The low gravelly voice skids through the cathedral. “Night, night, motherfucker!”
I scream, “No! Stop!”
Three piercing shots echo as I fall to the ground. Father Altromessa’s head thumps against the back of the pew in front of him, and blood spills onto the ground. With crimson pooling around my shoes, I gaze at Sal and know I am safe to stand. We quietly look to Deacon, holding the gun.
“One for Iris, one for Baba.”
With my voice quivering, I mutter, “… And the third?”
“Mine, doll,” Sal claims, snarling. “There was no escaping this punishment.”
“It was sealed twenty-nine years ago,” Deacon asserts. “Anywhere my family is becomes my house. And there will be no dishonor against you, ever in my house. My father should have done it years ago.”
“Salvatore,” I cry, knowing the secrets between the boys are more profound than I can imagine. “Oh, God…”
He pulls out his phone as I gasp in shock and horror. “Quinn, I need Sanctum’s help. Altromessa is dead.”
“We’re almost there!”
Blocked between the wall and the body, I climb onto the pew, slipping on the wood with my goo covered shoe, and almost topple over onto the corpse.
“Stop!” Sal lifts a hand and rushes to grab me as I wait. “You aren’t falling, lil girl.”
“I’m so sorry,” I cry, slobbering all over myself and caressing his face. “You weren’t supposed to be here. You were never supposed to witness this. You are devout…”
He glances at Altromessa, the blood, and me. “I am devout to you and your baby,” he whispers, emotionally hitching on the word—baby. I see the love in his eyes and feel the tremor in his skin. “Oh, God…Iris!” He gives an enamored smile as the reality hits him—I am with child. “... May I?”
“Of course,” I whisper, unzipping my jacket as he flattens his hand on my little bump. Deacon smiles at me.
“… That’s a baby!” he sobs as his eyes swirl with emotions. “Our baby!”
“Yes!” I giggle and cry as he presses his lips to my stomach. “We made a baby!”
I hug him close, smelling the musk on his skin and the mint on his breath. He carries me to the center aisle and carefully sets me on my feet.
With chivalrous regard, Deacon kneels and takes my hand. “On behalf of Sanctum, the Cruz and Raniero lineage, I deeply apologize for the crimes committed against your family. You will never be disrespected, Lotus. And you will always be loved and cherished, Iris.”
“Deacon…” Unable to stop crying, I nod and run my fingers over his hair as my other hand reaches for Sal. I step closer, and he presses his cheek to my belly. He will destroy anyone who threatens this love. With tears in my eyes, I whisper, “I love you so much.”
Sal’s finger moves under my chin, guiding my focus to his face, and he whispers, “I can’t say how sorry I am. Luca never would’ve wanted it to be like this.”
“He didn’t want it to be like that then…but you know how it is—compulsory silence keeps the peace.”
“But we can make restitution,” he vows through wet lashes. “We can make this right. We can make this better.”
“Not really,” I state with clarity. “We can’t. We want to believe we can, but the reality is very different from the truth held in our hearts. We want to believe we can fix it, but we can’t. All we can do is ride the waves of red and pray they are not our own.”
With an intense stare, Sal stresses, “I am going to kill my father.”
“No, you’re not!” Quinn rushes in with five other priests as I zip up the hoodie. “You need to get her out of here! Your uncles are on their way! And I am sure Campanelli will be underway soon.”
“We can take out my uncles!”
“Do not get cocky young man!” Quinn fumes. “Take the Lotus and her unborn child away from here. Go someplace remote. And do it now! I am not asking you! I am telling you to go!”
My final act before surrendering to Sal was to kill Father Altromessa. I never expected the boys…Deacon…to show up and do it for me. “Thank you, Quinn.”
“Don’t thank me,” he says as I spot the perky girl standing in the doorway. “Thank Rowan.”
“Maeve!” I smile, crying tears of joy and regret. “You bitch!”
Her hands reach out for me as she laughs, “You couldn’t do this. This is not your job, princess. You have two fine-looking gentlemen ready to serve your needs. All you needed to do was say the word.”
