Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “No, sit the fuck down and stare at them,” I insist, ripping them from her hands and setting them out in a row on the coffee table. “Take a good look at what you’ve done!”

  She sits on the edge of the loveseat as her knees lock together and her arms collapse inward, latched by her fingers in her lap. Her eyes dance up to the ceiling.

  “There are no answers up there.”

  With a cough, she clears her throat and grabs a tissue. “We went to Nebraska for Kaci to give birth. You were away in New York for training at Sibyl.”

  Gripping the bridge of my nose, I give her a fuming side-eyed glance. I want to hurt her. I want her to suffer. “… When?”

  “May 17, 2010.”

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t hold back my tears anymore. My cheeks twitch as my lips purse together. “I was fucking kidnapped, recruited, and trained. Kaci did this.”

  “And Kaci did that, too…”

  “Bitch, that was the wrong fucking thing to say!” I roar full of vengeance, stepping closer. “You don’t get to blame my wife; I do. I get that right! Not you! I went to meet with Henney during my training right before my birthday.”

  “I know, we had cameras on you,” she confides, lowering her head. “It was all part of the plan.”

  “So, you’re watching me with Henney, and you know Kaci is pregnant…about to pop…and you fucking don’t do anything but act like a damn voyeur? Exactly how fucked up are you?”

  “I’m sorry!” she screams, raising her arms. “What do you want me to do to fix this?”

  “There is no fixing this!” I snap, losing all of my willpower. Flipping over the table and snapping off the legs, I go into pure destruction mode. I don’t even feel one of the brackets scratch the surface of my hand as every cell in my body wants to fucking kill Amber. “My baby is not with me!”

  “Her name is Rozzalyn Raine Raniero,” she whispers, crying. “Kaci called her R³.”

  The child, nicknamed Due that I’ve been chasing for years, is a baby girl. My baby girl. Kaci’s baby girl. My knees hit the ground in the rubble as the life I knew before the envelope arrived shatters into a million tiny fragments. Curled over, I wail and quietly laugh, “… R-cubed?”

  “Yes,” she says, lightheartedly. “I was there when your baby was born. I watched her come out. I held your baby, Sal. She was the most beautiful little girl I’d ever seen, but I knew… I knew what would happen to her if we let her presence be known.”

  “But…how do you do that?” I ask, trying to form my reasons for hiding Merritt from Deacon. “What gives you the right to play God?”

  “If I didn’t play God, Raine would be dead.”

  It occurs to me then the level of her deceit may be more far-reaching than I initially expected. “Have you seen her?”

  “I haven’t seen her since that day over five years ago.”

  I have a five-year-old daughter.

  I have a five-year-old daughter.

  I have a five-year-old daughter.

  Jerking up fast, I run to the trash can and throw up what little contents I do have in my stomach. Puke drips from my lip. Snot and tears blend to form strings from my face. I’m not the Sal Raniero they pay to see at Juliet but a mess of a broken man.

  I have a five-year-old daughter.

  Rozzalyn Raine Raniero.

  I don’t ask her about Dom because he is the one who sent the pictures, postmarked quite clearly from Chicago. If he was aiming to sideswipe me, he did a damn good job. Props to him. Fuck him.

  The Raniero-Gennaro War II just commenced.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Pulling off my shirt, I wipe the emotional carnage from my face. “… We?”

  “Yes, what are we going to do?”

  “You seem to have missed the memo—we are through. You and Deacon Cruz are through. You are done here. I will leave the funds in your account, but do not expect any more.”

  Frazzled in the aftermath, she stands up in a tizzy. “Sal…”

  “People are either with me or against me. You lied to me.”

  “I just didn’t say anything,” she excuses, coming closer. “I never lied.”

  “Same difference, bitch,” I scowl, full of rage. “We are through.”

  Her hands grab at my guns as she begs, “You’re just upset. It’s to be expected, but I know you don’t mean any of this…”

  “I mean every fucking word,” I seethe, gritting my teeth. “We are done, Amber.”

  “No…” She clings to my torso and tries to kiss me.

