Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I finish chewing the mozzarella and set down my fork as a sick feeling permeates in my gut. The Commission is the association of many Italian families; invites are rare. My father has never gotten one, but Luca Raniero was one of their pride and joy members. “They’ve been watching RE. And they’d like to set up a meeting with you.”

  “With me?” My voice cracks. “… Why?”

  He burps, rubs lips together, and picks his teeth with his tongue. It’s times like this I wonder how I am even related to this man. He looks nothing like Luca, and every bit like my grandmother, Viola. “Because you are the future of the family.”

  “I’m the end of the family too, unless The Arrangement is lifted.”

  “You marry Emily, and I’ll see what we can do.”

  Sometimes, I should just shut up.

  Emily cannot have children. “What do you mean?”

  “Stella is taking Em to see a fertility specialist after the holidays.”

  Oh. God. Fuck. No.

  If I have spawn with Emily, I will never get out of this racket. “That’s great, Dad. Thanks.”

  And I die inside.

  With the stress of our Monday lunch date, I decide to bolt early for New Orleans. I leave Wednesday morning to spend a few days at The Dollhouse alone.

  In gray sweatpants and ball cap, I’m chowing through a vegetarian pizza and watching the Thursday late afternoon ballgame when the doorbell rings.

  “Sal Raniero?” the courier asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Package from overseas,” she informs as I note the kanji symbols. “Please sign.” I scribble my name on the tablet and she hands the shoebox sized parcel over. “Have a beautiful day!”

  My eyes skirt back and forth as I reply with uncertainty. “You, too.”

  I twist my hat on backwards and mute the flat screen. I recognize the English writing and bite my lip as the tears drip over my cheeks. “I can’t do this,” I mutter, setting the package in the middle of the coffee table. I resume the game, smoke through a half a pack of cigarettes, and down a half of a bottle of whiskey.

  I must have passed out on the sofa as Nico and Dom wake me up the next morning. “Holy shit! Is that pizza?” Nico asks, digging into my leftovers from yesterday. I sit up, staring at the elephant sitting in the middle of the table. “I’m fucking starving! Did you get it from that little place on the corner?”

  “Save me a piece!” Dom yells, running through the house. “I have to piss!”

  “This is amazing,” he boasts, eating my pizza and sitting on the edge of the chair. “Our flight left so early. And Kade was up all night with a cold. I’m damn tired and we’ve got the bachelor party tonight, the dinner tomorrow, and the wedding Sunday.”

  Squinting my eyes, I cannot get a word in.

  Dom spots the box and points like it’s a deadly viper. “What is that?”

  “Package,” I answer.

  “Looks like it’s from Asia,” Nico mumbles with a mouthful of my pizza. “There is one piece left,” he says, handing it to Dom. “We’re going to have to get some more of this.”

  Dom picks the box up, rudely shakes it, and I remark, “Set my fucking package down, please Sir.”

  He cackles. “When did it get here?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Nico is bouncing his leg—nonstop. “You gonna open it?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Hmph,” Nico says, grabbing the remote. “Order some more of this.”

  “I’ll order it, but you’re paying for it and going to the door.”

  “Deal!”

  Half an hour later, the doorbell rings as Nico is watching crime shows very loudly. Staring at him ignoring the doorbell, I yell, “Your pizza is here.”

  “Dom, pizza is here!” Nico shouts to Dom in the study. He takes off running for the door in his socks. He’s sliding all over the wooden floor. I roll my eyes and return to my video game.

  Nico’s getting twitchy. And this concerns me more than anyone can imagine. I’ve seen his art work done live and I’d prefer to never witness it again. “It’s for you, twit.”

  I stumble off the sofa and stride to the door. It is the same carrier with another box. This one is much bigger, like moving box size.

  Jesus that must have cost a fortune to ship.

  “Hello!” the courier says. “It’s a big one!”

  “I see that,” I reply, signing for it. “Thank you!”

  “Be careful,” she cautions. “This one is bulky!”

  Bending down, I scoop up the package from the doorstep. “Can you get the door?”