I glance back at the boys. Sal is talking to Quinn, and Deacon is staring at me. He grins. I pace closer as he does, and we meet in the middle. “You hate this church.”
“And I love you more.”
“… Are you okay?”
“I will always be okay if you are…”
“Salvatore!” Quinn says. “Sanctum gratefully appreciates your service.”
“It is my pleasure, Sir,” he says, kissing Quinn’s ring. It has a black stone surrounded by red. “I will guard the gates until my last breath.”
“Hallowed be thy name,” he praises, handing Sal an envelope. He leans in closer and whispers something I cannot hear before loudly saying, “May God be with you.”
“And also with you, Q.”
“Now, get the fuck out of here,” Quinn barks. “There will be no more blood tonight. Godspeed, my children!”
“When are you leaving?”
“Right after you,” Quinn assures. “I’ll be waiting for you in New Orleans.”
We run to the SUV and pile inside. Deacon is in the driver’s seat when he glances back at me. “Seat belt.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Sal is in the passenger seat in front of me and mentions, “I wish you would have let me off him…”
“… Why?”
“Because how often do you get that shot?”
With a cigarette dangling on his lips, Deacon laughs, “You have no idea how much I love you, do you?”
No, but I do.
You are Deacon-fucking-Cruz.
And you are amazing.
“You’ll have the rite of passing a priest,” Deacon quips, squeezing Sal’s fingers. “I have no fear, but that was not the one you needed to kill. Not after everything he put you through.” His sad blue eyes blink back to me.
And I know the horrors he safeguards for Sal.
“I’m going to sip tea in Europe, Honeybear.” With his foot on the dash, Sal stays silent for a minute, rhythmically opening and closing his lighter. We’re all tense, expecting his breakdown, when he charms, “I’m the motherfucking angel of the devil.”
With a wicked grin, Deacon snarks, “And I am as innocent as the ashes beneath your fingernails.”
“From the bodies, we’ve burned?” With a chuckle, Sal baits, “And the blood on my boots?”
“Just ignore the red, Pretty Boy,” Deacon contends, smiling. “We call those love stains.”
Deacon has Sal, and I am the bitch lucky enough to witness the love. Holding Rowan’s hand, I join in. “Can we call my belly that too?”
“Tossed in the baby-making sauce,” Sal proudly quips as Deacon gives him a high five. “Score!”
Rowan giggles. I shake my head and come back, “A little too much Cajun-Daego sauce there, boys.”
The boys snicker and hush with guilty glances as she asks, “How long did it take you to perfect your smack talk with them?”
“I’m still practicing.”
“She’s going to win,” Sal booms as I reach over the seat and lay my hand on his shoulder. He gently grips my fingers. “And we’re going to make damn sure of it.”
101
snowm i l k
His Butterfly
In my bathtub, I gaze out the window at the mountainous Colorado dusk. Pinks and yellows stroke the painted horizon as a shirtless Sal appears in ripped jeans. He’s carrying a bottle and a container of colored blocks. His hair is damp like he’s just showered.
I curiously stare at the pecu
liarity of his mind.
This man enthralls me.
“You could’ve showered in here,” I politely offer. Things have been distant with the boys since we arrived two days ago. Maybe we’re all just tired. I haven’t even seen Rowan. “I mean unless you were with Deacon.”
“Nah, he’s sound asleep and has been for hours,” he replies, opening the bottle. “I didn’t want to make things awkward for you.”
“What’s awkward is being alone,” I admit on the verge of tears. “I’m starting to think neither of you likes me anymore.”
“You blew up four buildings, shot up Cinco, and killed two members of your team,” he comments, opening the bottle. “If you think this is going to be sunshine and roses, you’re mistaken. You’re my prisoner, and you’re playing by my rules, lil girl. Or you won’t be playing at all.”
“Are you threatening to kill me?”
“No,” he replies with a chuckle. “Not yet.” He winks.
“Hell of a thing to say from a guy looking for a job.”