  Pushing her back, I scold, “Exactly. No.” I fume, breathing heavily. “I was going to be done with you long before this arrived this morning. This just crucified you.”

  “You can’t…”

  “I can—I am Salvatore Raniero.”

  Her eyes flood with tears once again. I notice how quickly she turns them on depending on her motivations. She was the stripper Mae East, performer for the mobsters and the mayhem for my heart. “You owe me a reason. Tell me why…”

  “I don’t owe you shit!” I loudly snicker. “Not a goddamned thing! You may be my mistress covered in diamonds and driving a fancy Porsche your Pretty Sugar Boy bought you, but you ain’t nothing but trailer trash, honey.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Fuck me? Fuck you!” I storm with a savage howl. “You’re the reason I’m in this damn hole. I killed Virginia Archer for you, and you thanked me by killing Javier Diaz. Cinco and Immortal are going to ass rape Reckless Rebellion in Houston because of the shit you did. You may not want to hear the cold hard facts, but you need a come to Jesus moment, sweetheart. You put my boy, my girl, and my daughter in grave danger because I tried to save you. Because I believed I could save you. Because I fought for you, but I’ve realized a few things. You cannot save the greedy.” I pace around, venting, and trying not to commit murder. I hatefully mutter, “She’ll bleed you dry and make you cry and keep your fucking daughter from you! I hate you. And I never want to see you again.”

  She pleads, “Baby...”

  “Fuck off, cunt.”

  “… Sir?”

  Ronnie swiftly opens the door and scans the wreckage marking the end of our affair. She shakes her head. “I don’t know what the hell is going on in here, but you two need to cool it. I can only give so many excuses,” she contends, staring at the pile of wood that once was a coffee table, “…for your kinky sex acts.”

  Standing between Ronnie and me, Amber trembles as her worst nightmares spring up from beneath the surface.

  This is my hell, welcome to it.

  The hope in me is gone. The lights have turned off. And there is nothing left but an empty shell of darkness. I’m not a nice guy, but I’m the stuff insidious fantasies are made of.

  Vile. Vindictive. Victorious.

  Escaping from the malnourishment of my wife’s diabolic manipulations, I am reborn into the dark prince they always claimed I would become. I’ve fought it long enough; I’m tired.

  I have no guilt. I have no shame. I have no heart.

  Everything is black and blue, battered and bruised.

  “Master Nero…”

  Gathering the pictures of my daughter off the floor, I weep for all the things I missed—first cries, first kisses, and calling me “Daddy” for the first time. I have a five-year-old daughter, and her name is Raine.

  Bring on the rain… Raine Raniero…

  Everything makes sense.

  “Save it for someone who cares.” I walk towards the door, turning back one final time, and finally seeing her for exactly what she is—a sharp-tongued devil with a bitch face.

  “Lucas…”

  “Do not ever call my associates or me again, Ms. Rosen. If you attempt to make contact with Ms. Kettles, you best be wearing your sexiest shoes because Nico will be on your ass faster than the lies you have borne. Your services are no longer required, and you are hereby immediately terminated.”

  44

  Pretty
Pink Bows

  I’ve been told there is a point when a boy becomes a man. The transitional pivot from sliding in the mud to finding the courage to stand confidently on two feet in a pile of shit in front of everyone.

  If I ever needed a kick in the ass to get there, Amber’s betrayal did because I was no longer alone. I had a responsibility out in the world named Raine.

  I didn’t owe anyone a goddamned thing.

  But I owed her everything.

  I explained the situation to Ronnie and got a work pass, so I can go work it out—quite literally. I’m running along the perimeter when I see Deacon speed off like a demon in my Raptor.

  Amber told him.

  And he’s pissed.

  I don’t worry where his loyalty lies because I know.

  At the end of the day, Deacon Cruz is with me. I consider the possibility that Amber will tattle about Merritt, but I doubt she will. She’s too busy doing damage control and understanding the castle she thought she had wrapped up tight with a pretty pink bow is nothing more than a dilapidated shanty.

