A Madness Most Discreet (Brothers Maledetti Book 4)

by Nichole Van

  “Yeaaaah,” I cautiously agreed. “That’s all true.”

  My mom was very good at wheeling and dealing, after all.

  “Exactly.” I could hear the smile in Mom’s voice. “Michael will be by to pick you up tomorrow night, and you two can hop the jet first thing the next morning. That’ll put you home a couple days before the announcement festivities.”

  My mother’s political announcements were always a three-pronged deal: dinner gala for donors beforehand, convention speeches with a big announcement, and then an after-party celebration. All three events were a media circus.

  The door snicked open behind me. I turned in my seat and met Tennyson’s blue eyes. He quietly closed the door behind himself and crossed to sit on the ottoman in front of me.

  “I can meet Michael at the airport, Mom. Just have him text me the time.”

  Tennyson frowned.

  You leaving, he mouthed to me.

  I nodded and mouthed back, Announcement.

  He leaned forward. My mom was a loud talker and the room was quiet, so he could surely hear her, too.

  “No. Let Michael pick you up,” she said. “The less time you spend with the D’Angelos, the better.”

  “Mom.” Warning in my voice. “They are my friends and have been nothing but kind to me. Please don’t say not nice things about them.”

  Mom snorted. “Well, I need you to make an effort with Michael on the plane.”

  What? “Make an effort? What on earth are we talking about?”

  The scent of Tennyson’s cologne wafted over me. He shifted his good leg partially closer.

  “Michael. You need to be kinder to him. He’s going to be your date to the dinner and convention, after all.”

  That got my full attention. My eyes met Tennyson’s. Did he look as alarmed as me? “Mom, what do you mean, date? Michael and I tried that, remember?”

  Granted, I had never told her why Michael and I had broken up, not the specifics. Just that Michael and I had a fight and he said some hurtful things that I couldn’t forgive.

  “Darling, I think you should give Michael another chance. He’s so smitten. He’s told me so many times that he wants to get back with you.”

  Another chance? Get back with me?

  Smitten my ass.

  I gritted my teeth, staring straight into Tennyson’s eyes.

  “Mom, I did give us a chance. You accuse Tennyson of using me, but how is Michael any better?”

  “Of course Michael is better.”

  “How?”

  “Well—” Mom full on spluttered. “—because he’s Michael.”

  Yeah. So clearly Michael wasn’t the only one who felt it was a shame he wasn’t family. One more reason why I refused to continue to thrash this out with my mother.

  Mom kept going. “Regardless, you need an escort slash date for the dinner beforehand and the party afterward. Michael has generously offered.”

  “Like hell he has,” Tennyson muttered. “Has she seen his eye recently?”

  I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile, but still shot him a quelling look.

  “Let me be your date,” he whispered, eyes so intense. “Forget Michael.”

  “Forget Michael,” I repeated without thinking.

  “What?” My mom was not pleased.

  I stared at Tennyson. He met my gaze with intense directness.

  Let me take you, he mouthed. Please.

  My heart dipped and then soared.

  “That’s what I said. Forget Michael. Tennyson will escort me. He’s my boyfriend after all.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  Tennyson

  Irritation. Frustration. Animosity. Jealousy. Boredom.

  Michael’s emotions pounded through me, his opinion as clear as if he had been speaking.

  Give up. Giveupgiveupgiveup.

  The idiot had to be doing it on purpose.

  I shifted in my seat, blocking him from my line of sight, not that it would help.

  There was nowhere on this airplane I could go to get away from his emotional barrage. Worse, we were currently only three hours into a fourteen-hour flight from Florence, Italy to Sacramento, CA.

  The private plane was a nice perk. We D’Angelos were firmly in the ‘fly first class’ rung of life. I highly doubted we’d ever graduate to ‘private plane’ even if we had the money. It wasn’t quite my speed.

  That said, I was not unappreciative of the luxury of it.

  Despite the mental and physical strain of this trip, there was no way I could let Olivia deal with her family and the convention on her own.