“Let’s clear something up,” he belligerently says, grabbing the fluffy, pink makeup stool and sitting down. “I have my next year planned out. I don’t need you, Lotus, but you need me now. You are the most hated woman in the mafia. Hated—not feared. There is a difference.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Anything I fucking want,” he replies, taking a swig from the bottle. I am heinously jealous. “And if you play nice, I’ll reward you.”
“You’re such a fucking bastard.”
“Call me whatever you want. I’m still calling you mine, Darlin’.”
“You cannot just kidnap me.”
He laughs. “You went to kill a priest, baby. You’re not going to have anyone behind that.”
“Deacon did it!”
“Cruz did it because he holds the bankroll for Sanctum. You do not. I am the only thing standing between you and a whole gentlemen’s club of angry, old men, so I suggest you think about that before you go walking out the door. Lotus isn’t going to be happy with you either. Cold chambers or Sal Raniero... those are your only choices.”
“You read the letter,” I mutter, leaning back. “Oh, God…”
“I’m trying to de-stress you.”
“… By abducting me?”
Chewing on his gum, he lifts a brow. “Whatever you want to call it.”
“I can’t drink that.”
He grins and hands the bottle to me. “Sparkling grape juice! Knock yourself out. I had Cruz get a whole case.”
He turns away, and I spot the envelope from Quinn in his back pocket as I take a sip of the juice. “Is this your final chess move?”
Pulling out the envelope, he slaps it down on the counter and quizzes, “Do you want it to be that?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, rubbing my lips together. “We’ve been through so much already.”
“Tell me,” he booms. “I thought I had a daughter that I don’t, but I’ve got a grandfather I can’t stand. I’ve lost a wife and a fiancée. I’m an addict. I’ve got an occasional drug problem. I can be incredibly violent. I’m typically an asshole. Sometimes I have episodes.” He wiggles his hands like he’s spooky, and I laugh. “I love having kinky sex with one guy. And I am beyond smitten with one girl I’m not sure loves me anymore.”
Up to my neck in bubbles, I snicker, “I love you very much, but…”
He lifts his hand. “I spent the last hour in the shower crying and trying to figure out what to say to the girl I’ve been arranged to be married to for the last twenty-nine years. She’s kind of like my best friend that I am absolutely terrified of because I will fuck it up, and she will run off.”
I softly smile as my anxiety sneaks up like a dark cloud. “And what did you come up with?”
“Nothing,” he confesses with a shrug as I turn my body to the side and set the bottle on the floor. I drape my arms on the edge of the tub. “And everything.”
“What are the blocks for?”
Moving the stool out of the way, he grabs the container. “What color do you want to be?”
“Pink.” I grin at his game.
He holds it up for my examination and sets it on the tile near the tub. Backpedaling to the shower stall, he grins and turns over the bucket of blocks. They smash into the tile, making a racket. “This is everyone else. Fix it.”
“What is my goal?”
“You cannot be alone, which you are. Get three colors back to you.”
“I have you,” I whisper and cross my fingers. “I hope.”
“Ahh! But do you?” he asks, raising a brow. “Uncross your fucking fingers.”
“Dammit!” I scowl.
“Fix it!” he yells. “Tell me how you clean up the damn mess you have made.”
My lips part and close several times as I stare at the floor. I glance at the mess by his bare feet and my one singular block. “I don’t know how.”
“Bullshit!” he harshly scolds. “Think!”
“I’ll take two blue blocks.”
“We aren’t playing give me,” he reprimands, resting his fingers on his hip. “Tell. Me. How. You. Get. Them.”
“I give up and let you win,” I say, crying. “I take you and Deacon.”
“Wrong,” he corrects. “You get all the blue blocks—Dom, Megan, Nico, Serene, Trudy, hell, even Cristos. All the little blue blocks now belong to one pink Lotus. You need two more colors.”
“I’ll take all the black,” I whisper, thinking. “Please, Sir.”
“Who are they?”
“If I have blue, then I am going to Europe for six months with you,” I answer, thinking hard. “I can infiltrate The Commission and their network.”
