Starlet: A Dark Retelling

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Starlet: A Dark Retelling Page 35

by Cora Kenborn


  Walking up behind Angel, I slip my arms around her waist and tug her against me. “Of course, he’s spoiling her. She’s his granddaughter.”

  “You miss him.”

  My arms tighten around my wife. “I never had a dad growing up. But I always thought if I did, I’d want him to be like Luciano. Day after day, I’d watch him walk into that deli in his fancy suit. Now I know he was looking for Mom.”

  “That’s where his hopes and wishes died,” she says, leaning back against me.

  “All this time, she didn’t tell me.”

  Angel turns and wraps her arms around my neck, trailing her nails lightly across my skin. “She knew what kind of life Luciano led. She wanted to keep you from following into it.”

  Pulling her close, I hover my lips against hers, my hands seeking flesh that will forever belong to me. “Yet I still did.”

  She smiles that secret smile again. “I told you. Fate always finds a way.”

  The first time I kissed an angel, she died.

  The second time, we both did.

  As far as the world is concerned, that’s where Alexandra Romanov and Dominic McCallum’s story ends. Our tragic, bloody, heartbreaking story that will live in infamy as Hollywood folklore for generations to come.

  But for Jade DeLuca and Brendan McCall, the story has just begun.

  Not long after we said our vows, Angel told me that Alexandra had confessed a secret. She told her that the night I saved her, she made a promise to herself. She swore she’d find me again in another life. When she did, my pain would be hers. My heart would beat for her. She’d destroy me and set me free.

  She was a woman of her word. Even if she now only exists somewhere in a quiet, serene corner of Angel’s mind.

  We saved each other that Christmas Eve twenty years ago. And then we did it again fifteen years later.

  The world demanded justice for a lost little girl until they got it. But when Alexandra Romanov’s justice turned out jagged and messy, public opinion took a sharp swing in the opposite direction. They idolized an icon, and when that shiny exterior tarnished, they crucified a human.

  Maybe all of this could’ve been avoided if I’d never walked into the bar that day. Maybe Angel Smith would still be just another washed-up actress waiting tables in Chula Vista. Maybe Violet DeLuca and Brenda McCallum would still be alive.

  But then again, maybe they wouldn’t.

  Angel believes fate always finds a way. She holds firm that the universe revolves around balance and whether it takes a day or a decade, all wrongs are eventually righted.

  So maybe it was fate that drew me into that bar.

  Maybe fate knew Alexandra Romanov’s story wasn’t finished.

  The first time I kissed Angel, I thought I chose her to make history. But maybe fate chose us to rewrite it, and then close the book for good.

  A content smile settles on my face as I watch my wife chase our daughter into the surf, both of them laughing as she swings her into the air.

  Once upon a time, a man taught me that wishes and hope were useless weapons. I believed him. I lived my whole life around that thought. But he was wrong. Because the man who stands with his heart open waiting for life to step up to the plate ends up with something unexpected.

  Everything.

  The End

  Did you enjoy Dominic and Angel’s story?

  If so, please consider leaving a review or email me at [email protected].

  I’d love to hear from you.

  Blurred Red Lines

  Want more dark and twisted mafia? Keep reading for a sneak peek of Blurred Red Lines, the first book in the Carrera Cartel Trilogy

  Get your copy of Blurred Red Lines on Amazon.

  Prologue

  Eden

  There’s a fine line between love and hate.

  I’d heard that cliché all my life thrown around by half-interested adults who gave few fucks about either one. The idiom du jour served to placate me enough to remove my adolescent angst from blocking Monday night football and return to my room, where I belonged.

  It wasn’t until my heart blackened to a charred void that I understood the true meaning of the phrase. I found it amazing how much that fine line thickened while sweat dripped from the brow of someone I loved as I aimed a gun at his heart.

  “Eden, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  His image blurred although my hand held steady. “Yours is the betrayal I never saw coming…congratulations.” In my head the words sounded cold, despite the wetness that trailed from the corners of my eyes. Crawling to my feet, I paced the small space in front of him before I realized I’d uprooted from my spot. Keeping my breathing shallow, I focused on inhaling only when necessary. The run-down house reeked of dank mildew and death.