  She needed someone who was one hundred percent in her court. Someone who adored her.

  I reached out and took Olivia’s hand, shooting her a strained smile. We were seated side-by-side in leather captain’s chairs. She vibrated with nervous energy, her leg bouncing, the inside of her cheek sucked in against her teeth.

  I squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

  I tried not to think about all the open air between me and the ground. All that space to free fall, to break the chain that held me.

  It’s a lie. It’s not truth. It won’t solve the problem.

  Olivia shot me a tight smile that softened as I held her gaze.

  Michael sat catty-corner from us, supposedly with his nose buried in reports, but really, he was concentrating on sending me subliminal messages.

  Give up. Giveupgiveup.

  He was such a douche.

  I couldn’t believe Olivia had ever seriously dated him. Though I did take an immature, perverse pleasure in his black eye. It had faded slightly to a nice sickly yellow-green. I hadn’t caused his run-in with the pigeon/sidewalk, but the end result was no-less satisfying.

  Michael had not been amused when I showed up with Olivia at the airport. He had cajoled and whined and finally had a bit of a diva meltdown. Olivia, of course, had handled it all with perfect aplomb.

  Now Michael felt the need to make up for lost time. His anger and hostility filled my senses. He wanted Olivia for himself. He wanted me to go away.

  Times like this, I almost wished I could feel Olivia’s emotions. At least a sense of camaraderie and support from her would help dampen Michael’s onslaught.

  Fortunately, the emotions of the pilots and the one flight attendant were a soft baseline. They were in work mode and focused on their jobs.

  But that only marginally helped.

  I had to be hurting Olivia’s hand, I was clutching it so hard.

  She leaned over and pressed her lips close to my ear.

  “How can I help?”

  I shrugged, my mouth a tense line. “Toss Michael out of an airlock?”

  A smile touched her lips as she flicked a glance toward Michael. “Emotions?”

  I nodded, turning toward her, our mouths just a breath apart. I ached to close the distance between us, claim her lips for myself.

  Would she taste like my visions? Soft and sweet?

  Unwittingly, I canted toward her, desperate for any distraction.

  Stop! She will die if you kiss her.

  I froze and pulled back. Damn, I was such a mess. I was supposed to be here to help her, not the other way around.

  My will was too weak. I had to be stronger.

  I replayed my vision over and over in my head.

  Remember Zach. Remember all the damage you’ve done.

  Unfortunately, obsessive thoughts were the start of a slippery slope that led to disaster.

  You should give up, murmured that fractured part of me. Fall. Break the chain. Free yourself and your brothers.

  A jolt of turbulence rocked the plane.

  Thoughts of falling cascaded through my brain. Would it break the chain if I fell from an airplane?

  The plane dipped and dived again.

  Olivia squeaked and then shuddered beside me.

  “Turbulence. I hate it so much. Talk to me,” she murmured, pressing her face into my shoulder. “I need a distraction.”

&n
bsp; “About what?”

  “Whatever. What are you thinking about?”

  “Chains,” I replied without thinking.

  “Chains?” she repeated. “That’s . . . unexpected.”

  I huffed a laugh.

  The plane tumbled again, sending my stomach into my nose.

  I clenched Olivia’s hand.

  “Chains. It’s funny you say that,” she continued. Her breath was warm in my ear. I focused on that. “I forgot to mention something that happened with your vision that day at the gypsy camp.”

  Okay. I could roll with this. Anything to take my mind off the plane. And the height. And all the open space between me and the ground. “What’s up?”

  “There’s a chain embedded in the daemon.”

  I froze.

  My heart stopped beating.

  The world ground to a halt.

  A chain?!

  My brain scrambled to catch up.

  The chain was real.

  “Wha—?” I turned to her, my eyes surely bulging out of my head. “There’s a chain in the daemon?”

  “Yeah. I saw it.”

  I needed more information. “You’re sure. There’s a chain? For real?”

