the sable coat.
“They’re moving Dale later this afternoon,” Sal casually says to Nico as he shrugs on his trench coat. He looks like a Suit. I’m not really eavesdropping, so much as standing in the same space. “The rehab in Colorado will be good for him.”
“Is he any better?”
“Marginally, but that’s promising. A better sign than getting worse. How’s Mae?”
“Growing like a weed because Nicky won’t stop feeding her,” Dom says. “It may have only been a week, but I swear, she doubles in size every time I see her. I personally think she’s got eyes for Kade.”
“Is Serene here?”
“Yeah,” Nico says. “She’s inside with Trudy. They’re mingling.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance over to Deacon. He’s standing behind the cluster of us. His stance is one of protection, and he catches my curiosity, smirking with a nod. I grin as he gives a rare, full smile.
In three-inch heels, Trudy runs to see her son. She wraps her arms around him and smooches his face. “Are you flying back with Serene, Nicky, and me tonight?”
Wait. What?
You’re leaving?
I glance at Sal, talking shop with Dom, and I walk off feeling lost and alone. I barely make it five steps away before I feel the grasp of my elbow. I’m expecting it to be Cruz, but I face plant right into the man I love more than words.
“Why didn’t you tell me Deacon was leaving?”
His long lashes compel my attention to his emerald eyes. They’re fucking gorgeous on the somewhat cloudy day and holding the gloom of his soul close to his heart. “Because I knew you’d be upset.”
You’re damn right about that.
“So, this is it?”
My arms slide under the panels of his trench coat as he wraps his around me. I feel safe.
“Hardly,” Sal murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “It’s temporary, sweetheart.”
From his inside jacket pocket, he pulls out a phone. The screen is cracked. “It belonged to Nissa, and it’s time for Cruz to hear the contents.”
“Oh, my fucking God, you’re sending him home to start a war.”
“I’m sending him home to get his ass away from my family,” he says as I note the photogs are snapping pictures. I want to ask when I get to be away from his family, but I know better. I’m signing on the dotted line to become Mrs. Salvatore Raniero, and the only out clause is via Sal’s decision to leave. “Nicky, can you call security, please?”
Spotting the snap-happy cameramen, Deacon dodges between the rows of vehicles, taking the initiative to face-off with the media. “We have nothing to say,” he politely—loudly—voices at the half a dozen. “Please show the family some respect.”
“We want a statement from Iris!” I overhear one shout. “She’s the one everyone wants to talk to!”
I take two steps closer as Sal refuses to let me go, and I notice Trudy moving to be parallel with me. She won’t let me go at them alone.
“Why is his lover here? We need a comment from her! Will Sal Raniero be marrying Iris? And is he aware of the dowry the Nakamura family has promised her betrothed?”
“Bastards,” Trudy grumbles. “Why are they doing this today? Shouldn’t they be covering the puke stains from last night’s revelry?”
“Hey,” I yell as Deacon, and the circus turns to look at me. “You want a comment from me?” I lift my middle finger high in the air. I hear Sal snickering behind Deacon and me, and he shakes his head with a grin.
Is he actually blushing?
“Thatagirl!” Trudy praises as the security team and police arrive to remove them off the property. “Don’t let them fuck with our girl, Sal.”
“No, ma’am.”
“She has every right to be here,” Trudy says, angrily. “They have no idea what Cesario has put you two through.”
It’s strange to have Trudy Diaz’s support, but I welcome it. She’s a tough old broad, fit for the mayhem of their misbehavior. I will eternally be the quiet nerd, assessing everyone around me.
“I don’t understand why they want to talk to me.”
“What dowry?” Sal asks, dumbfounded as I peer to the church. “Iris Amarie…”
“Today isn’t the day to discuss this, Lucas.”
“Baby,” he says, wrapping his arms around me again. “It isn’t about whatever is included in that compensation package. This is about pissing a whole lot of people off. If they think I am marrying you for some dowry…”
“It’s worth several billion, Sal.” His eyes shut as I confess the truth. “You had to know I was coming into this marriage with baggage.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” he maintains, holding me. I hear my phone buzzing in my pocket. “I’m not with you because of whatever gifts you come with.”
“I know,” I say. “Excuse me, one second, that may be my sofu.”
“Snow Rose?”
“… Mack?” On one word, Sal’s eyes turn a brilliant shade of ebony emerald. His jawline tightens, and his frame threatens to engulf me.
“We need to talk. I need a truce,” he implores. “I need you to call off your hounds so I can tell you something urgent.”
“Where are you?”
“Inside the church.”
My mouth gapes from his audacity. “You’re either the stupidest man on the planet, or I’m in real trouble.”
“This is real, Iris,” Mack desperately pleads. “And I have one of the leaders of Kill Rat with me.”
