She hands over a fresh pack of Camels and a lighter to which I quickly begin packing against my palm. Ripping the pack, I flip the first one for good luck and pull another out, lighting it with a deep drag. She continues digging in the large, satchel-like purse, and hands me a juice box.
“You could have brought coffee,” I mutter with a sexy grin as she immediately hands over a shot of espresso in a can. “Dear heavens, woman, you think of everything!”
I pop the tab and slam the contents down. “Did she make it home?”
“Iris? Yes. She is fine. Sleeping. And in case you are wondering, Jaid is fine. She is studying and formulating plans with Dale Archer. I think they are having an affair.”
“Really?” I act astonished, taking another drag. I am not actually surprised if Dale is boning Jaid. She is fucking hot, and he is a god damned man on a mission. You don’t ever tell Dale Archer no.
“You know smoking above a hay bale is not ideal behavior for not starting a fire,” Mierne informs as she steals the cigarette.
I laugh and scoot down slightly, laying on the roof. The weathervane squeaks and creaks, disturbing our peace. “I need to oil that thing.”
She cautiously follows suit, leaning against the slope. “What are the odds of us slipping to our death?”
“Won’t happen,” I say, flicking my ashes into the empty espresso can.
“How do you know?”
“Because I trust myself,” I confide as she gazes at me.
“Do you trust yourself with Iris?” she counters with a question I am not sure I want to answer.
I take a minute and reflect. “I am getting there. I love Iris.”
“I know that,” she says, holding onto my arm for dear life. “But the question is—do you trust?”
I light another cigarette and segue the conversation. “Why are you up here?”
“You.”
“Why not Steph?” I ask curiously.
“She is with Jack and Anna in Houston,” she advises. “They will be back this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because Joe Kaiser’s office is there, and they are legally adding you to the board of directors at Juliet,” she says, biting her lip. She blinks and smiles quickly, turning her face towards the open sky.
“Well, okay then,” I scoff, “I had no clue.”
“They didn’t want you to go. Correction, Anna didn’t want you to go. Hell, even I didn’t want you to go.” She squeezes my hand. I cannot ask for more. An actual binding position at Juliet means I have an excuse to stay, an excuse to maybe start a business here doing what I love outside of the work with Sibyl. An excuse to stay near my girl. I smile. Prayers answered.
I am so happy, I lean in and kiss Mierne like I truly care for her, which I do, but she is not my girl.
With a worried and concerned look, she pulls her sunglasses back up onto her hair. “Sal, I have to tell you why I am up here on this god forsaken roof with you.” Her tone is too calm, gentle, sincere… which instantly makes my stomach churn. She is taking on the therapist tone, trying to keep me calm. I want to throw up as I know something bad is about to happen. I can feel it.
My sheer happiness quickly fades, sinking deep into the waters and extinguishing any embers.
“Your mother called the school this morning, about an hour ago now.” Mierne swallows hard, trying to not break down. “Your…” She clears her throat as her eyes tear from the corners. “Your cousin Maria was shot late last night coming home from her shift at the hospital. They believe it was an intended hit to drive you out. The police and FBI are there now. Sibyl agents are en route. Madeline Grace is on the way from Germany.”
“Oh, my God…” My thoughts meander away from the roof to the last time I saw Maria, not quite a year ago. She was in her kitchen, flipping through bridal magazines. Her boyfriend Chris had just proposed. They hadn’t set a date yet. My mind clutters with tangibles as I mutter, “Is she going to make it…”
“She had surgery early this morning, and she is in critical condition. You need to decide what you are doing. Jack and Serene will be back soon, and there are rumblings of saying fuck it to Jaid’s current case load and moving her into your house,” she says with a nod next door.
“Do it,” I mumble as my mind flies back to all the childhood summers we spent on beaches, running together—Maria and I—in the sand. I am always slightly behind, following, learning, and watching her lead. She was my first emotional top. Only eighteen months apart, we are like twins. I am closer to Maria than any of my sisters. And now she is…
“God, I am going to throw up,” I say, spitting up all over the roof. The puke runs down over the metal as the steamroller of anxiety takes me out in one pass.
