And that is why I hired her to watch things at Juliet.
“So,” she says, pulling up a chair and straddling it. “I was talking to Charlotte.”
“Is she really marrying Derek?”
“Supposedly, but I’ll be amazed if they make it. Charlotte is…well, you’ve been with her…”
I tilt my head. “Are you fucking Charlotte Tuddle, Lula?”
“I may have developed a relationship with her,” she confides. “But that’s not important!” She lifts her pointer finger, and then steals a French fry from my plate. She finishes chewing and says, “So, anyway Charlotte has been helping Anna out. She overheard her Aunt Ella talking with her Aunt Kit, Dr. Wendy, and Anna about the estate of Juliet. Kit and Wendy are adamant about the school not being handed down to the current recipient.”
I lean forward. “… Who is it?”
“In the will, according to Anna, Iris Amarie Nakamura Kettles and Lucas Salvatore Raniero are to split the estate equally.”
I blink.
I expected it…but we’re sharing it?
Mind you, I understand Iris is my future wife, but the what if’s…
“She’s splitting it between us?”
“Yeah, supposedly,” Lula says, swiping another fry. “But Wendy and Kit are up in arms about it. They think it needs to go to a sole owner. Anna argued that it was in one owner for a long time.”
“Who?”
“Kacilyn Mae Hope,” she informs, tapping twice on the table and getting up. “I gotta go, Charlotte is waiting for a pickle and mayo sandwich.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I reply with a sadness. “Call me.”
She grins and winks at me. “I will.”
“You need anything?” Deacon somberly asks. “Anything at all.”
I hold up my empty plastic cup. “Another sweet peach tea?”
He snatches the cup from my hand and disappears inside. I pull my sunglasses over my eyes because no one needs to see how broken I am. And how broken I may always be. I notice Allie, walking towards the café with three shopping bags in her hands.
“Where have you been, stranger?”
She smiles. “Shopping over at the antique mall, I bought a little house uptown.”
“Where at?”
“The corner of Ash Road and Cedar Trail.” She gives a quizzical look. “Why, do you know it? Seems a little slumming for your taste.”
“I know it well,” I reply, grinning. “Iris’ old house is on Mimosa.”
“Oh, wow!” Her face lightens as Deacon hands the cup of tea over. I hook up to the straw, praying for some relief. “Is her house the one with the overgrown tree covering the driveway? Canvas over a car?”
I nod and slurp as Deacon sighs. My emotional train wreck is turning toxic.
She glances at Deacon and he gives her the why-are-you-looking-at-me-hand-doctor response. For reasons that escape me, these two hate one another, and frankly, after the Trudy-Serene War, I’m done with hate. It’s overrated and everyone should just love. Messages from my wife’s grave.
Sit down. Shut up. And eat each other out.
Love.
“Why don’t you two go out on a date?” I announce, playing matchmaker.
“… Him?”
“Me?” Deacon cries out.
“He’s a biker,” Allie chafes, turning her nose up. “No offense.”
“She’s a snobby English girl,” he counters, lighting a smoke. She waves her hand around. “Probably sips her tea with her pinky in the air.”
Ouch.
“Do it, anyway,” I encourage, pulling out my wallet and popping two hundred dollar bills down on the table. “Go to a movie.”
“We’d have to go up to Austin.”
“I know how to drive,” Allie remarks.
With his how-dare-you-play-the-Dom-card scowl, Deacon hisses, “On the correct side of the road?”
“You know,” I say, rocking in my chair. “If you two would pull your heads out of your asses, you might just be perfect together.”
They look at each other in horror.
And they both frown at me like I smell of two-week old seafood in the sunshine.
“Just do it,” I shout, expanding my arms wide. “Go out on a fuckin date. My treat.”
With much reluctance, they leave, and I take my truck down memory lane. I stop by Iris’ house and check the mail. I walk through the cemetery and cry with my wife. I head back to Deacon’s house with nothing but heartache in tow.
