Jaid and I step outside beneath the sunny, clear sky. I light a smoke as she steals one and reprimands, “You should really tell me next time you do that.”
“What fun would that be?” I ask, flicking the lighter and grinning. “I like the impromptu.”
“Answer me one thing,” she says, exhaling. “You thought about killing him?”
“Of course, I did.”
“Because of the things he did to the ten…”
“No,” I reply, popping a piece of gum in my mouth. “Because I think about killing everyone.”
“That’s frightening.”
“Welcome to v2.0, baby.”
30
Like Her Crab, This Cancer Grows
Back at the house, we’re brainstorming outside with Morpheus, Fumio, Mamma, and Deacon while eating pizza and drinking beer from his tap. The summer night is pleasant and calm, a stark contrast from our day.
“Girls are odd,” Mamma says, sitting beside me. “They can be fickle. Do you think maybe she influenced where she was going?”
As stupid as this makes me sound, I hadn’t considered that possibility.
“I don’t think whoever has her is going to harm her,” Morpheus adds, smoking on a pipe—like a literal, old school, cherry tobacco pipe. It smells incredible and reminds me of Old Poppa. “If they wanted to sell her, we would know. If there was a ransom, we would know that, too.”
“She could be dead,” I say the words no one else will. “Just because Atticus claims to have seen her two weeks ago means nothing.”
On his fourth piece of pizza, Deacon mumbles, “I doubt it.”
“Give me that.” Jaid edges in and snatches her fourth piece. “No way you can out eat me.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Yeah,” Jaid agrees, taking him up on the offer. “A thousand.”
“Got to make it worth more than that,” Deacon challenges, swigging on his beer. “Give me some meat.”
“Whoever wins gets to sleep in Sal’s room tonight.” Jaid slings her words to slay. “There is your meat.” She gives a marked twitch of—don’t mess with me, bro.
Oh. Fucking. Shit.
I love this about Jaid. The ability to not bow down before anyone, male or female. She does not rattle or conform. Neither does Iris. Neither did Kaci. I snicker, realizing I fall in love with v1.0’s.
Thank God Janna is dead, Bertie is married, and Henney is a lesbian.
“Deal,” Deacon says, offering her a shake from his greasy fingertips, as he flashes a grin to me. “You bring the lube, Nero?”
Morpheus almost rolls out of his chair with laughter. “I love this guy!”
Upping the ante, I give a sexy snarl. “I always bring the lube and the goods, too.”
Deacon discreetly winks and smiles at me.
“Don’t you two make yourself sick!” Mamma asserts, getting up. “This old girl has a date with a hot bath and a book!”
“What are you reading?” Jaid asks, folding over her fifth piece. I love watching her eat pizza. If I’m being honest, it gives me a boner, but with the way Deacon is flirting….
Fuck, I don’t know who I want to win.
“I like gruesome murder stories a lot.”
I fire a smirk off to Deacon as he rolls the pizza into a phallic-shape and throats that shit. I shake my head, trying to keep from blushing, as Jaid quizzes, “Like real stuff?”
“Non-fiction or fiction, it doesn’t matter,” she says, moving around the table and kissing everyone on the head. “Goodnight, party people. Breakfast will be at eight.”
We all say goodnight as Fumio escorts her inside.
Deacon is on his sixth piece when Jaid declares, “I’m out.”
His devil tongue darts out with excitement and his brows lift once. Ya, you bastard, keep teasing me. “In that case, I’m done.”
“Asshole!”
Deacon laughs, pulling out a joint. “You mind if I?”
“Not at all,” Morpheus says, taking a box from his pocket. “But you should try this.”
Eyeing the box, I request, “Let me see that.”
“The weed?” Deacon asks, removing the four tubes.
“No, the box.” My hands run over the emblem on the front as Morpheus stares at me. “Where did you get this?”
“It was a gift from Keishi.”
Holy hell, they are on a first name basis. “Do you know him well?”
