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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Happily Fucking Ever After, Mofo Asshole.

  My father has still not brought up his business, but I think it will be soon. The charges on Deacon have been dropped, and incriminating evidence was sent to my loft in Houston. I’ve yet to hear from Jaid. Maybe she met someone, decided to stay in Florida, and became a beach bum.

  I’ve not talked to Emily or been back for the office personnel Friday night rounds of utter intoxication. I stay in my corner office, eat lunch alone, and veg out on the sofa until I pass out. I can’t say how many times Cat has had to wake me up, probably more than her good looking, tall guy count which is into double digits, and I’ve only been here thirty-one days.

  It’s Halloween. I plan on turning off all the lights and scaring the shit out of small children when they wander past. Smirk.

  And if all that is not bad enough, I have not had any sex in a month. I’ve also not worked out. Two days ago, I was wearing my joggers, no shirt, and eating a bowl of cereal when Cat loudly declared, “You’re getting fat.”

  I flipped her off, grabbed a slice of cake, and bottle of whiskey to go hideout in my room.

  I don’t eat cake, I know.

  I’m losing my shit. I’m bored as fuck. Vega was worried about me losing my edge in prison, but trying to lock down my father is going to be the end of me. Time to grow the beer belly, find a nice, easy Catholic girl, and settle down for two-point-five kids and a white picket fence.

  I never realized how much I loved my crazy chaos until I lost it.

  “Are you getting dressed?”

  “Why?” I ask like the thought of leaving the sofa, and my bag of chips is foreign. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s Halloween!” she booms with fervor. “Big bank party at one of the downtown clubs on the top floor. Very fucking posh. Dress up. Suit and tie. Hot girls. Short skirts. Fake boobs.” She keeps on, trying to sell me on the idea. “Free food and alcohol.”

  “Fine,” I reluctantly agree.

  “Besides Dad will be there.”

  Maybe I won’t go.

  “Is this work or pleasure?”

  Her eyes shift around the room. “… Both?”

  “Fine.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’ll have to shower,” she informs with her hands on her hips. “Look like the badass you used to be, and I guarantee, your rod will get a roll tonight.”

  “Why are we discussing my sex life?” I ask, grabbing a handful of potato chips.

  “Because, you’ve been sulking since Emily Granger shut you down,” she confronts, stealing a chip from my hand. “Get up. The limo will be here in an hour.”

  Hmm.

  Limo. Alcohol. Party.

  Okay.

  We’re running late because Cat couldn’t locate her black garter belt to match her bra and panties.

  These things—I wish I didn’t fucking know!

  The lavish party is in full swing when we walk in to hear my father making his speech. I grab two glasses of champagne from one of the servers.

  “And it is with great pleasure that I inform you, my son – Salvatore Raniero – will be taking on the responsibilities as a partner in the new Raniero Enterprises, for which the Raniero Fisheries is now a proud subsidiary of.”

  The guests clap as I blink.

  What?

  Cat smiles, giving my arm a nudge.

  “He stuck Old Poppa’s business under an umbrella.”

  “It will be okay,” Cat eases, knowing I’m beyond pissed off. “Get up there.”

  I’m smiling and waving, playing his publicity game. Wrapping his arms around my chest, he warns, “Don’t get too excited; it’s only forty-nine percent.” He winks.

  I’m one step closer to that Dad bod.

  “Thanks, Father,” I sneeringly remark, kissing his cheeks like the proper Italian mafia son I’m expected to be. “I’m thrilled for the wonderful opportunity!”

  “We have one more announcement!” he boasts as I scan the crowd and spot Delarte Cristos and Jonathan Finkle.

  What the fuck?

  “We’re pleased to inform all of you that the Raniero Enterprises will be the main investor in funding the joint ventures of Cristos Resort Hotels & Casinos! Our negotiation represents the value we place on making a better tomorrow for us all!”

  Bullshit.

  Just shoot me now.

  Someone! Anyone?

  He’s upping his game to compete with Lotus and Immortal, and the Cristos investment is the fastest way he can turn money around and throw it into more criminal activity. He isn’t fooling me, and now, I own forty-nine percent of his dirty money.