“That’s good!” He points at me. “Aligning Gods.”
“Yes,” I say, breathing more cumbersome than I should be. “And I’ll take all the red because Morpheus isn’t mad at me.”
“Good girl!”
“Now, we have this one random teal block,” he says, tossing it in the air. “This is Durante Costa. What do you do with him?”
“I don’t know what to do with Durante Costa.” I chirp, confused. “Why are you so godawful jealous of a man I was in a limo with for twenty minutes?”
“Think about that for a split fucking second.”
“… The limo?” I ask as he looks genuinely hurt. “How about I pull out with him?” His eyes shift to pure fear as he shakes his head. “Fuck! I didn’t mean that! Okay, bad subject. Can I have Immortal’s alliance without him?”
“I don’t know,” he replies with a sexy as fuck grin. “Why don’t you ask the guy with blue balls standing in front of you?”
I smile and look down. “Mr. Raniero, as my right-hand man, would you happen to know someone who can facilitate direct growth between Immortal and Lotus?”
“I just so happen to be pretty damn close with Gabe Herrera.”
“… Who?”
He winks, and his priceless white smile shines at me. “This. Is. Why. You. Need. Me.”
“What other things can you do for me?”
“I can do many things as long as you don’t bring up D.C. again.”
My nose scrunches. “Washington?” He squints his eyes. “Oh! That D.C.! Yeah, we’re done with him. Are we killing him?”
“No!” He rapidly crosses his arms like he’s about to do an alternate version of the floss. “Repeat after me. Just because we don’t like a player does not mean we kill them.”
I laugh and splash water at him. “Just because we don’t like a player doesn’t mean I get to fuck them and backstab them.”
His eyes ignite as he laughs. “We gotta get you a new handbook of mafia code.”
“I’ve done pretty well.”
He lifts a single finger. “The problem is this. You are approaching it like a tension relief specialist with your finger on the big red button. And you like to push the button just to hear the sirens wail.”
“I like the way they
sound.”
“Okay, but overuse is deafening,” he replies. “Lighten it up, Buttercup. Have some fun. Stop pushing the damn panic button. I got you.”
My expression turns serious. “Do you?”
“Yes, Madame Lotus.”
His words bring my smile as tears stream down my cheeks. “I can’t marry anyone, Sal.”
“Don’t do that,” he snaps, running his hand through his curls and striding over to the tub. “Because we both know you don’t mean it.”
“… What do you want me to say?”
His emerald eyes strike my heart, and it hurts because I am going to miss him. “Just the truth…”
“The truth is I love you more than anything,” I confide, fearing what these words will bring. “But block lessons or not, we were cast in stone long ago. I will not hold you to the wishes of the dead and old. We must end, and I know Deacon offered to marry me, but we both know he’ll never be happy. I’m going to pack my things and go home tomorrow.”
For a few minutes, he stares out the window, and I sit in sober reflection. We’re utterly silent, void of any communication. It isn’t right—this place we’re in emotionally.
Picking up the bottle from the floor, he swallows a gulp and glances outside. I peer out as the brightness of the pinks and yellows fade to deep grayish purples. Shifting like a badass motherfucker on a vexed trip through neon tunnels, he happily chimes, “… Do you like the view?”
I furrow my brow as he segues the conversation, but I think nothing of it because he’s Sal. And he’s a little off, a little broken.
“I love the view,” I reply, gazing out to the cliffs in the distance. A few of them still have snow. I start talking and turn back to him. “The stars will show up soon against the midnight sky and they’ll sp—aaaarkle…holy fucking shit…” I stop, unable to breathe at the sight of Sal on one knee with a helluva ring on his pinky. “Oh…shit…”
“Marry me, Iris?”
“Holy hell!” I mutter, biting my finger as he grins. “That’s a rock!”
“Marry me and be my wife…”
“And what if I am carrying Deacon’s baby?”
“Do you think I care?” he questions, showing me the tattooed band on his right finger. “Do you think he cares?” He licks his lips and tilts his head. “Hell, maybe you care, but you shouldn’t.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 87