And I don’t see Cruz again until the next afternoon when I’m packing up my truck. “Where are you going?”
“Abel’s preseason baseball practice with Amber.”
He snarls, “… Why?”
“Because there is rule about keeping your friends close.”
His stoic resolve breaks. “Apparently, keeping enemies on your dick can be pretty nice, too.”
“Told ya,” I boast.
“Fuck you, man.”
50
All the Lies
After spending a week in Nebraska with Abel and Amber, I’m back home. My miserable state is at a point where I don’t even want to be around myself.
The house is back together thanks to Cat, and I’m nervously trying to tie my tie in our bathroom mirror. The Windsor knot is not working this morning, partly from nerves, partly from bad hands. Frustration leads to my slumping over and laying my hands on the counter. My slicked back long raven hair falls forward as Emily lays her hand on my forearm.
“Come here,” she says, spinning me.
“I…”
“Shh!” Emily eases, untying my mess. She is dressed in pink velvet bottoms and a taut white tank with no bra. And I’m trying very hard to not get distracted by this. “I got you.”
“It’s just this meeting is big…important,” I inform as she gently folds the tie. “Fucking scary as hell.”
“And I will be here when you get back,” she assures, straightening me up. She admires her handiwork and hands my silver banded watch to me. “I promise.”
“Be dressed,” I flirt. “I’m taking you out.”
“Where are we going?” She asks, easing her bottom onto the cabinet. “Did you put on deodorant?”
“Yes,” I say, fastening my watch. “And I brushed my teeth.”
“Come here,” she says, taking a blob of gel and my comb. “Duck.”
Squatting slightly, I try not to stare.
But her boobs are right there.
I could just be late for the meeting with The Commission.
“We’ll go to La Chapelle,” I respond as my mouth waters over her ripe little nipples. And they are small. But highly responsive. “I know they changed the menu for spring.”
“You’re good.”
“I don’t know if I am,” I worry, unable to stand still. “This isn’t just my dad.”
“No,” she says, “This is the mob.” I close my eyes tight as she hops off the counter and hands the black jacket to me. “For what it’s worth, Lucas, you look amazing.”
“Cufflinks!”
“Fuck!” She rallies, opening the box from Morpheus where I keep my jewelry. “Luca’s or yours?”
“Luca’s because I need all the fucking help I can get.”
She fastens them onto my shirt. “You are a Raniero. Don’t forget it.”
After Deacon spent days trying to reprogram it into my hard drive that the last name doesn’t matter, now it is the only thing that matters.
After taking months to arrange, The Commission is meeting with me—alone—in the same restaurant and bar where my father announced his partnership with Delarte Cristos. In the back of the car Uncle Vinny sent, I breathe, trying to calm my nerves.
It isn’t working.
I distract myself by answering a few emails and not thinking about the fresh vial of snow Vinny passed off when he came by the house late last night.
Breathe, Raniero.
“Keep your cool, Sally boy,” Vinny said
with a big smile. He looked right in my eyes and determined, “You’ll be fine.”
It was akin to slapping the baby on the ass to make him cry.
I stroked my overgrown beard and questioned, “What if they won’t deal with Dad?”
He grabbed my inked arms, giving my biceps a firm squeeze. “You play it like the ruthless son of a bitch you are cut out to be.”
Vinny wanted me to undermine the whole thing and leave my father out in the cold if that was what it took. I glanced between the floor and him. “And if they want more?”
“You give Luca’s famiglia whatever they want!”
And so, as it happened, I was shaving early this morning when I realized exactly what he meant. The enigmatic family alliances and rivals were not balanced within what we knew as our actual bloodline, but some distant superior famiglia known as The Commission, running the entire show. We all had our own independent families, led by Kings, but an invitation from The Commission was an offering from one of the trio of Gods. It wasn’t Lotus. But it was close.
