Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “You mean like she did to you?” she snickers, shaking her head. “She must be a black widow.” Her defense comes on suddenly like a random hail storm. “And I’m not sure I want her with my brother.”

  The pieces of the puzzle fall, drifting from the sky, and landing, fitting snugly into place. They went back and modified Iris. I always logically assumed CAE went in order from v1.0, v1.5 with the added software, and then to v2.0. I have them reversed. They built v1.0, then v2.0, and then went back to modify Iris.

  Of course, I cannot ask Atticus Huit this now.

  “She isn’t going after Deacon.”

  “Huh…”

  I sway my lips against hers in an epic Raniero-tongue-lashing. “She’s going after Diablo…”

  Hastily, I get up out of bed and grab my phone. “Wait…you can’t kiss me like that and leave.

  “Hannah Cruz, I am in love with you, and I will be back, but I have to go warn your brother,” I hastily say, dipping down and kissing her lips again. “Maybe Atticus lied.”

  “About…”

  “Who was set to destroy who,” I theorize, walking for the door. Without thinking, I order, “Don’t touch my kitty.”

  “… Your?”

  “Pussy…it’s mine.”

  She sits up and asks, “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  54

  Carry Me

  The Master

  On the conference call with Georgia, Jaid, Dom, and Deacon, I make my argument downstairs in the den. We talk for hours until the pink crests over the horizon, signaling the dawn of a new day.

  “Let’s assume for half a second that you are right,” Dom says. “Where are we going to find Diablo?”

  “We cannot find him,” Georgia informs, tapping her nails. “We have tried for years.”

  “Because he’s hiding,” Jaid snickers. “But not from us…”

  “No, he’s hiding from Iris,” Deacon says as I try not to twitch to the sound of his gravelly pipes. He sounds so damned good. I miss everything about him. “We need to find her.”

  With barely a whisper, I ask, “Will she talk to you?”

  I hear his breath, and I know he missed me. He longs for my shelter because we aren’t just two guys messing around. He is in love with me—romantic, tragic, and blissful love. He growls, “Doubtful.”

  “She’s looking for you, though,” I contend, cracking my knuckles. “Or…she was a week ago.”

  “No, she’s looking for Noah,” Georgia cites with fear in her voice. “The plane just landed in Alaska.”

  “Fuck!” I grip my hair, frantically pacing. “She’s going to get killed.”

  “Put up an ad all over the Gray Market,” Jaid suggests. “A million for information concerning or pertaining to the whereabouts of CAE.”

  “Is that all?” Georgia replies. “We’re putting up a wanted poster?”

  “Yeah,” she confirms. “I’m contacting everyone I can in Entropy—Henney and Bertie. I can call Iris, but I doubt she will respond.” Jaid contends. “But Sal, I don’t think Iris is set on destroying anyone. She wants to eliminate CAE. I cannot go to Alaska. It stands to be rough terrain.”

  Dom casually inquires, “… Why?”

  “Because I’m three months pregnant with Abel’s baby,” she whispers. “And I won’t risk it.”

  I smile. “Congratulations, Prissy.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t apologize to me,” I say. “Is it going to stop you from running my shit?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’ll go to Alaska,” Deacon volunteers as Skeeter appears in the door. “But it won’t be pretty or nice, and I’m going to need someplace to bring her back to.”

  “Take her to the safe house you’re in,” I say. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

  “Other than the elimination of Angelo Gennaro,” Dom says. “Iris hasn’t shown herself to be particularly inclined to having truly violent outbursts.”

  “The catfight with Rowan at Juliet,” Deacon mutters. “The hit she issued on Kill Rat in Houston.”

  “Isolated incidents,” Dom replies. “It’s not her style. Do we know the location of Navarro or Amber yet?”

  I am not sure I agree with Dom on this one.

  Iris isn’t running around with pink ruffles sul culo…

  Old Poppa used to tease my sisters about their ruffles on the ass dresses. He was always blending his English and Italian and leaving yours truly with a mishmash of hybridization.