“Sal, I need to know what you want to do…” she stutters, her hand tight upon mine. “It is your call. The invisible bossman called Jack in Houston and is willing to defer the entire case to your lead.”
“Oh, my God…Miemie,” I say, reverting to my comfort zone as I realize the magnitude of the ripple escalating into a massive tidal wave.
“I can drive you or we can fly,” Mierne whispers, clutching my hand. “Either way, I am going with you.”
“My mama…”
“She is a mess. She needs her son to come home. She needs you.”
SAL
Arriving in Boston later that evening, we say nothing in the first-class flight aside from Mierne ordering repeated drinks of whiskey and red wine. She rents a car and follows the address I program into her phone.
When we pull into the upper-middle class neighborhood, Mierne smiles like she is getting a rare look into the life of a monster. A monster she happens to adore—me.
She took care of everything from getting tickets, driving, and keeping home command informed. There is only one loose end she didn’t take care of—Iris.
I told her not to say anything. I cannot handle being needed in two places so distant from one another. And right now, Maria needs me.
We drive past the houses covered in a light dusting of snow, and I cannot help but feel completely alone. After we pull in the driveway, my mother comes running out the door. Crying in my arms with my four sisters standing in the doorway, she grabs my cheeks repeats over and over, “Mio figlio…mio figlio…”
My mother, Lucilla, is a petite, stunning woman with long dark hair and my same color-shifting, intense green eyes. My older sisters: Stella, Catarina, Valeria, and Gabriella look exactly like my mother. My father, Cesario, is of average height with a stocky build, much like me.
“Mama, come on,” I say, helping her up the steps as Mierne stays back a few feet, allowing us a moment. Mama is a mess as I return her safely to her daughters or in my case, the evil witches.
“Sal,” Mierne whispers, touching my elbow. “I am going to go find a hotel. I’ll text you.” She starts walking back to the car.
“You will do no such thing, young lady!” Mama scolds, holding out her hand. “Please, forgive me. Welcome to my home.”
And thus, begins a very long night over a kitchen table with copious amounts of pasta and wine and memories. If it hadn’t been clear before now, I am indeed Mama’s favorite as she never let’s go of my hand with love and laughter and tears. My mama is open, honest, and quite ballsy for lack of a better word. Kind of like me. She is never one to put on grand illusions, and I am the spitting image of her in every way imaginable except for the few inches I garner off my father’s genetics. He may have been the king of the business, but she was queen of the home. When the witches disperse about the house and dad went to watch ball, Mama corners us both at the table.
“Will you be sleeping together?”
“Mama!” I hiss.
“It’s a question!” she excuses with a stern maternal stare.
“We are not like that...”
“Well, you should be with someone,” Mama reprimands, her hands flying wildly about as Mierne smirks on. “Nipoti, Lucas! Nipoti!”
“Yes,
Mama,” I acknowledge, rolling my eyes at Mierne who is stifling a laugh. “Grandchildren. She wants grandchildren.”
“Not with me!” Mierne whispers as they help her carry dishes to the kitchen.
After a long, hot shower—separately, of course—we find ourselves in my childhood twin bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you called your mum every night?”
“Why would I?” I say, stretching my arms up. “This is not our world. Our world is not theirs.”
“They don’t know,” Mierne mutters.
I shake my head.
“I told my dad I met a girl, fell in love, and was moving to Texas all in one sentence. My mum, as you say, didn’t speak to me for two months until she called me up late one night crying that she missed me and couldn’t take not hearing my voice.”
“That’s sweet, your mum loves you.”
I sigh deep, rolling over and propping on my arm. “They will want me to stay. It will start simple enough—come see what we have done to the business. And before you know it, I am here with her six nipoti and a girl who doesn’t have a clue about my past.”
“Does the idea intrigue you at all?”
