by Reana Malori
TANGLED LIES
REANA MALORI
TANGLED LIES
© copyright 2019 Reana Malori
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Contents
SUMMARY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
EPILOGUE
Thank You
Dark Angel - Excerpt
Let’s Stay In Touch
About the Author
Also by Reana Malori
Tangled Lies
What’s done in the dark, will always come to light.
Tristan Lucarelli’s life was irrevocably altered the moment his parents were killed. Under the tutelage of his favorite uncle, he entered a world of violence, death, power, and loyalty to family above anything else. Now a man to be reckoned with, no one dared get in his way without paying the price.
Camille Sperry could never be described as an average woman. Hellbent on creating her own path in the world, she didn’t apologize for who she was, or how she lived her life. Often misunderstood and underestimated, her no-holds-barred approach allowed her to create a life well-lived. She was happy and fulfilled. Or so she thought.
From the outside looking in, Tristan and Camille didn’t belong together. They didn’t fit, and their lives were too different. The challenges involved in trying to make a relationship work would be too difficult. Then again, Tristan and Camille have never played by the rules.
CHAPTER 1
“What the fuck are we doing here, Marco?” Tristan couldn’t believe he was sitting in this car like a low-level foot soldier. His cousin never failed to go running behind the newest shiny object. The fact that he’d convinced him to come along for the ride this time not only pissed him off, but it also made him wonder why he still felt the need to protect him.
Marco looked over at him with a glint in his eyes. “I told you,” he snapped. “This motherfucker disrespected me. You know I can’t let that shit go. Fucking mulignan,” he spat. “I just want to see what he’s up to. Find out who he spends his time with.”
Sighing, Tristan shook his head. “We’re not some half-ass lackeys, Marco. This is bullshit. You have me out here sitting in a car like a dumbass. You said you needed my help. I have other shit to do. Which you already know.” Looking down at his phone, he responded to a message from one of his boys. That done, he lifted his eyes back to his cousin. “Make this shit fast, man. I got somewhere to be.”
Silence filled the car as Marco stared across the street at something, or someone. His lips curled in a snarl, and his breathing became loud, as if he were running. Or hyperventilating with fear. Either way, his cousin seemed to be losing it, which made Tristan wary.
This is the type of bullshit he didn’t want to deal with anymore.
Over the years, he’d taken the steps necessary to build something outside of the family business. He needed other drivers in his life that didn’t include continually looking over his shoulder. Murder and mayhem were all good, but not when he just wanted some fucking peace.
His whole fucking life had been driven by the whims of others. Even as a small child, his life had not been his own. Truthfully, from the time he came screaming and kicking into this world, his future had been laid out for him. Until fate stepped in, sending him in another direction.
His parents died when he was just seven years old. Snatched from him without a second thought. All because someone wanted to prove they had the balls to do it. They hadn’t cared about the little boy waiting for his parents to return home from a night out. Their only focus has been snuffing out their lives in the bloodiest way possible.
At that age, he knew nothing about La Cosa Nostra, the family business, or the Mafioso. Those lessons came quickly, though. Roberto Lucarelli, his uncle, raised him to be the type of man he thought was best.
Whether or not Tristan’s father would have wanted it that way, no one knew. But his uncle is a good man and a fair one. It wasn’t his way to try to replace Savio Lucarelli, Tristan’s father, and he’d never tried.
Over the years, his uncle had given him a family, gave him a second home, a place to lay his head down at night. People who loved him the best they could, and who kept the memory of his parents alive. For that, he would always love his uncle and his wife, Sofia.
When the nightmares came, his aunt Sofia would come to his room to hold him tight, whispering soft words as tears fell down his face, comforting him the only way she could, as a mother. She’d tell him stories about his parents in their younger years. They’d all known each other since they were teenagers, so there were plenty of tales to tell.
There were times he could feel the tears fall from her face and onto his skin, wetting his pajamas. He never mentioned it though, because he knew she was trying to hide it from him. They were like that.
To the world, they were ruthless. Capable of taking the life of another without a second thought.
Behind closed doors, with their family, there was nothing but support. Even when he or Marco fucked up. There was nothing his family wouldn’t do for him, and he felt the exact same way. Which is why he sat in a fucking car on a Saturday afternoon while his cousin seethed. Shaking his head, he knew whatever this was, would not end well.
“Who the fuck are you looking at?” he demanded.
“A dead man,” Marco growled.
Tristan glanced at his watch, noting the time. “You have exactly two minutes or else I’m calling Orlando to come and pick me up. You know me better than this. Don’t fuck with my time, Marco.”
His cousin’s gaze shot his way. “You still think you’re too fucking good for us.”