  The uproarious affluent crowd goes wild as he leans into me and says, “That’s for the Firecracker you sent!” He grabs my cheeks and kisses them.

  The Unholy only bought in for ten percent. My father had to buy for at least double.

  “Welcome to the business, son!”

  His associates swarm the stage as the vibration in my jacket pocket goes off continuously.

  Vega’s message is succinct: “What the fuck was that?”

  Trudy’s text is far more complex: “She’s wearing his Reckless Rebellion hoodie at Halloween Light’s Out. Don’t ask.”

  And finally, one from Jaid: “Look off to the right near the windows.”

  My girl and my boy are fucking in my house without me.

  Fuck it.

  Slipping my phone into my jacket, I’m determined to get my dick wet. Jaid strides closer in a red cocktail dress that looks more like bondage wear. The wide straps weave across her breasts and back showing her athletic, feminine build. Her dirty blonde hair is curled and piled high as her make-up screams don’t-you-want-to-fuck-me seduction.

  I meet her half-way, and we toast. With a fake smile plastered to my mug, I mumble low, “… Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “Would I do that?” The spark in her eyes says all I need to know. “If you’re fighting a war, you’re going to need far more money than what your ass can handle from Dale Archer. I negotiated the deal. I assured them my dear father would let them buy into the hotels with the stipulation that you got almost half of the new company.”

  “You’re terrible.” I gloatingly smirk.

  “I think I’m pretty good,” she lures with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you. I have to go have photos with my father and his new business partner.”

  On the outside, I’m acting like everything is fine, but inside—I’m burning. I can feel the stress mounting as the sizzling neurons stink up what remains of my gumption.

  Near a wall, Fink stands restless and draws my attention with the flick of his brow. Heading over, I wave to Cat at the family table. She tilts her head to come over, but I merely offer her a one-second pointer finger.

  Grabbing Fink by the elbow, I escort him out into the main hallway and over to an empty area of the bar. Frantic, I ask, “What do you have on you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Give me whatever the fuck you got, so I can forget about this goddamned night,” I mumble, twitching. “I’m getting my ass handed to me out there.”

  “Come on,” he counters, walking outside onto the terrace. “Welcome to the cool kids’ party!”

  The crowded space leaves little to the imagination. Drugs and sex are on the menu. Half-dressed whores are everywhere. Bottles of every imaginable flavor, bongs, and specks of white dust cover the glass top tables. Behind the outdoor fire pit with a girl on each arm, Uncle Vinny yells, “Sally! Come join us!”

  Fink discreetly places two vials of coke in my palm. “These are for tomorrow. Let me know when you need more. Be fucking careful, Raniero.” Without even caring, he lays a kiss on me that would make a porn star blush. His fingers lightly touch my lips as he flirts with darkness, “I’ll catch you later.”

  Sitting out on the terrace, I snort the snow, pop the candy, and smoke the ganja with my uncle for the next three hours, and I finally fucking relax. I’ve got a girl I don’t know rub
bing my trouser-covered cock and another one with huge tits—that keep brushing against the back of my head—giving me a massage. My jacket disappeared long ago, and cock rubber is slowly unbuttoning my shirt. I haven’t seen anyone I know, but it doesn’t matter.

  We’re all fucked up, and we’re all really close friends.

  I’m riding the waves of shame as Jaid stumbles—I think she stumbled—onto the terrace and scolds, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “We’re partying!” Vinny beams with a wave of his magic pipe. “Come join us, pretty thing!”

  Her scowl of disgust is tragic. “Fuck you, Sal.”

  On loose legs, I stand up and chase her. She’s stepping onto the arched glass elevator with a skyline view when I sneak in. We’re down a few flights when I hit the stop button.

  “… Is this a new habit, or are you losing your shit?”

  “I’m losing my shit,” I brutally confess, meeting her scrutinizing gaze which quickly disperses into wanton sympathetic lust. Pushing her against the mirrored wall, I kiss her hard and grind my hips into her crotch.