“We have vacationed together.” I smile as he chuckles. “I guess you could say we know each other.”
“Well enough to get me in?”
“Doubt it,” he honestly replies. “He is very particular about who he meets with these days.”
“I can imagine.”
Morpheus smiles. I believe he would help me if he could. “Keep the box, Sally.”
Like a kid on Christmas morning, I grin ear-to-ear as Deacon pulls a pipe from his cut, loads the bowl, and lights it. The scent of ganja fills the air. “That’s nice…”
“Isn’t it though?” Morpheus rhetorically asks. “It’s from overseas. Thailand.”
“Bangkok,” I add, knowing the connection well. We’ve been buying from them for years because Kaci adored their product.
Deacon holds the pipe to my lips and I inhale as Jaid shakes her head. “All that pizza did me in, boys. Have fun! Thank you again, Morpheus.”
“You’re welcome, sweet thang,” Morpheus lures as his eyes strip her clothes from her easy figure and she walks away. “That girl has an incredible ass!” Deacon bursts out laughing and I grab his hand under the table to control his boisterous crossfaded state. “I guess she doesn’t do the…”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “She is about as goody goody as they come. Offer her popcorn and she’ll do anything.”
Deacon is dying of laughter, tears are spilling out the sides of his eyes. “She’s a bit tight.”
“Sounds like a challenge,” Morpheus replies, smiling like he’s about to go see how far he can get with Miss Uppity. “You two feel free to use the pool.”
Deacon waits until he disappears inside. “Did the stupidly rich, good looking drug dealer in gold chains and white suit just hit on Jaid?”
“Yep!” I boom, breaking my composure. We’re laughing hysterically. “He did.”
With a completely serious look, he asks, “… You think she’ll go for it?”
“Depends how kinky he is,” I reply with a goofy grin on my face. “God knows she ain’t into me much anymore.”
“Bullshit…”
“Nah, we can fuck, but the flame is dead.”
He lights the bowl again. On his exhale, he quizzes, “Since when?”
“Since I gave up whipping her ass.”
With his glazed blues, he mutters, “You didn’t give up whipping my ass or fucking it.”
“You’re special, Cruz. Real special.”
I have no idea how much weed we smoked, but I wake up on a lounge chair under the stars. I check my watch—3:17. It seems odd for Deacon to have left me. I pull out my phone to see if he sent a text. I notice Iris’ name and hit the button on a I-just-got-blazed whim. I know she won’t answer. I expect the generic message as I wait for it to go to voicemail.
“Hello,” her delicate voice says. “You’ve reached me. I’ll be out until the end of the month. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.”
I don’t know if I’m pissed she hasn’t called me or thrilled to know she is alive. “Where are you? Call me.”
“Who are you talking to?” Deacon asks, completely naked, as he comes out from the bushes by the pool.
God, I love that ass.
“Where were you?”
“I had to take a piss,” he excuses, grinning. “I didn’t want to piss in another man’s pool. That’d be rude.”
“You piss in my pool all the time.”
“And you swallow my spunk, what is your point?”
“True.” I nod, pulling off my hoodie and tank top. “Iris. Voicemail. She
is out until the end of the month?”
Deacon shrugs. “Don’t ask me what she is doing. If I knew, so would you.”
I unbutton my jeans as something distracts him. “What’s wrong?”
“Sal, look.” He grabs my arm and pulls me back so I can see what he sees—an upstairs room with a dim light on and the easily distinguishable feminine silhouettes gyrating. “That fucker has two.”
“Ya,” I mention, somberly. “And one of them is Jaid.”
Deacon and I arrive in New Orleans early the next evening. Father Quinn called and wants to meet with both of us. It’s strange, but I’m always eager to oblige the Padre. We’re meeting in the cathedral after his mass completes in the sanctuary.
“Do you think we’ll be forgiven?” Deacon asks, staring at the altar. “For the shit we’ve done?”
“Maybe.” I say, swiveling to keep an eye on the door. I don’t trust anyone. “I have a reservation in hell.”
