Covet (Beautiful Sinner Series Book 2)

by Elena M. Reyes

  “And you’re happy, Lo-Lo? Does he take care of you?”

  “I’m his equal, Roe-Roe, and we take care of each other. He’s never made me feel anything but cherished. Loved.” Pausing, she lifts her pop to her lips and takes a few deep sips. “For the first time in my life, I go to bed every night knowing I’m safe. That no one can force me to do anything, and what I give him in return, willingly and because I love him with everything I am, is my heart. That’s all he’s ever asked for even though he’s risked his life to save mine.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes.” She waves her manicured fingers in a hurry up motion. “Now, your turn.”

  “Um, what? I don’t have anything like—”

  “The guy you want to learn to dance for...is he your boyfriend?” she asks, smirking at me. Enjoying my impersonation of a tomato. “This has to be good if you’re blushing this hard.”

  I shake my head, averting my eyes. “We shall put him under the it’s complicated section for now.”

  “Why are you looking away?”

  “No reason.” Another mistake on my behalf as I look over and begin to fidget in my seat. “Quit looking at me like that. He and I are not serious.” But I want to be. Need him to want it.

  London tilts her head to the side, appraising me. “But can you see yourself with him? Like long term?”

  “Yes.” No doubt. No hesitation. “But who knows what the future will bring, though. Life changes in the blink of an eye and right now, whatever we are is up in the air.”

  It’s the truth. Nothing in life is guaranteed and a relationship like ours is doomed from the very beginning. All the cards are stacked against us.

  We live on separate continents.

  I hate the business, and it’s a huge part of who he is.

  He’s always disappearing without a trace for weeks as he searches for the man who pulled the trigger.

  I’m afraid to fall and crash.

  “Why?” She gives me an apologetic look, picking up on my change in mood. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

  “Not at all.” Smiling to show her that it’s really okay, I sit back and pop a fry in my mouth, chewing slowly to give me a few extra minutes to word this right and control my tells.

  “You’re killing me here.”

  “So impatient,” I mock grumble, a bit chastising in genuine fun, just like my mother did to me as a kid. I have no chill. Almost zero when I’m curious about something and so far, the only person that keeps me waiting is Casper. He’s become my exception to the rules on everything subject it seems. “But...”

  “Woman, I will throw a piece of bacon at your head.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Yes, I would.” Her light blue eyes turn to slits, daring me to keep making her wait as she tears a tiny piece of bacon from her club sandwich. “Five, four, three—”

  “You little shit! Okay. Okay.” I’m laughing at the absurdity of this. Just how at ease I am with her and how much it’s helping my self-inflicted loneliness after I sent Casper away. “I give.”

  “Spill.”

  “You and my best friend Aliana are going to get along beautifully.”

  “Great, and two.”

  “I met him in London and had a one-night stand,” I spit out a la Band-Aid effect.

  “Oh my!” She sits forward and places both elbows on the table, cradling her face and looking at me as if I’m an interesting soap opera. “Please continue.”

  “Dork.”

  “Takes one to know one, and keep going. Because he had to have left quite the impression for you to get all red and—”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  “Do you want the story or not?”

  “Proceed.”

  “You’re so kind.” Discreetly, she flips me off and I can’t help but crack up. It’s insane to me how effortlessly this has all been. How fast we’ve clicked.

  It’s easy and comfortable, as if we’ve known each other our entire lives.

  “Yup, and it was totally cliché too. Just like the movies.” Closing my eyes for a minute, I’m transported back to that day. Moreover, my lips begin to paint her a picture of that night. The pub, the pulsing music blaring through its speakers, the intense green eyes watching me across the room. The connection and draw, the moment he stepped in behind me, and then the moment his lips skimmed my earlobe as he spoke against my skin.

  My skin breaks out in goose bumps. My heart races.

  And through it all, I get hit with a pang of longing because I’m the one stepping back.

  I need to call him. I miss him.

  When I’m done, I open my eyes and meet London’s wide ones. She’s smiling. “Not serious my ass, chick. That was hot and sexy and intense and I’m running out of words to describe a smidgen of what you just told me. Don’t be blind or stubborn. Don’t deny what is clear to see…that man is under your skin.”

  “And who’s under yours, Twirl?” a male voice says from behind her, and our heads snap back simultaneously toward the intruder. When we realize just who it is, we have two very different reactions. Lo-Lo is elated, while I’m embarrassed.

  How much did he hear?

  “You,” is her automatic response before slipping from the booth and throwing her arms around the no-nonsense CEO’s neck, something that with his demeanor I’d think he’d be against, but it’s the opposite. The extreme opposite.

  Malcolm Asher is all smiles for his girl and doesn’t give a damn who sees it. The look in his eyes is that of a man in love. The sweet kiss he gives her is drowning in adoration.

  It pours from them. The love.

  And seeing it with my own eyes gives me hope. Literal hope that maybe someday this can be Casper and me.