  “Sure,” she says with a smile as I turn away. “Have a beautiful day!”

  I furrow my brow. “You too!”

  “Holy craptastic!” Nico says, eating a container of yogurt. “That’s huge!”

  Irritated, I come back with, “Are you fucking pregnant?”

  He almost spits, which arguably would be hilarious to see white creamy stuff coming out of Nico’s mouth. “No, but I don’t eat much at home because I’m always busy.”

  I believe it, the guy is stick thin. “That’s not fucking pizza!” Dom announces with a wave of his arms. “Japan again?”

  “Yep,” I say, setting it down next to the coffee table on the floor. I return to the sofa and pick up my tablet. I’m continuing my game as they stare at me.

  “When are you going to open them?”

  I look up with a blank expression. “I don’t know. When I want to. They have my name on them.”

  “Someone knew you were going to be here,” Nico says, licking his spoon and rocking rather quickly in the chair. His tics are starting to give me anxiety.

  “Ya, I know.”

  The doorbell rings again and the side door opens. “I’ll get that!” Dom says as Deacon drops his sunglasses and cut on the kitchen table. He wanders into the living area and stares at the boxes.

  “I brought your damn bike home from Sugargrove,” Deacon informs. “She’s got issues.”

  “She’s old,” I mumble, wishing I could disappear. “And cantankerous.”

  Dom sets the two pizza boxes on the table. “Now, we have pizza!”

  Nico asks, “Did you get both vegetarian?”

  Deacon is staring at me. With one glance, he knows I’m not doing well. He grabs a piece of pizza and taps the large box with his boot. “What are these?”

  “They’re Sal’s boxes!” Nico says, munching on the crust of his pizza first. I sigh as Deacon grins.

  “Just call it Sally’s Christmas in September,” Dom adds.

  Rolling his slice into a tube, Deacon asks, “Are you going to open them?”

  “Ya,” I say, shrugging. “But I don’t know when.”

  “Okay.” Deacon nods, accepting my answer. “You know, that’s weird though, right?”

  “They. Are. My. Boxes.”

  Grabbing my pack of smokes, a water, my tablet, and my two boxes, I head out to the pool. I carefully set everything down, and then run inside get my Bollés and a bottle of whiskey. I’m setting up camp, far away from all of them, where I can be alone with my thoughts.

  And my boxes.

  I’m just getting comfortable when I realize I should’ve tied all three of them up. Like little ducklings they march out of double French doors and cluster around me. They’re yammering on about the pizza, the wedding, and my bizarre fascination with carrying around packages.

  This is a long-standing thing with me. I get new computers, phones, watches, and I will wait for days before opening them. Iris once said I was “remarkably well disciplined.”

  Out of the blue, I start crying…wailing…hysterically sobbing as the boys’ silence and sit down. Deacon edges in on my lounger and opens his arms. I’m soaking his white t-shirt in slobber and tears.

  “I can’t open them.”

  “Do you want me to cut them open?” Deacon asks as I nod. “Which one first?”

  “The little one,” I say, sniffling. “Wait no,
the big one. Good things come in small packages.”

  “Then your dick must be tiny!” Nico booms as I’m now laughing and crying. He sticks out his tongue.

  I shake my head. “Fuck you, man.”

  Standing up, Deacon pulls the blade from his pocket. With the lightest touch, he slices through the tape. Placing the blade handle in his mouth, he picks up the box and mumbles, “Spread your legs.”

  “Do you say that often?” Nico jests as Dom chuckles with a shake of his head.

  Setting the package down, Deacon jabs his fist into Nico’s arm and warns, “Be-fucking-have!”

  I smirk at Deacon’s use of my Sal-isms. I tip the box and pull out the intricately designed blanket and pillow. They are red silk and embellished with black butterflies, tassels, and trims. I open the small envelope.

  “Stay warm this winter. ~ Iris”

  I bring the fabric to my nose and tears cascade down my cheeks. “It smells like her.”