“… Is it for a party of two?”
“Three,” I correct with a nod as Q strides in and I stand to shake his hand. He steps into the pew behind us and plops down, not bothering to take my hand.
“We need to talk.”
“Is there a reason we’re meeting in Nola?” Deacon inquires, mirroring my sitting position.
“Yes, the walls in Sugargrove have grown ears.” He sternly glances over the top of his glasses. “You need to know a few things. Handcock reached out to Boudreaux and they are offering to aid him.”
“Where is he?” I ask, strumming my fingers on the back of the pew. “Do you know?”
“I haven’t a clue,” he answers, leaning closer.
“If I find that son-of-a-bitch, he is a dead man,” Deacon mumbles as his gravelly voice reeks with a darkness. “He stole a quarter of a million from my father.”
“I’m aware,” Q assures. “But that isn’t what is important right now. What is important is how they found him.”
With our mutual interest piqued, I ask, “How?”
“Nissa.”
“My father’s secretary?” Deacon’s expression sours. “My secretary?”
“Handcock and Nissa have been involved for years. The money was taken by Handcock and given to Nissa in exchange during his incarceration. I assume they planned on some sort of split later down the road.”
Deacon’s lips tighten as he curls his fingers into a fist. “That fucking bitch…”
“Wait, before you go getting even,” Q warns, laying his land on Deacon’s shoulder. “Nissa has been investing into Cinco.”
In a state of disbelief, Deacon grapples with the rug being pulled out from under him. “How do you know all this old man?”
“Priests listen and talk rarely. She isn’t alone in her investment though; Wendy Cruz is sinking loads of money into Javi Neves new vision of Cinco’s future.”
“… Both of them?”
Pressing his hands together, Quinn nods. “I thought you should be made aware. I already told Dom and Nico before I left Sugargrove.”
With the shit hitting the fan, I blink. “… You what?”
“I had a meeting similar to this with your partner, Dominic Gennaro and Nico Cristos.”
“I know who they are!” Getting up, I pace towards the altar, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Deacon watches on with concern. Pulling my hair, I call Nico. His phone goes directly to voicemail. “Hey, Nicky! Just wanted to make sure you were keeping your habit under control. I need a you to call me. ASAP.”
“Call Dom.”
Listening to my lover, I hit the button and his bitch answers. Everyone else hates her, and maybe I’m missing something, but I try to be polite. “Hello?”
“Hey Ashley, is Dom around?”
“No,” she snaps without provocation. “And he won’t be back for a few hours, daego.”
Whoa. Stop.
Let me explain something.
Iris can call me a daego. My boys can call me a daego. This little twat cannot, under any circumstances, call me a daego. It is fucking offensive and rude as hell. It is the equivalent of her spitting in my face.
So, I decide if she’s going to be that way, I get to be a dick. “Why do you have his phone?”
“Because he leaves it here when he goes to Juliet.”
“Oh, that’s right!” I cheerfully boast. “I forgot he was meeting with Amber tonight. Apologies. He’ll probably be all night.”
Deacon and Q are both holding back their uproars as her gasp could be heard in friggin Boston. “He’s with Amber?”
“Ya,” I lie, cracking my knuckles with my thumb. “Maybe you should join them, but wait… You’re a white trash gold digger.”
Click.
Deacon erupts, which is great because prior to my outlandish behavior, he looked like he was five-seconds from a heart attack. My boy flushes bright red when he’s pissed. Quinn is wobbling around with a jolly laugh like Humpty Dumpty. “I cannot believe you did that!”
“Bitch never should’ve called me a daego.”
“She’s going to go kill Amber,” Deacon suggests.
I shrug. “I don’t trust that bitch, either.”
“If they make it to the altar in three weeks, I assume you two will be there?” Quinn questions, preparing to leave. I give an approving nod. “Keep your guns at home, boys. Not in God’s house. And more importantly, not on Dom’s doomsday.” He offers hugs and kisses to our cheeks before departing.