  “I need to call him,” I whisper to myself as the elevator door opens on my floor. It’s been a long day, but amazing, and with it came enlightenment:

  If we really want to, we can make this work. I had the perfect example of it in my face all evening, and everyone knows who Malcolm Asher is. What he does. What they have never been able to prove, but people talk.

  And others, like my father, have done business with the man and his father before him.

  “Gem,” Casper says out of nowhere and I scream, a gut-curdling yell that makes him step back with both hands up. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Why would…are you…you scared ten years off my life!” I’m in his face, moving in closer and fighting to ignore just how good he smells. How good he looks in a leather jacket, simple white shirt, and old jeans. My pointer finger digs into his pec as I jab him, angry that he both scared and made me wet at once. Handsome bastard.

  “Love, I said your name three times. Is something wrong?” There’s genuine concern in his tone, and my annoyance simmers into a near nothing throb. “Did you get another one of those messages?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Then?” he asks, taking advantage of our nearness to slip an arm around my waist to pull me against his chest. And I don’t fight his hold, if anything, I let him. Enjoy it. His touch.

  “I met someone today that I didn’t know existed.”

  “Met someone?”

  “A cousin. I have a cousin here in Chicago and had no idea all these years.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Gem. Family is the most important thing in the world.” Ducking his head a bit, he kisses my temple and then across to my forehead. “I like knowing you have someone to turn to here.”

  “Thank you.” I nuzzle his chest and give him a small kiss of my own there. “Now, what are you doing here? I thought you’d wait for my call.”

  “Something happened—”

  “You need to leave again?” Disappointment hits and he sees it. I’ve gone from happy to my shoulders dropping.

  “They found my mum’s killer in Cuba.” As much as I hate it, I understand. Agree, even. Casper won’t move on until he finishes what he started months ago after he
r death.

  “Go. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “You promise we can talk then? There are some things I need to explain. Plans to discuss.”

  “More reason for me to wait. Go,” I whisper shakily, emotions rising to the surface. “Just come back to me in one piece, and no more bullet holes. If you do, I’ll add the next one myself.”

  “Is that your way of saying you care?”

  Rising up onto the tips of my toes, I peck his lips twice before speaking against them. “That’s my way of saying I want to be with you.”

  25

  Early yesterday morning…

  MY MOBILE RINGS atop my nightstand and I reach over, almost knocking my bottle of water to the ground before bringing the device to my face. It’s a number I don’t recognize but the area code is a similar one: 305, and that means Miami.

  And there’s only one bloody bastard that I know in the area personally.

  Thiago Rivera is one of my biggest and most loyal business associates/clients. He’s a man of his word and an unapologetic cunt to everyone but those closest to him, and also a damn good friend. Furthermore, in this business I only trust two men: Malcolm and him.

  I pick up on the next ring. “About time you called, you arse. How’s life treating you on the outside?”

  “It’s getting there.” His voice is a bit rough, as if he’s been out all night drinking, and he clears his throat. “Adjusting.”

  “That’s good to hear. Are you free, or…?”

  “Probation for two years.” Through his side of the line there are some loud voices—they’re yelling something in Spanish, and I sit up on the bed. I have a feeling this isn’t a social call. There’s too much commotion. Too much cursing.

  “Everything okay, mate?”

  “Is the pigeon in its cage?” he asks, and it’s his way of asking if the line is safe to speak on.

  “Ezra keeps it clean and maintained.”

  “Good.” The sound of ice clinking inside of a glass follows as he moves to another room, the yelling around him ceasing as the door slams shut. “You in the States?”

  “In Chicago. Why?” Without conscious thought, I grab my pajama bottoms and put them on before heading out into the main living area of my penthouse. I’m alone, but Callum isn’t far with Archie. They’re at the unit across from mine, more than likely sleeping after being up until three a.m. going over intel one of my men gathered on the Cancio organizations—trying to find a connection to the Savino siblings.

  And we learned three very fascinating things:

  That name doesn’t exist in New Jersey. Not a single fucking Savino family.

  Matteo wants to retire and wants his heir, my Gem, to take over.

  I have a bullet with the name of his second-in-command on it.

  He wants Aurora, and I’ll have his head mounted on my wall before he lays a single finger on her. Fuck that, I’ll never allow him the chance to even attempt to get close.

  Dominic Bruno is a dead man walking.

  “…because you’re needed in Cuba tonight, my friend.”

  “Tonight?” I ask, walking into the other penthouse, and Callum looks up at me mid-bite. He places his bowl of cereal down—the man has an obsession with Lucky Charms—and stands, awaiting orders. “What’s going on? Why is your little brother in Cuba?”

  “Because Ivan has your mother’s killer in a holding cell in Havana.”

  I miss you. ~Gem

  Wish you were here, but I understand. Do what you must and come back to me safe. ~Gem

  Her messages come in as I step off the small chartered aircraft we switched to after touching down in Miami the following night. It’s just a little over nine in Havana when we land, and it’s hot. The temperature is in the high 80s while Miami’s wasn’t any better. We were in the beautifully sweltering city for less than thirty minutes before leaving, and then inside of Cuban airspace a little over an hour later.