  The number of deaths that would be added to the stench remained to be seen.

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” he implored, begging me to recall what we’d meant to each other. When I vacantly stared at him, he licked his lips and attempted to reach me on another level. “After all we’ve been through, it ends like this?”

  “You’ve left me no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  Hatred burned my eyes, incinerating the man reflected in them. “Fuck you.”

  His sigh turned into a cough, rattling his chest. A knowing smile curved his lips. “There’s my feisty girl.”

  I waved the gun in the air—a stupid move on all accounts, but his play on my emotions ripped at my soul. “I’m not anything of yours. You sold me out. You made me believe we were on the same side.” Tears rolled harder, ignoring my commands to stop and pissed me off further. “The whole time you had an end game, you son of a bitch!”

  One step. Two steps. Three steps.

  If I pulled the trigger now, it’d be point-blank range. I couldn’t claim self-defense. True, it hadn’t been his hand that’d pushed me off the step and sent me careening down a flight of stairs. But, in the end, it was his actions that brought me here.

  And I wasn’t the one looking down the barrel of a Colt 1911 .38 Super.

  All this time I’d believed him. All this time I’d trusted him. In the end, I’d been a fool because all this time I’d been used.

  “Eden,” he pleaded, searching for a shred of the affection we’d shared. “I love you.”

  There’s a fine line between love and hate.

  Watching him grovel for his life, I suddenly understood the meaning behind the phrase. When I loved a person, I saw them through rose-colored glasses. Everything was perfect…until it wasn’t. I walked the line until I got knocked off and opened my eyes to the person I’d been blind to. My heart became torn…desperate to recapture the first untainted moments where the line was straight and steady. Before I knew it, hate filled the space where the love vacated, and my heart battled with my head.

  Like an addict who promised one more hit would be the last, I knew it was a lie but told it anyway. I knew I couldn’t stop. The cycle always repeated and I hurt myself until there was nothing left but hate for both of us.

  Unless the cycle ends.

  I thought the past eighteen days had hardened me to violence, so it surprised me when my chin quivered. Vengeance took my salvation, but apparently, a conscience still resided somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind. Maybe that was one thing he hadn’t killed. Maybe that was the last shred of humanity I could hold onto as I burned in hell for the path I'd walked.

  I would’ve done anything for him. He’d held me in his arms and promised to protect me.

  I didn’t bother to stop the lone tear as it rolled across my nose and fell onto my bottom lip, pausing briefly before tumbling down my chin. “I love you too,” I whispered as I unloaded the gun, my mask slipping as he stumbled.

  It’s funny how sometimes the people you’d give your life for are the ones who take it.

  Get your copy of Blurred Red Lines on Amazon.

  The Sinister Fairy Tales Collection<
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  Venom - Dee Garcia

  Cold Queen - K. Webster

  Sacrifice - N. Isabelle Blanco

  Insolent - Cynthia Rodriguez

  Madness - Kailee Reese Samuels

  Siren - Hazel Grace

  Legend - M.R. Leahy

  Mirage - C.M. Radcliff

  Imprisoned - K.L. Donn

  Lock - Kimberly Knight

  Stealing Cinderella - A. Zavarelli

  Abducted - K.I. Lynn

  Winter’s Arrow - Lexi C. Foss

  Zhanshi - Anna Edwards

  Heart Thief - Ker Dukey

  Starlet - Cora Kenborn

  Visit the Sinister Fairy Tales Collection

  Acknowledgments

  Writing this book almost did me in, so get a snack and buckle up because I’m about to thank everybody and their grandma.

  Thanks to Sour Patch Kids, Monster Energy, Starbuck’s Caramel Macchiato (but with coconut milk instead of cream, because ew…) and Cheetos. You single-handedly made this book possible. Without you, I’d still be on chapter one, looking up synonyms for shrug and smile.