An old argument they’d been having since their teen years. Tristan had been done with this shit years ago. Now, at thirty-four years old, Tristan was fed up with his cousin’s bullshit. That Marco continued to bring it up only pissed him off even more. He loved his cousin, but the man had a huge fucking flaw.
Jealousy.
From the day they turned sixteen, Uncle Roberto had groomed them both to take over the business when he retired. Over the years, it became apparent that he favored Tristan over Marco.
Tristan hadn’t wanted the role more than his cousin. It was what his uncle decided.
Then again, Marco never understood the power that came with the role.
Being head of the family was about more than how many people you were willing to kill. There were lives, families, and businesses at stake. Every deci
sion would come with a price. Sometimes the price was higher than expected. It didn’t matter though. In the end, there’s always a price to the paid, and the devil always got his due.
There were three families in the Boston and Providence area, and each of them held a stake in the legitimate, and underworld businesses.
Not only that, but there were outside relationships that had to be fostered. The O’Shea’s were one of them. A couple years ago, the O’Shea brothers and the Lucarelli’s had a falling out. Some shit had gone south, and Marco had been at the center of the shit storm. It had taken every negotiating tactic he had to calm shit down.
Conall O’Shea, a businessman and the most level-headed brother in Tristan’s opinion, agreed to a sit-down. Conall’s only caveat was that Marco not attend or have any say in the final resolution. It had been easy enough to get arranged. His uncle Roberto had no problem with Tristan leading the discussions.
There’d been no other way. The O’Shea’s ran Boston. The Lucarelli’s ran Providence. If he hadn’t cleaned shit up, it could have started a war. He’d had no other choice, yet his cousin hadn’t seen it that way.
His uncle’s fast agreement was the final straw. The truth was finally out there for others to see. Marco would not be the head of the family. Ever. His father didn’t trust him.
From that moment, the snide comments had come from Marco regularly. He’d always play it off as a joke, but Tristan was nobody’s fool.
“No. I’ve never thought I’m too good for you. But let’s agree on this one thing. You got one more motherfuckin’ time to come at me like that, Marco. Our blood is the only thing saving you right now.”
His cousin’s eyes took on a hard glint. Marco’s lips were pulled tight, and Tristan he could tell his cousin held his temper in check. Maybe he’d finally grown some fucking balls and would actually come at Tristan the way he’d been expecting him to all these years.
He’d hate to tell uncle Roberto and aunt Sofia that he’d killed their only son. Then again, they were probably expecting it to happen someday.
“Come on, Tris. You know, I’m just fucking with you.” A sudden smile came over Marco’s face, but there was no real warmth in it. After twenty-seven years of living under the same roof and being his brother in all the ways that mattered, Tristan knew when his cousin was faking it.
And this motherfucker was faker than a three-dollar-bill.
If Marco could get away with it, he’d try to slit Tristan’s throat. Tristan knew that for a fact, because he’d do the same thing to Marco. It wasn’t that Tristan didn’t love his cousin, because he did. But sometimes the rotten meat had to be destroyed. And, if Marco was as smart as he claimed, he knew Tristan was well aware of how he felt about him.
His lips lifted in a smile as Tristan watched his cousin closely. He wondered what the hell went wrong with Marco over the years. At this point, he wanted Marco to try to come at him. It would give him a perfect chance to put all this bullshit to rest, so he could move on. The mood swings, quick anger, and excessive drinking had turned Marco into someone he no longer knew.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Tristan snarled. “This time, I expect an answer. Who the fuck are we here to see?”
Pointing across the street to an outside lunch deli, he lifted his chin. “Him. Raymond Sperry.”
Not much in this world could shake Tristan. Except what his cousin had just said. Raymond Sperry was an original gangster. The old school dudes were often referred to as an O.G. by the younger ones. And if there was anyone O.G., it was Raymond Sperry. Fuck!
Back in the day, their fathers had been friends. More than friends. Brothers. They’d trusted each other with their lives.
Considering Raymond was a black man, there was something to be said for that connection. Both he and Marco knew the real history. It was part of their family’s origin story. They grew up on tales of the man referred to as Mayhem, the nickname his Uncle Roberto called his longtime friend.
From what Tristan knew, Raymond had fallen in with their fathers when they were all young. Savio and Roberto were just entering the business and needed the right connections. Raymond helped them set up business contacts in the neighborhood, introducing them to the right people, and vouching for them. He gave them access to people who would have never given them the time of day.
Back in the 1970s, it was practically unheard of to have the Italian’s working publicly with a black guy. But they’d done it. All of them basically giving the middle finger to what society said. Even their fathers, uncles, and others around them gave up trying to get them to change their approach. Probably because it had worked. Whatever Raymond had done, it catapulted the younger Lucarelli’s further than their fathers had been. The partnership was strong, and nothing could break their bond.