  With each step down from the small plane, I feel my state of mind change. I’m wound tight and full of restless energy. Angry and needing to unleash my wrath.

  To begin paying them back for what they’ve done.

  A life for a life multiplied by my ire.

  Thank you, love, for always understanding and being amazing. I’ll be seeing you soon. ~Casper

  Then I pocket the device, putting it on silent so as to not be interrupted, at least for the next few hours as I go and make new friends.

  At the end of the small private airstrip that belongs to the Riveras is an older gentleman holding a sign with my last name on it. Behind him there’s a classic car, an open door, and the man I owe a very large favor to.

  “It’s been a very long time, Ivan,” I say, extending my hand out once I reach him. “How have you been?”

  “Can’t complain.” He smiles, and it’s just like looking at a younger version of Thiago. “Happy to have him home...Mom’s ecstatic and planning a wedding.”

  “He’s getting married? But I thought—”

  “Luna is giving him hell, but it’ll happen.” Callum stops to shake his hand and then slips inside the car, followed by Archie. Both are silent for distinct reasons. One is trying to clear his head, while the other is working with Ezra via text to wipe our information from all flight logs. As far as Interpol and the US government knows, I’m still in London. We all are.

  And I want it to stay that way.

  My comings and goings aren’t something I want to be public knowledge or publicized anywhere. Anonymity is key in my business, and I adopted that teaching into my daily living.

  The less people know, the more successful you’ll be. The less you’re likely to run into hypocrisy disguised as friendship.

  The less bullshit tries to infiltrate your life with false pretenses.

  Trust very few people and those you keep close. Because bad intentions and envy run rampant in today’s society, and when the going gets tough, very few stick around.

  “My money is on her drawing blood first.”

  “More than likely.” Ivan shifts his eyes to the driver, who’s already put our carry-ons into the trunk of a mint 1950s Chevy Bel Air and nods, signaling for him to get back inside and wait. “But this clusterfuck is a long time coming. He brought this mess upon himself.”

  “Agreed, but we both know he’ll wear her scratches with a smile on his face and a drink in his hand.”

  Ivan throws his head back and laughs at that. “Very true.”

  “So, about this little visitor you have…”

  He sobers at once, features turning hard. “Some motherfuckers have a big mouth and love to run it, Jameson.”

  “Drunk?”

  “Off his ass.” Stepping aside from the door, he comes and puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it, while his dark brown eyes meet mine. “You have our deepest condolences, Casper. What they did is unforgivable, and whatever you need to avenge her is yours.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “Please lead the way.”

  Their home here is large: a colonial monstrosity with a twenty-four-hour staff, transportation, and full-sized jail at the far end of the compound. There is one way in and one way out, with a crematory inside the same building.

  No neighbors. No questions. No one knows they are here.

  The government here is too cocky to realize what’s happening beneath their noses. How people are slowly rising up to take back what has always been theirs. They were just too afraid to strike back without help. However, it’s coming. That day that all Cubans dream of is on the horizon, with help from the Riveras and two more families silently working in the background.

  They will have freedom.

  We will have an open port to negotiate from.

  However, this visit is for a very different purpose and as we exit the car right in front of a building’s door, I walk calmly to the trunk and pop it open before their driver can assist.

  I won’t nee
d much for this visit.

  One gun and my two knives.

  “Mate, were you able to get what I asked for?” I hear Callum ask Ivan as they come to the back as well. “How much?”

  “Yes, and not a thing.”

  “Owe you one. Just ask.” They stop beside me and Ivan pulls a package from deep inside the trunk—a box—and hands it to my cousin. I don’t ask about the contents. I’m sure it’ll come in handy, but for now, I take my time preparing.

  My vest comes off and the all-black suspenders fall down to my thighs. Next, I remove my mobile and wallet—handing them over to Archie—and then pull out the chain inside the front pocket of my trousers. It’s a special medallion my mum had blessed by the pope on a visit to England after I was born. On the round, quarter-sized piece is the symbol of Ares, the God of War: an ancient helmet from gladiator times and two swords in the form of an X behind it in white gold.

  It’s intricate and bold, and I very much doubt the highest-ranking member of the Catholic church noticed it when giving the blessing.

  A pulsing energy fills my body and all around me the noises begin to dull. I put the piece around my neck—securing it before moving my neck from side to side. It cracks, my back loosens a bit, and I close my eyes for a minute.

  That’s when I hear it. This minuscule sound that I pick up while the other two continue to talk and Archie stands to the side with the two guards standing outside the door. He knows his role here—to keep watch and help them clean up after, nothing more.

  This will be a family-only event.

  I take a step toward the entrance and the sound becomes a tiny bit clearer. Low, but more coherent.

  It’s screaming. Male. Afraid.

  “Ivan, I’m going to need a desk chair than can spin, please.”

  “I’ll have someone bring one down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Whatever you need.” Ivan walks past me and his guards open the doors wide, letting us see into the long corridor up ahead. Everything is dark. In need of repairs, but then again, if you’re brought to a place like this, it’s for a reason. You’re here to receive sentencing, not have a drink.