  She cannot go home to Rampage because it’s gone, fallen to Allegiance. Deacon is shutting her down. And the only rift I can see is Dale Archer. She will run back to him, and he will accept her because his johnson dictates the bond.

  The biggest issue is Jaid.

  She’s married to Dom, involved with Dale, and the worst part of it all is I’m not there to catch the fallout. She’ll battle the shrapnel like the fighter she is, and I’ll miss every swing.

  In a few days, I’ll enter a room to tango with Moses. It’s a good thing I’m an angry motherfucker. One night, I’m screwing my mistress, and the very next morning, I awake to find she’s been screwing me for years. I’m bitter as I trace the path back with a light trod and a heavy heart.

  I’m mulling in my pity party when Moses catches me. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I suppose we have to be.”

  “Why is your hand bleeding?”

  Cutting a look, I snicker, “I had a run-in. I’ll be fine.”

  It’s not a bad cut; I just bleed like a pig. My constant hydration causes great joy in nurses, and I know in the pit—or random prison room—I’ll suffer because of Moses. I don’t want to fight him because I like the guy, but I’ll do it for that very reason.

  This will be my final act in prison.

  On my way out, I left a message with Kary Vega to commence the extraction plan. He’ll send word to Judge Lily Miller-Armstrong, and she’ll sign off on me. They’ll come up with some excuse of not enough evidence or the DNA didn’t match the forensics at the Lydia Kettles crime scene.

  Freedom is just around the corner.

  But my mind will forever be caged.

  After taping my hands like a boxer, Ronnie slides the hand splints on me in her office. I asked her to remove the metal supports because I don’t want to hurt Moses accidentally. It’s late at night, and we’re on quiet hours. “I want you to be careful out there. It can get rough.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  With a shrug, she mutters, “Since the beginning of time? You get enough testosterone in one place; bad things are bound to happen.”

  “I think I’m insulted.”

  “Don’t be,” she insists, tightening the Velcro straps and taping them down. “You can’t put two bitches in a bathroom without a lipstick smear breaking out.” I laugh as she eyes me. “… What? You know it’s true. People do not inherently get along. They have their agendas and stipulations, and when things do not fit into another’s ideal, bad shit goes down.”

  “It all sounds so incredibly negative.”

  “Because it is,” she elaborates, lifting my hand. “But you aren’t going into that room to play checkers. You are going in there to try and kill one another.”

  “Has it ever gone that far?”

  “You don’t want to ask me that,” she says, blinking up to me. “Because if something happens to you, I might burn the whole fucking place down.”

  “Got loyalty?”

  “Loads of it.” She checks both hands to make sure they are secure. “And before you ask me why, I’ll tell you. Respect. You didn’t come in here some know-it-all nor do you ever pass judgement on anyone. You’re Grade A in my book, Raniero. And you always will be. But right now, you need to go kick Moses’ ass.”

  I chuckle. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Don’t worry, and I’m not either.”

  We laugh. “Thank you for the strong vote of confidence.”

  “Just remember why you are doing this,” she encourages, tapping on my knee. “We need to go.”

  She stands and embraces me while I’m still sitting. Her cushy boobs rest on my cheek, and I take a weird comfort in it. She’ll be here after the fight to care for me. I’ll spend the night in her office, sleeping on her couch, and waking up in a lot of pain. I’m anticipating it. “I love ya, Sal.”

  “I love you, too,” I whisper, closing my eyes and smelling her delicate baby powder scent. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  “Aww, honey…the pleasure is mine,” she says, letting go as I stand up. “Don’t be mad at me, but I can’t go and watch your fight.”

  “It’s no place for a lady.”

  “Now you’re just being charming.”

  With a grin, I ask, “Would I do that?”

  The goal isn’t to kill one another, but to put on a show.

  I’m pumped and ready to get this over with.

  Walking into the darkroom, I try to catch glimpses of those present so I can hold them responsible for their actions. They’re betting on the battle, and I’m the underdog. Moses has a good twenty pounds and two inches on me, but I’m not intimidated in the least.