  “Let me stick my dick inside of you,” I mumble, kissing her sloppily. “Let me fuck you, baby. I need to get off.”

  “Sal,” she whispers as my mouth focuses in on her neck. I’m licking and sucking and whoops! That’s going to leave a mark. She flings the straps off the top of her dress, and I cup her beautiful breasts in my hands. I take a deep whiff in her bosom and suck her nipples taut like they are the best thing ever.

  “Baby,” I groan.

  My hands ease her skirt up. Between her thighs, I strum a finger against her bare clit. She’s gasping as I sink deep into her wet, swollen lips. “Get in me.”

  Unzipping fast, I pin her wrists above her head with one hand as I grab my dick and thrust in hard. “Oh, hell…”

  “Fuck me, Sal…” she moans, welcoming my mauling. I’m biting her lip and pinching her nips. “Give it to me,” she encourages, brushing her fingers over the back of my hair. “Don’t hold back.”

  We’re hip dancing when the elevator jars to life. The lights sparkle in the distance, and the mirrored wall offers an insightful reflection of our fucking. We’re incredible together—the mobster and his trophy prize. “Babe, I’m going to cum soon. You’re so fucking hot on my dick.”

  “Oh,” she simmers through gritted teeth, hitting the stop again. “Deeper.” I drop my hand from her arms and swoosh my hands under her ass standing with my back to the lights so she can see them. “We cannot keep doing this.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, refusing her overthinking and pumping into her with a determined drive. “Don’t you feel how hard I get for you? Is that not enough for you?” She bounces against my shaft, serrating her teeth over her lip, and finding the sweet groove to send our trip to the stars. “You’re so damned beautiful. I should put a collar on you and claim you as mine. Fuck everyone else.”

  “You should put a ring on my finger,” she cries out, her pussy pulsing around my dick. The beat of her spirals my ache to a place where I don’t care if I’m fucked up, it all feels right—the drugs, the money, and the girl. “You know we’re good together. I would be so good for you. And besides, it would get your dad off your ass.”

  You’re not her.

  But you’ll do.

  61

  Raw Mushroom Interception

  I fall apart Sunday.

  Staring at the two vials of coke on the table, I cry it out on my sister’s shoulder. I’ve got my head between her shoulder and her boobs. The view is nice. I’m a guy, and a good rack is a good rack.

  “I think we have two options,” she whispers, plucking her fingers through my hair. “You can stop being defeated and get up off your knees, or we can party like rockstars until tomorrow morning.”

  I sit up and lean my head back to the sofa. “I’m so fucked.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Because this isn’t the life I want,” I yell, louder than intended.

  Without fear, she rebukes, “So take the lemons and make fucking lemonade. You’re a goddamned rich kid now.”

  I already was.

  But I get my net worth just went sky-high with the forty-nine percent.

  “What does he want to do with the fishery?” Her lips seal tight to form a line. “I know you have an NDA, probably even with me, but I will not fuck you over Cat.”

  “I think the goal is to sell it off for chump change in the next year.”

  “He’s trashing it… Because he wants to be a fucking shark in a goldfish tank. The joint venture with Cristos puts him in an entirely different league.”

  I don’t need to ask Cristos why he did it. He’s pissed about my lack of testicles. I buckled and took Daddy’s offer, and that alone is far-reaching and wide.

  A man with no balls is not a man to do business with.

  It’s the principle of the matter, not the act itself. He agreed to the deal to send a concise message for me to grow the fuck up or get the hell out of his way. I’m nothing more than a pesky menace, but clearly, someone believes in me.

  “Whatever you decide to do, I’m with you until the end. If you bail, I will too.” A sudden knock at the door interrupts our conversation. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No,” I say, grabbing the vials and shoving them in between the sofa cushions. “I have no idea who it is.”

  “I’ll get it,” she says. Opening the door, she greets, “Hi, Vinny!”

  She does the hugs and kisses as he strolls in and hangs up his coat. I stand to welcome him. He gives my hand a firm grip and assesses my apparent distress.

  “I hate to interrupt you, but I needed to talk to you about some things our security team has discovered.”