  To my dear, sweet family. That person you’ve lived with the last three months—you know, the rabid one who grew fangs and barked like a dog when you violated the sanctity of the cave? Let’s be honest, you were warned not to let her have a Keurig in her office. So, in a way, it’s kind of your fault what happened. It’s okay, I forgive you.

  There are always those special few in the author world who never let you quit no matter how far you fall. Thank you so much to Sienna and my Tater Tot, Kailee for your love and support.

  Crystal, my long-suffering PA, not sure how we made it, but we made it—crawling toward the finish line in week-old pajamas with crusty-ass, dry-shampoo caked hair, and a case of wicked eye strain that would make the best ophthalmologist cringe. Say it with me now, deadlines are Satan’s playground.

  Dee Garcia, my Llama Mama, thank you for allowing me to be a part of this amazing project, for believing in this crazy story I had, and most of all for your support when life happened. They say when it rains it pours, but we weathered that storm together with love, patience, and a lot of tequila.

  A huge shout out to N. Isabelle Blanco for tackling this beast of a book and editing it in four days. You are the queen, and I bow to you. Also thank you to Sheri with Light Hand Proofreading for making it shine.

  Catherine, there are no words. Thank you for being my wealth of insider knowledge for all things Hollywood. I hope I did you proud. Mostly, thanks for the vent sessions, the life talks, and the brainstorms. I’m in awe of your talent and grateful for your friendship. Oh, and Rick is still mine.

  Dominic’s Beta Bitches, I freaking love you. Not only did you put up with my perpetual lateness, you didn’t yell at me when I gave you half-finished chapters because I’m evil like that. Thanks for the daily laughs and encouragement. I raise a glass of Jack (Dominic’s fav) to you: Crystal, Tami, Melissa, Sheri, KC, Tiffany, Sarah, Amy, Sienna, and Cynthia.

  Jane Anthony, thank you for letting me turn your book into a movie. Netflix might ignore our constant emails, but in my Hollywood, “Optimax” bought the movie rights to Last First Kiss. Too bad Dominic went and “TMZ’ed” it all up for you. Bummer.

  Thank you to Dianne Manns and Vanessa Hunder for graciously allowing me to use your names, likenesses, personalities and pretty much everything else to turn you into characters into this story. Bet you’re wondering, “tell me again, why I entered that contest?”

  Tori Price, thanks for coming up with the name for my fictional dive bar. I’d say thanks for “The G-Spot”, but that just sounds weird and honestly a little creepy.

  To my reader group, Cora’s Twisted Alpha Addicts, thank you for always being there for a shoulder, a laugh, or a boost. I don’t know what I’d do without all of you!

  To all the bloggers and readers who read this book and shared it, thank you! As always, everything I do is for you. Without your support, I’m just a chick with a laptop.

  And Cheetos.

  Lots and lots of Cheetos.

  About the Author

  Cora Kenborn is a USA Today Bestselling author who writes in multiple genres from dark and gritty romantic suspense to laugh-out-loud romantic comedy. Known for her sharp banter and shocking blindsides, Cora pushes her characters and readers out of their comfort zones and onto an emotional roller coaster before delivering a twisted happily ever after.

  Cora believes there’s nothing better than a feisty heroine who keeps her alpha on his toes, and she draws inspiration from the strong country women who raised her. However, since the domestic Southern Belle gene seems to have skipped a generation, she spends any free time convincing her family that microwaving Hot Pockets counts as cooking dinner.

  Oh, and autocorrect thinks she's obsessed with ducks.

  Also By Cora Kenborn

  Carrera Cartel Trilogy

  (Dark Mafia)

  Blurred Red Lines

  Faded Gray Lines

  Drawn Blue Lines

  Lords of Lyre Duet

  (Rockstar Suspense)

  Fame and Obsession

  Fame and Secrets

  The Swamp Bottom Series

  (Southern RomCom)

  Swamp Happens

  Standalones

  (Dark/Contemporary/PNR/RomCom)

  Starlet

  Cursed In Love

  Darkest Deeds

  Shallow

  Unsupervised

  Midnight

  Author Links

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