  Lowering my head, I say a prayer, make the sign of the cross, and look up to honor those who’ve passed through my path. My beautiful Nonna. My wise Old Poppa. My wife… and the mother of my child. I close my eyes and push back the tears.

  People are with me or against me.

  There is no gray area, only black or white, love or hate.

  Counting the steps Moses takes, I pop the mouthguard in and wait for the moment.

  The furniture has been removed from the interrogation room. The four corners are filled with people, not just C.O. but regular folks who came to watch the Hollister-Raniero fight. The tremor running through my body is real.

  I fought on the playground as a child, and I always won. I fought my father when I was a teenager, and I never won. I fought Deacon, and we called a truce. He’ll say I won, but I’m not so sure.

  “Boston!” I hear from the sidelines. I turn my head and spot Dom, Deacon, and Nico. They came for my fight. Dom holds up a stack of money and winks. I can’t hate him. I want to fucking kill him for the shit he’s done, but I can’t. I blame my wife for putting in the stops.

  “Trust Dominic…”

  Saying goodbye to Amber is one thing; leaving Dom is quite another.

  “Let’s do this!” the crowd rallies, escalating their noise in the small room.

  The picture of my baby girl fills my mind as the fury rises in my core. I’m not mad at Moses, but fuck if I’m not about to take out my rage on him.

  We’re dancing in the center underneath the drum light. A moth buzzes about in the glow and distracts Moses. I find the opening and land my first swing with my left forearm. With no rules, we can maul each other however we want.

  He lunges and grabs my waist as he pummels two hundred pounds of walled muscle into me. It just got fucking real quick.

  With a grip of my arm, he twists me around. “You like it rough, right, white boy?”

  “Don’t even,” I hiss, grimacing and kicking him in the shin. “If you think I’m white, you got another thing coming.”

  The sparkle in his eyes says plenty about what we know is right. Moses is my friend, and we will get through this because I’ll be damned if I’m letting Martinez hand his ass over to Handcock and the chomos.
>
  “You can do whatever you need to do,” Moses said as we sparred in the gym. “Say whatever you need to say, but fucking mean it.”

  “I’m not fucking saying shit.”

  “Anyone else would though…”

  I backed up and lifted my hands. “I’m not everyone else or haven’t you figured that out yet?” I sat on the bench and took a swig of water. “I’m special,” I replied with a grin. “I won’t say what I don’t believe. There is a time and a place.”

  “What if I piss you off?”

  “You’re not going to get under my skin enough for me to do it, I’m sorry. I grew up with my dad calling me names—pretty boy, sissy boy, faggot—if it was weak, he said it. And I won’t do it… I mean I might if you harmed my girl, I won’t lie.”

  My honest answer provoked an unexpected conversation. “I can’t say as though I’d blame you then, brother. I’d use every word in the book to defend my wife.”

  Something about the way he said it sent a clear message to me about expectations. My job—my only job—was defending my girl and those I loved. And that morning, Moses handed over the lessons about what it meant to be a man, choosing dedication over authority, and owning our actions.

  “My dad is going to call her names,” I realized in an instant. “He’s going to call her every bad Asian slur in the book, and I’m going to have to listen to it.”

  “Probably,” Moses acknowledged. “And you have to figure out how you’ll handle it. No one can do that for you. Just remember there is a line. Don’t cross it unnecessarily. Don’t abuse it. But there is a time to stand your ground.”

  He was right.

  “I still won’t call you names,” I laughed, bumping his shoulder.

  “If I call you a white boy…bring it on.”

  “Are we making code words?” I asked, intrigued. “Cause I can fuck with some code.”

  “We fucking are,” he declared with a smile.

  “You’re alright, Raniero.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Hollister.”

  Twenty-one minutes into the fight, I’m on the ground bleeding as Moses repeatedly jabs his fist into me. My mind flips back, rewinding the reel of my life until I stop in a cell at Sibyl. I see Chance and fast forward a few frames to opening the files on Rie Ford, aka Iris Amarie Nakamura Kettles. Scanning over the documents, I search as he lands a punch to my gut and I wonder when this will end. I grab his shoulders and push him to the cement as he flips me on my back.