“Kill Rat,” I mumble as Sal’s eyes bug out, and he motions for everyone to come closer. “I had nothing to do with the shooting.”
“I know you didn’t, and so does she.”
I turn away from the boys, but it does no good as Dom and Sal move to stand in front of me. I feel Deacon’s hands on my shoulders. He’s preparing to throw me to the ground and fall on top of me because this is how we live now—dodging bullets and random attacks.
“… She?”
“Maeve McPhail.”
“Oh my God…he had a daughter…why would I want to meet the g
irl whose father died?”
Dom lifts his hand, telling me to stay calm, but I want to scream at all The Unholy—I have got this shit.
“Can you come inside?”
Without anyone prompting me, I reply, “It’s better if you come outside.” Trudy gives a distinct nod to me. “We can privately discuss your issues in the limo.”
She gives a thumbs-up, attempting to coach me along, but what she doesn’t seem to realize is I don’t need any coaching. I spent years with my grandfather’s training on these very things. I’m the calmest in the bunch.
“Is Sal going to coldcock me?”
“Come outside. I promise Sal will not be laying a hand on you.” I give a harsh glare to the man I love. “But hurry. The funeral is in…”
Picking up the beat of our rhythm, Deacon whispers in my ear, “Forty-five minutes.”
“Half an hour,” I say to Mack on the phone. “And I won’t be late.”
I end the call, and Sal says nothing. He is fuming, popping his jaw and glaring at everyone as Deacon steps up. “You need to calm down, bro.”
Oh, God. He’s going to bite Deacon’s head off. Here we go.
“Mack Larrabee? Today? Now?”
Honestly, I’m not in the mood for a spat, and he shouldn’t be either. His fiancée is about to be buried. “Irish. Kill Rat. The daughter…of the fucking priest,” I seethe, ready to fight, and defend my position as the future of Lotus. “Don’t fuck with me on this.”
I pivot away, heading for the limo as Sal grabs me. “I need in on this conversation.”
“Really?” I admonish. “After you speak to me like I caused this? You don’t need in on this conversation. You want in on this conversation to start shit with Mack. You’ve got some nerve, Raniero.”
“It is my job to keep you safe.”
“There is a direct conflict of interest in this regard.”
“Iris,” Sal begs on the verge of a tantrum. “Please…”
Always the mediator, Deacon moves to stand between us. “I hate to agree with Sal, but in this case, especially with your history with Mack, you need someone in the car with you.”
Trudy wedges in on the other side, across from Deacon. “You have five people who can get in that limo with you. Just take one,” she suggests. “It doesn’t have to be Sal.”
“Then, it’s you.”
“You’re taking Trudy?” Sal booms as Deacon and Trudy’s expressions shift into one of astonishment—why not Trudy?
“Dominic, control him,” Trudy scolds, latching her arm into mine as she and Deacon flank me, and we walk towards the limo. “You need to ignore Sal today.”
“I know,” I whisper as Deacon laces his fingers into mine. “I’m very aware he isn’t okay.”
“No, he’s hurting.”
We reach the limousine, and I turn back to see Sal, sitting on the curb, rocking, and smoking a cigarette. He looks like a little boy dressed in a man’s clothes. “He just wants to protect me.”
“That is all he ever wants,” Deacon confides. “He just gets lost...frequently...often...all the damn time.”
I twist out of the sable coat and put it in Deacon’s hands as the short distance between Sal, and I seems to take forever. Dom notices my determined stride, prompting Sal to turn. His eyes are a mess of aching sadness, forlorn, and longing to make amends.
“If you lay one hand on Mack, I will have your dick clamped tight in a cockring for six months. Do you understand me?”
Dom snickers. “Got to love alpha subs.”
“This isn’t alpha sub; this is business. I am the Lotus Queen and this is insider intel, Salvatore Raniero. However, I am trusting you—one time—to not fuck me over. Don’t fucking blow this.”
Staying on the curb, Sal mutters, “Yes, Ma’am. I am not asking for my own business but to honor my promise to The Chairman. I swore to protect you. Let me do that. But if he pulls a gun…”
“You blow his fucking head off,” I answer, filling in the blanks and extending my hand. “Like the badass motherfucker you are.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He winks, humoring me. We’re strolling back to the limo when he says, “McPhail had a daughter?”
“Kettles!”
I quickly turn to see Mack and a very short woman—I’m barely 5’2,” and she’s shorter than me. Dom and Nico have hands on their guns, and I do not doubt that behind me, Deacon is preparing to aim.
“Holy shit!” the girl mutters. “You’re her!”
She lowers to her knees. “I am Maeve Rowan Tully. And you’re Iris Nakamura!”