“Kids—yes. Leaving that life—absofuckinglutely not.”
After a long moment of silence, Mierne whispers, “Have you talked to Iris?”
“I’m not sure what to say,” I admit. My words break through my tough exterior and render me a crumbling mess as I fall asleep crying in Mierne’s arms.
SAL
The next days are a blur of more family and carbs than Mierne has ever seen. While the food is incredible and the family is passionate, we often erupt in shouting matches. I am the baby of the Raniero clan, but the quiet one as well. My behavior here is so very different from the forward, enigmatic man she knows.
With the contrast between my Italian family and my Juliet family, I cannot be more diverse. I am dwarfed in age, argument, and size amongst my uncles, cousins, and kin. Never would I embrace an almost pacifistic viewpoint at the Juliet table. I am certain I come off apathetic to my family here, but I am a solid leader, an instigator at home in Texas.
At one point, Mierne even says, “I much prefer the Juliet Sal. I miss your banter and bad behavior.”
We spend countless hours at the hospital amongst the police and FBI. Sibyl stations up a command center in a nearby hotel. The undercover agents at the hospital are plain clothed, blending in nicely as visitors.
Maria has yet to wake up. They keep her heavily sedated to try and allow her body to heal. I have made my way to the hotel several times to go over the latest notes in the investigation Madeline Grace is conducting. I trust Mad’s lead; she will not fuck this up.
The hit was intended, supposedly in an effort to draw me out of hiding. Though I haven’t really been hiding at all, the bastards are just lazy and don’t want to come to Texas. Because of this, I have two bodyguards—Clive and Stanis. I have talked at length with Archer, and some shit is going down in Texas that I am none too happy about. And I start thinking maybe Maria’s shooting is a decoy. They didn’t want to bring me here. They wanted me out of Texas. I hate to contemplate the thought, but it is a possibility.
I hate that fucking word.
Immediately, I call in favors. Fink is on a plane to Texas now as is Cristos’ son, Nico. I call Serene and Jack and give them a heads up. Maybe I am being paranoid, but I cannot fuck up either.
One person has found their way back into my world, my sister Gabriella. She is only eleven months older and typically always sides with the girls. But now, with Maria in danger and my mama’s pain so evident, she is right there by my side. While I want to tell her the whole truth of Juliet and the past few years, I cannot bring myself to trust despite the fact I know Sibyl has pulled intel from her reaches.
Does she know I am an agent? I don’t know. I know Mad. She is well versed enough to conduct an entire interrogation with a stranger over coffee and scones. It is possible Gaby has no clue.
The witches expect me to take on a position of power and authority, but that doesn’t translate well in the hierarchy of my own world. With Mierne’s coaching, I opt to keep my real life out of this drama-filled conundrum. I know Cesario wants me to take over, and I avoid his presence like the plague. I believe he is training Stella to take my rightful place on the throne.
But fuck…I do not want it.
The hospital room is filled with lavish amounts of roses and prayers. Mierne acts like she is waiting for me to breakdown, but I haven’t yet even when I request to speak with a Priest. I note Miemie’s loving, sympathetic gazes as we pray.
I hear Mama ask, “You will take care of mio figlio?”
“Yes,” Mierne responds, embracing the tiny woman.
“You will not let him return to that woman, Kate?” Mama inquires.
“No, Ma’am,” Mierne says. “He will not be returning to that woman.”
“And you will make sure he becomes the Dominant he was meant to be?”
Stunned by her question, I finish praying with the Priest. Mama seems to want a promise of—hope—insuring my fate, destiny, and luck.
With her mouth open, Mierne mutters, “How did you know?”
“He sent pictures from Barbados with Anna Ford. It doesn’t take a genius. Just a Google,” Mama advises knowingly, watching me from a distance. “Only Gaby knows, and I would prefer to keep it that way.”
“Of course.”
The two women cannot stop staring at me. I find unimaginable pain in the wounds of my cousin, drawing up memories of a past and holding my wife’s hand as she fought. The cracks in my life seem like irreparable fractures with missing pieces and shards scattered everywhere.