  “Yes. It’s black and strong, like the chain on a boat anchor or something. It was wrapped tight around you, buried in the black slime of the daemon. It seemed to be hurting you. That’s why I touched the daemon even though I said I wouldn’t. I tried to loosen the chain, to pull it off you, but the daemon fought me on it.”

  Silence.

  Panic clogged my throat. My breathing was coming fast.

  I closed my eyes. The plane took another plunge.

  “Tennyson?” Olivia sounded concerned. “What is it? Why is a chain important?”

  I barely heard her words.

  The chain was real.

  The chain was real.

  The plane rocked and then triple-skipped. Michael’s emotions pounded against me.

  Anger. Frustration.

  Giveupgiveupgiveupgiveup.

  Hah! Little did Michael know. It would be so easy.

  I imagined dashing for the airlock. I could get it unlatched before the flight attendant could stop me. Pull it open. Throw myself out.

  And then . . . falling, falling. The chain would break, snap in half.

  The chain that really did exist.

  Freedom. I would be free.

  Olivia was the only thing stopping me.

  If I did that, if I opened the plane door . . .

  I would depressurize the compartment. Olivia would be harmed.

  I couldn’t harm Olivia.

  I held that thought front and center in my brain.

  “Tennyson?” Her voice again. Concerned.

  Giveupgiveupgiveupgiveup.

  My hands were shaking. I pulled them out of her grasp and lurched to my feet.

  “Bathroom,” I muttered before making my way to the back.

  I braced my hands on either side of the small sink, breathing slowly in and out.

  I needed to get my head on straight, to push past this moment.

  So . . . the chain might be real.

  That was no reason to then assume that my plan of falling was okay.

  The voice lies. Don’t listen to it.

  Falling wouldn’t break the chain. Any more than lightning would break the chain for my father.

  It wouldn’t work.

  Giveupgiveupgiveupgiveup.

  Fighting Michael’s emotions was draining my mental resources, making me likely to slip into one uncontrolled vision after another.

  Olivia said there were no scars aboard the plane that she could see, but without knowing for sure how the scars were created, it was hard to know if the daemon could attack mid-air.

  The chain is real.

  I was close to losing it. I had to hold myself together. For Olivia.

  I had some strong tranquilizers in my luggage. I was probably going to have to use them. Better to spend the trip unconscious than to have a massive vision that put Olivia or myself at risk.

  I washed my hands and splashed some water on my face, trying to fortify my mental strength.

  I plowed into Michael as I exited the bathroom.

  “Whoa there.” He grasped my shoulders. “You okay?”

  His emotions made it clear he didn’t give a damn about me.

  Giveupgiveupgiveupgiveup.

  “Great,” I lied, my tone bland but my jaw clenched. “How’s the eye? Looks painful.”

  Fine. Michael wasn’t the only immature one on the plane.

  Irritation flared through him. He shot a glance back toward Olivia before turning back to me.

  “Don’t think this is over. Don’t think that you’ve won,” he all but hissed at me.

  “I was unaware we were in a race.”

  Michael gave his signature scoff. “Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. All’s fair in love and war.”

  Now it was my turn to snort. “Are you referring to Olivia? You don’t love her. You don’t care at all about her. She’s nothing more than a convenient tool to you.”

  “How dare you—”

  “I’ve had to sit and feel all your anger and frustration for hours now. Never once have I felt longing or love or any other emotion that would indicate a sense of romantic attachment to anyone on this plane.”

  I may have been up in Michael’s grill by the time I finished talking. I wasn’t a spectacularly big guy, but I was bigger than Michael. The alpha-male part of me liked that he had to look up into my eyes, that my height forced him to take a couple steps back.

  Michael’s response was a particularly harsh blast of pure contempt. “You’re a washed out, mentally unstable, cripple of a man. What makes you think the Hawking clan will ever accept you as one of their own?”

  I smiled and took a step forward. “If that’s your question, you clearly don’t know Olivia at all. And Michael—” I waited for him to really focus on me. And then I carefully enunciated each syllable. “I. Will. Not. Give. Up.”