I glance at Sal, who is as bewildered as I am. “Maeve?”
“Call me, Rowan.” I extend my hand and she kisses my fingers. “You’re royalty in the criminal underworld. And I come before you meaning no harm or ill-will, merely to warn you of an impending strike against Lotus and your…” Mack bumps into her leg. “Idiot boyfriend.”
“I’m not an idiot.” With a smirk, Sal adds, “Not all the time.”
Rising, Rowan argues, “If you do not marry your princess soon, you are a fucking idiot.”
“That’s worse than an idiot,” Sal says.
“Yes, indeed.”
With a little unease, I blush as Sal shakes Rowan’s hand and then offers his to Mack as well. “Come to my limousine, and let’s discuss your problems.”
I hear Sal mumble to Mack. “It’s not her limo.”
“Oh, I know,” Mack chuckles.
And then Sal says the words I never expected. “I’m sorry I went crazy on you at Juliet.”
“I’ve gotten used to being your punching bag, Sal,” Mack chides. “It’s all good. Thank you for meeting us. I am genuinely sorry for your loss.”
“I know, so am I.”
Ouch.
8
In It Until Peru
The Master
“We’re having breakfast tomorrow morning, Sal,” Mama says in the vestibule as I occupy my eyes by staring at Iris’ sexy shoes. They’re almost drool-worthy.
God, I want to undo them with my teeth.
These are the thoughts I have moments before burying my bride-to-be.
I’ve been focused on those sinfully wicked things since we left the limo. The four Unholy strode in a compass rose formation around Trudy, Iris, Rowan, and Mack.
I was on the right side; Deacon on the left. That bastard Dom stole my fedora and got rearview of my girl’s ass in that dress because she refused to put her coat back on.
Fucker.
“Sal?” Mama questions, snapping me out of my Iris-induced trance. “Answer me.”
“Yes, I got your text message.”
I just ignored it because I was in the bathtub masturbating.
“You need to come alone.”
But coming together is so much more…fun.
I roll my eyes and peer to Iris talking to Kali Ose and Ho Hardone. Propping against the wall between Iris and me, Deacon waits for something ominous to occur. On the opposite side of him, Swain Mo stands guard, ready to attack.
The agitation in mother’s… Lucilla’s voice...intensifies, “Did you hear me, Salvatore?”
“Yes, Mama, I will be there,” I mumble, watching the people trickling in to pay their respects. “Excuse me.”
Mob funerals are a curious thing. People show up to toss their chips in, hoping to earn respect or permission or a signature on a loan. They’re never small functions. They’re never dull.
Emily wasn’t mob.
But she might as well have been.
I notice Pico, Zach, and Zeke, but Delarte Cristos is nowhere to be found. Members of the Smith family are present. The Grangers are here. Anna is talking with Cesario. Vinny is keeping his distance along with Massimiliano Vidal.
Rowan is soaking it all up, like a good little wannabe felon. I’m a bit in shock she revealed everything she did, but she is trying to defend what is rightfully hers. Mama is with Aunt Michelle and her daughter, my cousin…er, my only true half-sister, Fran,
is checking out my girl.
My sisters are now my Aunts…except for one…does she earn simultaneous titles of Aunt and mother now? How exactly does this work when you’re the product of an illicit, incestuous romance? And how did Stella and Vinny manage to pull it off for all those years?
Birthdays for their son…
Christmas’ for their son…no wonder we had to wait to open presents until Vinny arrived.
The Commission invitation for their son.
God, fuck, they must have been so proud.
I’m not being sarcastic either.
The Commission is an exclusive, coveted brotherhood. For lifetime mafioso, it is the Holy Grail. And their son got accepted.
My uncle fucked his niece and made me.
Help.
And on that note, I need a drink and a smoke, but I’ll have to settle for just the latter until after the ceremony because I promised Deacon I wouldn’t get loaded for this soirée. I promised to be good and do what was expected of me. I am a respected member of The Commission. I need to uphold the status. I walk past Deacon and Swain and discreetly grab Iris’ ass.
I boldly sniff her hair and whisper in her ear, “This is mine, later.”
She grins and grabs my hand as I walk away, separating us. I open the side door to a courtyard that allows smoking. I quickly light a cigarette, not noticing the woman sitting on the bench in the small alcove of the building. I do a double-take.
The woman is my biological mother.
Half of her built me.
The emotion is too much—which is saying a lot for me. The whole idea is wigging me out and causing a noticeable internal twitch. Tears fill my eyes. I take a single step closer, believing I can handle the pain.
“Don’t be shy,” she says, avoiding looking at me. “We aren’t strangers.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I mutter, conflicted. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
“Lucas,” she pleads, focusing on the ground. “Don’t be sorry ever.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 6