If I could finagle my way into the ranks of being a made man, then a handwritten invitation from Lotus would almost be expected. The networking demystified as I ran the straight-edge razor over my skin. With the knowledge under my belt that we were all one giant famiglia, I understood my responsibility.
It was never about my father.
But Luca Raniero and the history of his business.
Riding up the glass elevator, I remember screwing Jaid here. The images are fresh in my mind. I wanted to marry Priscilla Grace. Well, more than I wanted to marry Baby Emlee, but my family wouldn’t hear of a Raniero hitching up to a Cristos. To do business with them was acceptable; to marry them, not so much. Emily had one tie—to her mother—a Holland.
Stephanie Serene Holland Smith-Stanton.
Texan. Old money. Oil wells. Real estate. Shipping.
And small compared to Delarte Cristos.
My marriage to Emily was arranged by my family, and I would be subjected to it for the rest of my life if I didn’t come up with a way to stop it and soon. I check my watch and know we are a little over seven months away from the wedding.
I want to throw up.
I want to run away.
I want to die.
The one I wanted to marry was far bigger than a Cristos. She was born of the Gods, a holy, celestial being straight out of the history books. The family would never agree to our merger. She was half-Japanese, and therefore, according to my father, never to be trusted. Plus, she ranked above me. I was, and even still am as I look out the window at the tall, foreboding building, a street thug. Even if—and it is a big if—The Commission invites me to their cult, I will be a grunt, the lowest of the low. And still beneath Iris.
She has one mark against her—she is the daughter of an English woman.
I have many, many things knocking my position down. From a prior marriage to a Cristos (Kaci) to my unruly behavior, I’m a high risk. And that brings about a curiosity as to why in the hell The Commission even wants to speak to me. No one—not Marcello Campanelli, Dominic Gennaro, Vinny Veramonte, or my father have ever been bestowed with an invitation.
So why me?
I don’t have a fuckin have a clue.
I straighten my jacket, step into the lobby, and play the role I was born for—smiling, charming, and being my father’s son. He’d be so proud, but it isn’t him I want to impress. I want the blessing of a dead man—my grandfather—my Old Poppa, Luca Raniero.
With their security staying close, I greet the younger men (and their right-handers) in their fine black suits and know I am one of them. I readily and easily assimilate with Giacomo Benedetto, Alessi Ettore, and Gaspare Castillo. They are the sons of Gods.
And I am the fourth.
My name is Salvatore Raniero.
That word Deacon has been tossing around—panache—all the wise guys got it, but what I wouldn’t give to be covered in mud and crawling underneath his house.
Because – that guy – is me.
But – this guy – in my custom-tailored suit and expensive loafers, he is going to get my fucking princess out of the goddamned castle.
If the meeting goes well, I’m going to buy the black Lamborghini I keep drooling over, and then I’m shipping it home to let Tank paint it to match my fucking bike.
Spinning the tires in the driveway, I pull up to the fence and rev the engine. Emily rushes out in her rollers and bathrobe. The look on her face is epic.
“What…” She stops, big eyed, and pointing. “What…”
“It’s a car,” I reply, tossing my coat inside as I pull off the cufflinks and drop them in my pocket. I unknot the red tie, but leave it draped around my neck. Chewing my mint gum, I unbutton the white shirt and chuck it in the car. “I bought it.”
“It’s fucking gorgeous…”
I lift my brows. “I know.” I say, picking her up and swinging her around. “Just like you.”
“They invited you,” she whispers, clutching her hands around the tie and pulling me to kiss her. “You’re going to get in.”
“They were very impressed.”
She cannot stop grinning. And I’d be a fool to say I wasn’t loving the gleam in her blue moons. “Must have been more than impressed…”
I pop my gum in my teeth a few times and nod. “I will be getting an invitation to join The Commission within the next few weeks.”
“Ohhhhh!” She squees. “Holy shit!”
Emily understood the importance of this because we’d gone over it for days. I even drew her a flowchart, mapping out the logistics of how it all works. It hit the shredder soon after she went to bed.