  Deacon looks up at the trees, trying to avoid letting his own tears fall. Clearing his throat, Dom wipes his eyes. It is a rare sight to see Dom’s emotions and I know—this must be really bad for me and remarkably hard on them. Nico, being Nico, is looking like he is one breath away from stealing the blade from Deacon’s hand and murdering the courier if she comes again.

  I don’t know if he likes standard-issue black sneakers, but we may find out.

  “You want the other one?” Deacon asks with his reddened nose and damp eyes. “Hmm?” He wiggles his torso, trying to make me smile, as I shove the blanket in his face. “Jesus, you’re mean…”

  “My blanket,” I declare, curling my forearms around it. “Mine.”

  “That’s the sexiest fucking blanket I’ve ever seen,” Nico admires. “Really.”

  “Open the next one,” Dom encourages.

  Deacon repeats the process and hands it to me. I peek inside at all of the contents of her care package from Japan. Tea, candies, cookies, incense, fidget toys, and other things bring a smile to my face. At the very bottom, I pull out the business envelope and open it.

  “Read it!” Nico yells as I flip him off.

  Deacon stands to pocket his blade and returns to sit. He lays his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to read it.”

  I’m crying and smiling as I scan over it quietly. Shaking my head, I lean back against the chair and crumble into a thousand fragments. “This fucking girl," I say, staring at Dom.

  His eyes are filled with tears from watching me. “I know, Boston.”

  I swallow and breathe as I read the letter out loud.

  “Dearest Salvatore,

  I wanted you to have these things to remind you of me. I know what we’ve been through hasn’t been easy. I sent the packages to New Orleans because I knew you couldn’t have them safely delivered to you in Boston.

  I miss you so much and I am so sorry all of this has happened. I know you want to know where I am, but I cannot tell you because if I do, you will risk your life to come and find me.

  Please don’t hurt anyone for the stunts I have pulled, it was entirely my idea. And you can spank my ass red one day for all the mistakes I have made. Or maybe that’s the lessons I’ve learned from watching you.

  So many times, you’ve called yourself the darkness, but I want you to know, you are nothing but light to me. And maybe that is what this is all about, shining the light on one another when we are in the darkest places in our mind. I want you to hang on, keep being strong, and don’t lose sight of your goal.

  Remember how much I am in love with you.

  Remember how much I love your pierced beast.

  And remember this will all be over soon.

  More than words,

  Mrs. Iris Nakamura Raniero

  xx”

  Warm tears trickle over my cheeks as I refold the letter and crash into Deacon’s welcoming arms. He’s rocking me slow like a sobbing child as he whispers, “The bachelor party just started. We’re gonna need a case of booze, a bong, and some strippers.”

  I laugh against his shoulder and cry some more before howling out and gripping my hands in my hair. “She fucking did it.” I take in her use of the Nakamura, and I understand she has embraced her future position as the leader of the Lotus empire. “She fucking did it!”

  “She did!” Dom agrees, offering his hand. “I’m stunned.”

  Nico smiles and says, “She’s a crazy girl full of surprises! And what a treasure you have.”

  Glancing up to the sky, I know the Pixie is smiling down on me as I mutter, “We did it.”

  “Yeah,” Deacon acknowledges with a nod. “She fucking loves you. And you should be so proud!”

  “I know she loves me, and I am so damned proud of her,” I reply as Dom and Nico look on with longing for this kind of intense passion. “I know what I fucking have and I am going to hold onto her for the rest of my life.”

  Tapping my thigh, Deacon warns, “Don’t fuck up. And don’t hurt her.”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “I promise I will never hurt her.”

  “No, nevah?” Nico asks.

  “Not this time, bro.”

  With the knowledge that she is alive and breathing, every piece of the puzzle shatters to the ground as I remap and rebuild the grid.

  The Queen has spoken.

  And her guardian…her keeper...her lover…her Dominant...

  … Her husband must prepare.

  32

  Broken Trajectory

  Saturday night’s dinner at Gina’s is a closed party for all of Dom and Ashley’s friends and family. Everyone is here—Allie, Anna, Dale, Amber, Trudy, Jaid, Jas, Georgia, Cristos, and the rest of the gang. It is a packed house.