  “Negative, but looking, Good Sir,” Georgia says, pecking away.

  “We need her in our possession because she knows something,” Dom adds. “Just like McPhail did.”

  Exhaling on his smoke, Deacon questions, “What happened when McPhail died?”

  “Kill Rat lost their rep,” I answer. “Quinn made the deal for McPhail to marry me many years ago.”

  Deacon asks, “Why?”

  “That’s a damn good question.”

  “Dom you poke around and see if you can get any leads on where Amber is,” Georgia directs, handing out assignments. “Jaid, see if you can get a hold of Iris. I’m going to be monitoring Iris. And Deacon, go to the mountains.”

  “I’m already in the mountains.”

  “I’m out, guys,” Jaid says. “I’ve got calls to make and a Lotus to chat up.”

  “… Is her tracker still pinging?” I ask.

  “No, she went offline on February 16.”

  I stroke my goatee. “What time?”

  “4:17, in the afternoon,” Georgia quickly responds. “That would be central time, Sir.”

  “What the hell?” Deacon asks. “How is that even possible?”

  “Holy shit,” I mumble as I know, we’re thinking the same thing. “We were in the bedroom…”

  “I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Georgia interjects. “But if you continue, I will require details.”

  “She took her tracker out before R&T,” Deacon suggests. “Which must mean, she knew she was leaving. I hate it when she does this shit.”

  “Boys, Kali Ose just sent a message,” Dom solemnly says. “Iris is alone.”

  “Great, she’s running willy nilly,” I complain. “I’ll call Masa so we can avoid any fallout with The Chairman.”

  “The Unholy is supposed to be leading security,” Dom reprimands. “We’ve successfully fucked that up.”

  Georgia questions, “Is Lotus aware of the CAE?”

  “Yes!” Deacon and I simultaneously answer.

  “Shit!”

  “Check the cameras at my house!” I panic as Skeet comes closer. She doesn’t smile or speak, but she sits on the arm of the sofa.

  “They have been down for two years since the vandalism, Sal.”

  “Check them anyway!” I yell, beyond frustrated. “I need to know if she…”

  “Um, I stand corrected,” she confirms my worst fears as I crouch to the floor. Skeet lays her hand on my shoulder. “They’ve been up since the day after the shooting.”

  “She saw us,” I mumble in disbelief. “She fucking watched everything…”

  “That would require access codes,” Georgia academically points out. “Holy mother! I never imagined that much male could have this effect on me!”

  Dom snorts.

  “Georgia!” Deacon fiercely scolds. “Do not watch that!”

  “Sorry!” she sighs. “My eyes will never be the same.”

  With a threatening bite, Deacon barks, “Georgia!”

  “Sorry, Sir!”

  “Sal, talk to Quinn. Don’t kill him,” Dom warns, saving the discussion from Deacon and I going at it on my marital bed. “We might need him.”

  “I guess that depends on what he says.” With a tremble in my hands, I request, “Deacon, stay on the line for a second.”

  I check the phone, and when I’m confident we’re alone, I ask, “Can I take Skeet and go stay at the swamp?”
>
  “Of course, babe!” With a cackle, he teases, “Fix it up while you’re there!”

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  “… Nero?”

  “Ya?”

  “You don’t even have to ask me if you can go stay at the shack,” he tenderly notes. “Hug my sister. And Sal?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Don’t let anything hurt her…or you.”

  “I won’t,” I promise, reaching up to hold Skeet’s hand. “Find her.”

  “I’m not leaving Alaska without her.”

  We hang up, and I break down. I fall on my ass, and Skeet wraps her arms around me. “What can I do for you?”

  “Get our shit packed and get us moved to the Swamp Shack.”

  She nods. “Anything else?”

  “The big ass Kenyan male who will be there belongs to me.”

  “Swain Moe,” she announces with a smile. “I’ll charm him.”

  I stop and give a bewildered stare. “… Do you pay attention to everything?”

  “Everything concerning you,” she whispers, holding me close. “And I’m in love with you too.” I sob like a baby in her arms. “I’m going to get you some coffee. You take a shower.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “… For?”