While in the church, I decide a prayer is in order. I kneel and bow my head as Deacon quietly follows suit before pointing out, “Do you realize he just asked the Capo and his half-assed wise guy to not bring bangs to an Italian wedding?”
My brow jets up. With a side-eyed glance, I ask, “You been practicing?”
“Yeah.”
“Not bad for a quasi-daego.”
He smiles. “What are you praying for?”
“Always my girl,” I whisper, making the sign and kissing my cross. Feeling closer to Deacon than I have in quite a few months, I inquire, “Why won’t you date Catarina?”
He forms the cross, kisses his pointer finger, and blows the kiss up to his father—The Original Saint. He sits back on the bench with me. “Because I’m scared it won’t work out and you’ll issue a hit on my ass.”
I give a wide smile. “Do you honestly think I have it in me?”
“No,” he mutters. “But I don’t want to hurt her.”
“It’s too late for that,” I confide, bumping his shoulder. “She really likes you.”
“I really like her pussy.”
“You’re pushing it, man,” I jest with a smirk. “You’re pushing it.”
With a deviant little grin, he thrusts his hips. “Push it into your sister.”
“Maybe I will kill you.”
“Just make sure you fuck me first.”
I snort. “I’m not Nicky.”
31
Humidity Hailstorm
The next few weeks are long. I go back home to Boston, and in typical fashion, boredom sets in fast. Emily is busy with Maka. Cat is busy with the family. Basically, everyone is doing exactly what I told them to, which should make me happy. Unfortunately, no one told me what to do while I wait for the final six agents to be removed from Iris’ case.
I do a lot of running and working out.
And I have lunches with my father.
We’re sitting in some trendy new place. It’s strange being out with him because everyone—and I mean everyone—knows that motherfucker. And subsequently, they think they know me. A normal lunch with Cat can take an hour tops. With my father, we are gone for no less than three hours, typically closer to four.
I pay close attention to his hustle. He can work a room and network like no one I’ve ever seen. In a way, I guess I’ve done it too, but only at Juliet. His skills are enviable and nothing compared to my working up a crowd of already horny women.
He is aware I’m going to Dom’s wedding, but he hasn’t said anything der
ogatory about it. His silence triggers a warning siren in me. He knows Gennaro is folding the family business because Campanelli has told him.
I will never understand Italian famiglia alignments.
The Raniero and Campanelli families get along fine now—at one point, they didn’t—but the Raniero and Gennaro families have never seen eye to eye. My father is undoubtedly thrilled that Dom is caving in and calling it quits. He believes we can overtake Campanelli.
I’m not so sure.
Marcello Campanelli is a likable fellow, and unlike my father, people go out of their way to seek out his fraternization. My father networks because he has to. The majority of those he knows do not care for him, but the tactics instilled by him and used by our famiglia have brought on a fearful respect.
I’m the lone wolf.
And more like Marcello with equal parts charm and persuasion. I enjoy giving back into the community when I can and it’s earning my notoriety as the giving son. For so long, all my father ever imparted was trouble.
In many ways, Cesario Raniero is using me. I up his standing, give him cred, and bring the whole famiglia to a new level of regard. He needs me more than I need him.
“Be careful this weekend,” he cautions over his plate of spaghetti. I’m studying him as I pick at my Caprese salad—and yes, he chastised me for it. “You need to be eating more like a man and less like a rabbit!” And then, as if by a miracle, he patted his belly and said, “Course I guess that’s why you look the way you do and I look like this!”
He’s aging, my old man.
And that means, so am I.
“You want to take some of the fellas?”
I’m humbled by his offer because it shows his newfound respect for me. He didn’t always have that. I guess I’ve earned it. “Nah, Dad.”
“You sure?” he asks, shoveling the pasta in his mouth. “I don’t want no issue.”
“There won’t be any issues.”
“I got a call the other day,” he says, wiping his mouth and chugging some red wine. “From The Commission…”
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 25