“Are we going out?”
“We are going out,” I insist, trailing my fingers from her neck to her heart. I slip my hand under the terrycloth fabric and feel her breast. “After I have my way with you.”
My Uncle Vinny got wind of the news from Massimiliano Vidal. He was Gaspare Castillo’s hitman from the old world. Word traveled fast when the Boston kid made a giant firestorm no one ever saw coming. If Emily and I were gossip column before, we were front page worthy now. And that was fine until we pulled into La Chapelle.
My father’s twelve-man security team was roaming the lot and forcing everyone to go park across the street until we arrived. I felt terrible about it. I didn’t think I was anything special. Dad may have brought out the militia, but his only son had three bangs, two blades, and one hot bitch on my arm.
I didn’t trust anyone.
We’re dressed like the couple to beat. I’ve dropped the tie and opted for my dark navy blue suit and white shirt. I left the shirt generously unbuttoned to piss Mama off and Emily wore a sleek, form-fitting silk red dress. The bust was slightly too big, and I kept catching glimpses of enough skin to give the pierced beast a twitch.
I had already been in twice.
That was the thing about Emily—she was easy. Easy on the eyes. Easy on my thighs. Easy to spread. Not so easy to wed.
“Sal!” Mama says, glaring at my open shirt. “Emily, you look beautiful!”
My father stands up to shake my hand and pulls me closer for a hug. “You did good today, son.”
His words are almost enough to make me tear up. What son doesn’t want the recognition and respect from his own father?
Vinny welcomes me with open arms, gripping onto me tight and whispering in my ear. “I told you. You had this in the bag! And I got a present waiting for you later.”
We spend the next two hours dining and toasting without a care in the world. We are safe and secure here. Emily’s hand never leaves my thigh as her and the witches plan my wedding. Mama is thrilled. And by the time desserts and cordials come, everyone is getting hammered.
“Salvatore!” Vinny shouts. “Come smoke with me.”
“I’ll be back,” I say, giving Emily a hasty peck on the lips. “Be good now.” I wink. Cat gives a look of worry as I walk towards Vinny, like she knows what is abo
ut to go down.
Vinny holds the door for me as we step out on the private terrace of our dining room. He pulls out a cigar and offers me one. He methodically preps them both.
“You know what you need to do now, right?”
“What?” I ask, bumping his shoulder, as he flicks the lighter and I puff. “Tell me.”
“You need to make some cuts,” he replies, sprawling out. “Trim the fat.”
I furrow my brow. “You mean with RE?”
“I mean with TU.” He eases the proverbial knife in so gently, I don’t even feel it. “You need to cut your relationship with Gennaro, especially now. You cannot be viewed as having relationships with outsiders.”
With my bravado on full display, I don’t waver with my confidence. I don’t look him in the eye. I’m the highest ranked member in the Raniero organization now, even if I don’t get the invite to The Commission. But I will. And I know I will. Because I do not lose.
I hand out the order like The Boss. “I’ll break the ties with Gennaro, but I’ll cut the family before I cut Cruz.”
His scrutinizing stare lingers as I blink to him. “Deal. But if you need me, even if you cut ties with Cesario, I’m here for you.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, meaning every word. I have a very clear understanding that I cannot do what I’m about to alone. I will form a team—Sal’s Team. “What’s your present?”
“I got two hot ones in the back of the limo with a couple bottles of champagne for ya. Just like you like them, silken and slanted.”
I’m marginally offended (and slightly humored he knows my taste) but I don’t let it show because now is not the time for weakness. I’m climbing the ladder to rescue one doll from her high pedestal.
“Thank you,” I politely say, not knowing if I’ll take him up on it. “It means a lot to me.”
“I’m sure it does,” he says, snorting a line from his finger. “I’m always here for you, Sally boy.”
And that is how the famiglia worked.
51
You Are Not Yours
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 40