“He is good at what he does…” Mama states, almost sounding like a question.
Mierne maintains her vigil, observing the Priest and I, nodding, talking, and coming to some sort of resolve. “Sal is the best—absolutely the best.”
Later in bed that night, Mierne whispers, “I understand why you cannot talk to Iris. You cannot handle her seeing you broken.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hellfire to End the Abyss
SAL
TWO NIGHTS LATER, I lay alone in bed wishing I could call Maria and tell her everything. She would tell me what to do. My heart is a mess—disillusioned, broken, and shattered.
By luck, I persuade Mierne to go home. Of course, I lie—at least partially. I tell her mama really wants me to stay, which is true, but the other half I keep hidden. I don’t want to go back to Sugargrove just yet. I wasn’t doing well before my cousin’s shooting. Now, I am even worse.
Reluctantly, I pick up the phone, studying it for a long while. The lone light from my phone illuminates the room shining like a beacon upon my half-dressed body. Taking a deep breath, I push the call button.
“Hi! You’ve reached Iris Kettles. Please leave me a message. And fuck you, Sal.”
Ouch.
After a moment of hesitation, I hang up the phone. Without a clue of what to say, I feel helplessly trapped in a web and pulled to the breaking point in every imaginable direction. The absolute last thing I want is Iris to know my weaknesses, and she seems determined to get under my skin. I cannot wallow in self-loathing any longer.
At nine o’clock, I tie my running shoes on, pull on a wife beater—I am in Boston, y’all—and grab my hoodie to go for a walk. Or maybe even a run, if I can muster the energy.
My sisters have dissipated their separate ways after Maria comes to. Her risk of imminent danger is over as mine begins. I skid down the stairs, and my parents take note offering the car. I decline and exit quick before my father has an opportunity to corner me. The song will be the same—come home and work for me, boy.
No, thanks dad.
My mother offers the only shield from his tyrannical outbursts. Hotter than a brand on a cattle ass, she warns, “Leave the boy alone, Cesar! His cousin was shot!”
He heeds the warning now, but I know he won’t for long. Being in
my childhood home stirs memories of conflict and abuse, and I need an easy escape. Or a bottle of whiskey. Or a stamped-up tramp riding me.
Walking towards the heart of main street in the sleepy little town, I call Iris again just to hear her voice in the chill of the February winter. Light freezing rain pelts my body, but I don’t care. I can’t feel anything anyway—but the mind-numbing pain of loss. Loss of my wife. Loss of my family—both sets. Loss of missed opportunities and misdirected arrows.
I briefly consider calling Cas, but she has so much on her plate, I cannot take her any deeper down into my rabbit hole. I am sinking quick into an abysmal place. Mama and Cesario both want me here for different reasons. If I could calm Iris, she would want me home.
Most of the stores are closed as I walk briskly past them, peering in through the giant window displays. Some of them still have up Valentine’s decorations—red hearts and white lace. I sent Iris thirteen dozen red roses. She said nothing.
Fuck you, chump.
I run. My feet slosh in the freezing rain. I should have told Iris. I should have jumped off that roof with Mierne and went running to her, but instead I run away afraid she will never understand. If I told her the truth, she would be here now and I couldn’t risk letting that happen, so it is easier to just hide.
My cousin has been shot. Cesario is a mafia lord. And I am fiercely in love with a girl I cannot have without putting her in a dangerous path.
Fuck you, Sal.
Passing the local bar with a flashing green neon sign, I think about heading in for a whiskey when from behind, I suddenly hear, “Hey! Nero! Get your ass in my car!”
Making a beeline towards the parking lot, I see a woman standing in a grey hooded trench coat. She is small and dainty as she holds an umbrella and says, “Come here!”
The rain pours down and it is fucking cold. I mean the kind of cold to freeze your skin. What a night for me to go out.
Utterly brilliant weather for a run, Raniero.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 22