  Surprise and fear blasted me.

  That’s right, Michael. You should be afraid of me.

  I took another quick step forward. Michael flinched at the sudden movement.

  “You thought that little test wouldn’t work, didn’t you? That I wouldn’t feel your message?” I pushed closer.

  Michael shrank back, face blanching, his fear acrid.

  “I’m the real deal, Michael. You’re wise to be afraid.” I smirked as I shouldered past him, moving back to my seat.

  Michael’s attitude was all too-telling. Olivia was a means to an end, a pawn to be pushed around and used by whoever needed her most at the moment.

  But to me . . . she was simply my Olivia. The vibrant, kind, funny, beautiful woman I loved.

  I didn’t need the Hawking clan’s acceptance. I just needed Olivia’s.

  I woke with a lurching start as the plane landed in Sacramento.

  Yes, I had taken the sleeping pill in the end. It was definitely a small victory for Michael, but it had been the only way.

  Unfortunately, my sleep came with haunting dreams.

  Zach and Afghanistan and bombs and pain.

  Olivia being torn from my arms, screaming and curling around herself in pain, bright red blood pooling.

  My father, Cesare, constantly pulling a sticky, shiny, tar-like substance off him. The slime crawled over his body, turning his skin sallow, a chain clinking through the middle of it. He kept begging and pleading with me to help him. “Get it off. Please. It needs to be gone.”

  I was moving through space slo-mo, trying to reach him before it was too late.

  The scene morphed again, this time dropping me in a twilight landscape. People moaned and crawled on the ground around me, their bodies shades of gray, their mouths gaping, soundless maws.

  I ran from them, only to trip and fall, flying face downward, bracing for impact with the ground.

  But the ground never came.
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  Instead, I found myself hurtling down and down and down, free falling through space. An oily, black chain encircled my waist. As I fell, the chain cinched tighter and tighter. It didn’t break. No. The fall only served to coil it more fully around me.

  You’re mine, it whispered.

  No escape. I could never escape the chain—

  I threw myself awake, fighting back to consciousness, blinking in the bright sunlight. Olivia had a hand on my shoulder, her eyes comforting.

  I figured my dreams were just dreams, but the horror of my father’s pain lingered. Was the daemon hurting him like it hurt Olivia and me?

  Would I ever be able to escape the chain? I had no way of knowing.

  My mind still reeled.

  The chain existed. I didn’t know what to do with the information. I needed time to process it, to call my brothers and Chiara and have them run with it, to understand how it fit into my paradigm.

  I wrapped my hand around Olivia’s as we deplaned and crossed the tarmac to a waiting black Mercedes. Naturally, Michael was right beside us. His emotions, thank goodness, were more subdued.

  Thirty minutes later, we pulled down a long drive and stopped in front of a sprawling, French-style mansion.

  Like a lord and lady welcoming someone to the family estate, Louise Hawking and her husband, Thomas, walked out of the front door and descended the steps to greet us.

  Senator Hawking kissed Michael’s cheek and warmly embraced Olivia before turning a polite but decidedly chilly gaze on me.

  “Mr. D’Angelo, I presume,” she said, extending a hand for me to shake.

  I had expected to feel annoyance and frustration from Senator Hawking. Emotions that would mirror Michael’s.

  But I was wrong. Louise Hawking oozed motherly anxiety and worry. She was elated to have Olivia home and equally concerned about my presence in her daughter’s life.

  I smiled and shook her hand, placing my other hand in the small of Olivia’s back. “Senator. Thank you for hosting me in your home. Olivia has spoken highly of you.” I told myself to ooze sincerity in return.

  Olivia’s father gave me a firm handshake and politely told me to call him Tom. His emotions were similar to his wife’s.

  Despite their distrust of me personally, I was strangely encouraged by their emotional state.

  These two people genuinely cared about their daughter and wanted her to be happy. My Olivia was loved and cherished by her parents.