  I’m still riding high on my gifts from the Orient and Deacon is maintaining a close vigil while I remain in a vulnerable state.

  I’m emotionally tender by Iris’ devotion.

  And truthfully, I have zero desire to be celebrating a wedding I’m not even certain should be happening. We’re in a secluded corner—Deacon and I—as Serene and Nico sit next to Emily and Maka. I don’t mind Maka, but I’m not sure why Emily chose to bring her for the weekend.

  Originally, Dom suggested having tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s wedding at The Dollhouse, but I frowned at the idea. The doors of the fetish brothel have been closed for over a year and I didn’t want it turning into a mammoth circus of a scene. I love the carnival atmosphere of Juliet and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but Anna maintains an escape in Scarlet House. The Dollhouse doesn’t have the spacious privilege, if that makes sense. In addition, I knew Emily would be here and I’m bound and determined to keep that world away from our relationship.

  The Unholy have been using The Dollhouse as our hideaway. The Southern Gothic plantation is a sanctuary, technically belonging to me. I’m unbelievably thankful Dom did not ask to live there with Ashley because I don’t think I could’ve allowed it. They’ve purchased an older home in Mandeville across The Causeway. I wish he could stay at The Dollhouse, but not with that woman.

  Not in my house.

  Toasts have been made and dinner is being served. The menu is classic Nola fare with shrimp Po’Boys, red beans and rice, biscuits and debris, crawfish étouffée, and beignets with assorted fruit on the side, napoleons, and Italian chocolate layer cake.

  You don’t have to ask what I’m having.

  The full bar is open and the espresso is flowing like a river. Olives, nuts, and giardiniera garnish the tables with fresh flowers. Everyone is having a grand time and the vibe is chill with an undercurrent of tension (we are, after all, who we are) with the cultural flairs of Ashley’s Big Easy and Dom’s Italian heritage. It goes without saying, all the boys – even the groom – are packing heat, and I’d expect no less, just like I imagine my wedding will be. Any other way would be a foolish, potentially catastrophic, mistake.

  We aren’t looking for trouble, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t looking for us.

  Allie sl
ides into the booth beside me. “What are we drinking boys?”

  “Jim Beam straight,” I reply as she steals my glass and takes a swallow.

  Deacons eyes her with suspicion as he picks his glass up and hands it to her. “Want some?”

  “Oh, do I…” Allie takes his cup of Jaid’s moonshine from Tennessee and gulps it. “Holy shit!” Allie grimaces as Deacon chuckles. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Why would I warn a girl wanting to get schnockered?”

  I spot Cat at the bar looking over longingly, like she lost her best friend. I wave at her to come and sit with us. Deacon scoots over and our table is full. Thank God. Because the last thing I want to do is talk business with Emily and Maka all night long.

  “How are y’all doing?” Gina says, tossing out two more coasters.

  “Can we get a bottle of tequila?”

  “Sure!” Gina says, smiling at me. “You want limes and salt with that Patrón, Nero?”

  I grin because she knows me well. There are numerous waitresses working the floor tonight, but Gina is catering to me. I didn’t ask for it, but these things happen when the last name is associated with the big boys. I’m getting accustomed to it, though there are days it is awkward.

  “And what are we eating?” she asks just me.

  And I defer to my boytoy, “Cruz?”

  He’s scanning over their custom menu. “Po’ Boys. Bring hot creole. Mayo on the side, too.” He blinks up, knowing I won’t touch that white shit. He smirks with you can have some white stuff on your lips later.

  I laugh as Gina repeats, “Po’ Boys all around, spicy red gravy, and rémoulade on the side.”

  “Yes,” I reply as Allie giggles next to me. “Do you need something?”

  She shakes her head as Cat interjects, “You have lobster for the Po’ Boy?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Let me do that, please,” Cat says.

  Biting her lip, Allie politely tosses some shade. “Did you just make a lobster roll out of a Po’ Boy?”

  “That sounds amazing,” Deacon says. “Does everyone want lobster?”

  “I’m good with shrimp,” I say, watching my companions quietly quibble over what we’re eating. “But can I get a pound of crawfish?”