Including prison.
Apparently, Raymond had been caught up on charges. Instead of trading his knowledge of the Lucarelli family to make it easier on himself, he took the heat on his own. Served six years at the Moran prison facility in Cranston.
In all those years, not once did he open his lips to rat out the family. Loyalty like that was almost unheard of from someone not connected to the family by blood. When he got out, apparently the two brothers had repaid his loyalty in spades.
Wait a minute. This was the guy Marco felt disrespected him? Shaking his head, he sighed deeply. A shit storm was coming. He could feel it in his bones, and again, Marco was in the middle of it all.
“Marco. What the fuck are you doing? You know he’s off-limits.” That Marco had somehow tagged Raymond as someone who’d disrespected him didn’t bode well. For Marco.
Spittle flew out of his cousin’s mouth as he yelled, “Not to me! No one’s off-limits unless I say they are. I’m the oldest son. That fucking mulignan told me no. Told me he didn’t take orders from me. I’ll put a bullet in the back of this nigger’s skull.” Breath heaving, eyes wide, and his lips pursed in anger, Marco could hardly pull himself together.
Looking at his cousin a bit closer, Tristan saw what he should have noticed earlier. Dilated pupils. Fidgety. Eyes flitting from spot to spot. “Fuck.” This was worse than he thought. Running a hand down his face, he knew it was time for him to get the fuck outta this car.
“You with me, or are you taking a dead man’s side against the family?”
Tristan shook his head at the bullshit coming from his cousin. This wasn’t the family at all. His uncle would never condone this, and they both knew it. Raymond Sperry was not to be touched unless Uncle Roberto ordered it, which would never happen.
From the crazed, drugged up look in Marco’s eyes, he was itching for a reason to challenge Tristan.
Nodding his head in acceptance, Tristan came to a decision. If that’s how Marco wanted it, then he’d get it. Because there was no way in hell he was going to allow this to happen. Not on his watch.
“Fuck this shit. You know the rules, Marco. Raymond Sperry is off-limits without uncle’s permission. When you’re head of the family, you can do whatever you want to do. Until then, I’m not condoning this shit.”
Making a split-second decision, Tristan exited the vehicle. Buttoning his suit jacket, he made his way across the street to his father’s old friend.
Just as he crossed the street, his gaze caught sight of a vision. Her long black hair flowed down her back as she bounced her way along the sidewalk. Her rich caramel skin glowed in the sunlight. A wide smile covered her face as she greeted everyone she passed. His gaze took her in from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.
Jean coveralls, a hot pink T-shirt, and white Converse™ covered her feet. He couldn’t help but laugh. Not many people surprised him lately, but this woman did. That alone piqued his interest. Committed to catching up to her for an introduction, he paused just a few feet behind when he saw her raise a hand to greet someone.
Raymond Sperry stood from his chair, smiling at the woman walking towards him. Ju
st as Tristan was adjusting to the new situation, the woman he’d planned to meet, take out to dinner, and fuck into oblivion did something to stop him in his tracks. She walked up to the man who was as deadly, if not more so, than Tristan himself.
“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted.
Turning, he saw his cousin standing outside the car, taking in the scene. A grim look on his face. “Well, fuck me.” This situation just went from bad to worse.
CHAPTER 2
Camille watched the interaction between her father and the delicious man standing next to their table. Of course, she’d seen him crossing the street as she made her way to the restaurant. The man was difficult to miss.
Easily standing at least six feet three inches, everything about him captured her attention. His tanned skin, strong Mediterranean feature, dark hair, and brown eyes gave her a hint of his ancestry. When he turned to her and introduced himself, she had the final piece of the puzzle.
And it explained why her father looked as if he could chew glass.
“Tristan Lucarelli,” his smooth voice called out to her. His hand extended in greeting.
“Camille Sperry,” she responded. “Nice to meet you.” When their hands touched, she felt a spark of electricity pass through their contact. Snatching her hand away from his, she rubbed her palm along her pants leg. Although she tried to play it off, the smirk on his face told her he knew exactly why she’d pulled away.
The longer she looked at him, the more she wanted to touch him again. It wasn’t like her to be caught up in the gaze of a man. No matter how sexy he was. She became annoyed when his gaze raked her body from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. Smug bastard.
The intense look in his eyes made no secret of his thoughts. A shiver coursed along her spine as she questioned if she wanted to engage in this dance with him. Tristan Lucarelli was no one to be trifled with. She wanted to dip her head, hide her eyes away from him. But the longer he stared, the more willing she was to give up all her secrets.