  “Being you,” I reply.

  “He’s going to find her,” she reassures with a smile. “And heaven help her when he does.”

  I gaze up. “How do you know?”

  “He’s a Cruz,” she maintains. “We never quit.”

  I leave the F-250 with Skeet because it’s the biggest vehicle I own. I may need to do something about that. With my ass on one of Deacon’s old rides, I kiss her in the driveway as she lays her hand on my chest.

  “Why are you carrying?”

  “Because I’m Sal Raniero.”

  “Fair enough.” With her light, playful attitude, she teases, “You know how to shoot that thing?”

  “Baby, I know how to shoot many things.”

  I take the backroads because I’m not in the mood to wave or be friendly. I’m too worried about Cruz and the foreboding Alaskan frontier, and the sick twist in it—all I can do is hope.

  I cannot do anymore other than what I am.

  Pulling into the church parking lot, I light a smoke and prepare to clip Quinn’s wings as Mass revs his sports car behind me. “Get in.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “Just get in, Raniero.”

  There are times when hitmen should not get in other hitmen’s cars. I have good respect for Massimiliano Vidal, and I don’t think he would cross the line. He was honest before the wedding, and I have no gut reason to believe he is out to kill me.

  An assassination would break the code of The Commission.

  That’s not to say it hasn’t happened, but it is rare.

  And Mass seems to have eons of respect for the house that built him.

  We pull around to the back lot, but he says nothing until we stop. “Dom called. Said you had questions about McPhail.”

  “I want to know why the exchange for Altromessa to McPhail was ever made. There must be a reason. Was Kill Rat coming after us?”

  “No,” he says. “McPhail and Altromessa were acting on behalf of Sanctum.”

  “Why?” Looking out the windshield, I snicker, “Did Altromessa do a wedding mass in Ireland?”

  “McPhail found out about Stella and Vinny. Their illicit relationship and the coverup,” he informs, running his finger along the steering wheel. “He wanted to sell the knowledge to earn money for Kill Rat. He found a buyer in Angelo Gennaro, who hoped to cause strife amongst the Eastern seaboard.”

  “Shit,” I grumble. “I’m starting to regret these two ever hooked up.”

  “Sanctum found out about the deal between McPhail and Gennaro and promised a coveted Boston spot in Sanctum to McPhail if he would back out of the deal. He agreed to both. Sanctum found out, and they waited twenty-eight years to issue the retribution hit.”

  “Dishonorable.”

  “Yes,” he says. “And because you could shift the balance, Sanctum wanted to hold power for themselves,” he informs. “What happened at the church that day, that was going to happen from the time you were born. You must remember your Veramonte and Raniero legacy. That is enough to drive fear into the heart of dead men.”

  “The blood of the wedding is on my hands.”

  “No,” he argues. “It’s not. If anyone is to blame it is Cesario Raniero for covering it up in the first place. Or hell, look at Stella and Vinny if you really need to, but do not blame yourself for what happened. This is a multi-generational war and all the shrapnel is falling on your head. You have to deal with it.”

  Resting my elbow on the door, I grip my forehead. “But why, Quinn?”

  His icy hazel eyes glance to mine. “Quinn is an Irish priest playing for the opposing team. He was Father McPhail’s best fake friend. He stabbed McPhail in the back and told Sanctum. All for the sweet spot in New Orleans alongside the elder Saint Cruz.”

  “Jesus, this just gets worse.”

  “The only reason Quinn ever relocated to Sugargrove was for The Suits. Anna Ford’s little school didn’t just cater to any outfit. She had a long history of favoritism amongst the mafia despite the diversity of the student body. It isn’t just one of four. That turf in Texas waves Italia in a creeping, dark fog because of the Nero, The Commission, and the original foundation of Sanctum.”

  “Original Sanctum…Italiano.”

  “You got it,” he says. “But it is not that way anymore.”

  “Iris told me of my parents,” I mention, lighting a smoke. “Chance knew because of Anna.”