  “I’ll give you boys a minute,” Cat says with a worried look.

  “We need to discuss Priscilla Christiane Grace Cristos Gennaro and your apparent affiliation with her. I fear the issue will be concerning her parents. Her mother is Stephanie Archer, Holland Archer’s daughter. He was an oil and gas baron back in the day, but eventually liquidated and sold off everything to Cristos. We need to maintain our relationship with Cristos vigilantly.”

  Because you’re getting into bed with a deadly anaconda.

  I already know all of this. “Yes, Sir… I believe I’ve heard that.”

  “She’s an Archer-Cristos, and her family is a fine match for your Raniero blood, but we believe with her prior marriage to Dom Gennaro that some things might be misconstrued, Sal. We don’t need any bad PR right now, and a far more suitable match with the same bloodline would be Ms. Granger.”

  With my elbow on the arm of the sofa and my finger resting under my chin, I inquire, “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “We’re telling you to cease your relationship with Priscilla Grace, effective immediately.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He lowers his head with a twist. “You need to think about what you’re saying. We have footage from your…shall we say promiscuous activities?”

  “You won’t let that see the light of day,” I belligerently counter.

  “No,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “But we will send it to Ms. Nakamura and make her life a living hell. We will make sure it plays out before her very eyes for many years. Every time she opens her email, her mailbox, or answers a phone call. We are resourced, son.”

  “Don’t call me your fucking son!” I rage, rising and walking to the other side of the room with my back to him.

  He huffs. “You are the only male in the Raniero line. This responsibility to do the right thing falls on you. The choice is yours. Make it accordingly. Have a good afternoon.”

  My jaw throbs from clenching as the door shuts. Meandering in from the kitchen, Cat asks, “What was that about?”

  “That was my nuts going into a vice.”

  “Shit,” she mutters, glancing up. “That sounds painful.”

  I give her an unamused glower. “What am I going to do
now?”

  “Roll on the rod.”

  I furrow my brow. “You mean don’t fight it…”

  “I mean don’t offer to lube up your damn ass so they can rape you.”

  That’s not funny either, Cat.

  But I get it.

  “If I do what they want, I lose everything.”

  “You’re already doing that,” she gently points out. “Maybe the only way through hell is to walk it with your head held high.”

  “I’m so fucked.”

  “Stop saying that,” she scolds, crossing her arms. “That kind of constant negativity isn’t what you need. Say I’m about to fuck some shit up. And yeah, I may have to go to the altar with Emily Granger, and I don’t fucking love her, but I’ll screw them all in the end. And hopefully, you don’t have those three kids to fuck up the same way we were.”

  “She can’t have kids…” I announce, realizing the truth of why they want me to marry her.

  “Oh,” she mumbles with a shrug. “So, she is the perfect fit for them.”

  Maybe she is the perfect fit for me.

  And I just haven’t tried hard enough.

  I change into a ripped pair of jeans, white shirt, my old Downbelow hoodie, and some Chucks. I’m trying to get back to my roots; the problem is I’m not sure where those are located on my tree. I feel transplanted as I wilt and wither away. With yellow-tinged leaves falling off the tree, I succumb to decay and turn to dust.

  Walking Sunday afternoon, I’m not sure where I’m going. I want to get lost. I used to ride my bike on these streets, spend time with Nonna, and find wisdom from Old Poppa. Now, it seems like all I have is heartache over everything I did wrong.

  I tug my phone from my back pocket and dial Iris’ number.

  “Hi! I know you don’t want to talk to me. I know you think I lied, but I didn’t. Not really. I’m not marrying anyone but you. I haven’t figured out how to get out of this yet, but I know as long as I’m here, you’re safe. And if being apart keeps you breathing, then there is no choice. Call me if you…want me…need me…love me still. If not—if we are through—then have the time of your life being Mrs. Deacon Cruz and know I’m fucking happy for you. Get lost and have tons of beautiful babies with him. He’ll be so much better to you than I ever could because the one thing I know is—I was never good enough. I’ll be okay. You can go your way. I will go mine. Be merciful. That’s all I ask. Be merciful.”