  “Probably,” he mutters. “Only because Luca wanted you to know when the time was right.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “McPhail was killed for two reasons—one, for a betrayal to Sanctum and two, so you wouldn’t marry Emily,” he says. “Petra Soryn, Amber Rosen, and Cas Hope did the job for someone who wanted all the secrets out.”

  “Which means Sanctum paid for the hit from Soryn, Amber, and Cas…”

  “They plan on you tying the knot with the Lotus,” he announces.

  “Ya,” I laugh, shaking my head. “We’re a long way from that ever occurring.”

  “If you marry the Lotus, you shift the power—eliminating some of it from The Commission and putting it right into Lotus’ hands.”

  “Like fuck, I am doing that.” With a side-eyed glance, I warn, “And if I don’t marry her…”

  “Someone is going to be really fucking pissed off,” he informs what I already know. “If you marry her, you divide Sanctum in multiple places. Shit is going to get nasty. The Commission doesn’t want that to occur.”

  “They must not know me very well,” I growl, rolling my neck. “I enjoy pissing people off. Do you think Iris paid for the hit?”

  “… Do you?”

  “She tried to take out members of Kill Rat for a blow job,” I bitterly criticize. “There are no boundaries she won’t cross. How did McPhail find out originally?”

  “A nurse by the name of Ginger Langdon was there when Stella gave birth.”

  “Iris’ future nanny,” I mumble. “Fuck. Dom has been chasing this and racking up bodies—Chance Ballister, Lydia Kettles, and Ginger Langdon—for years to keep it quiet.”

  “And don’t forget, trying to protect Iris too. He knew war would break out. The rebellious Gennaro son stood on the wrong side of the fence for a long time. His loyalty is Raniero true. But if Iris comes after you, Dom will burn her to the ground.”

  “Allegiance is so fucked by heritage.”

  “We are Italian. And that blood is thicker than any diaper Dom changed on Iris or Baby Saint biker he fantasized over.”

  I complain, “Angelo Gennaro had to know before he died, which means his right-hander Campanelli had to know, and he is twice the size he once was since Dom sold his legacy off.” I rub m
y eyes, avoiding the emotion of what Dom did for me. Am I worth it? The infamous Gennaro outfit rivaled that of the Torrente clan and he signed it all away. For me. For me—little street thug Sal Raniero from the shady Boston racket. “Iris and Deacon are both in danger.”

  “Dom sold the Gennaro business solely to have the money for Sal Raniero’s business,” he points out. “But why would Campanelli be going after Iris and Deacon?”

  “Because they accidentally killed his daughter, Krystal, when they were nineteen.”

  Leaning his head back, he whispers, “Holy fuck…”

  We sit in reflective silence—Mass and I. Two hitmen. While I have the respected family lineage despite my father’s sloppy regard, he does not. His place in The Commission came through talent and hard work.

  “Why would Campanelli agree to kill an Irish priest…unless he is in with my father more than I know…”

  Fuck.

  The offer.

  Gennaro and Raniero.

  “Campanelli is threatening to start a war if we don’t agree to his ludicrous terms. He wants to combine the Campanelli and Raniero families to go up against Torrente.”

  “The wedding commenced the war.” I crack my knuckles as we brainstorm for the solutions, which I am not sure exist. We’re shooting in the dark and praying to hit a buck before we starve in the freezing cold. “Why the fuck would Amber take an offer from Campanelli?”

  “Jealousy…determination…division…revenge…you destroyed her legacy when you blew up Rampage,” he elaborates, using his pristine hands. Mass is ink-free as far as I have seen, which is rather attractive in an unexpected way. “Don’t piss off the wrong cunt, or you will spend your life regretting it.”

  “She asked me to blow Rampage!”

  “Bitches quickly change their mind when provoked,” he snarks with a grin. “She was your Mistress, and you took that title away. You handed her to Dale, and you took him away. And finally, you gave her a taste of the new Saint Cruz, probably the sweetest of them all because she could lay relatively low under his right-hand title, and you took him away. Amber doesn’t need any more motivation to come after you than one of those.”