She looked away. “He had cancer. He knew what he was doing?”
“Was he involved?”
She didn’t answer.
My eyes narrowed, and my voice hardened. “Maman, was Vincent Romano involved in all this?”
“Yes.” Her fingers reached out and toyed with the slain dark king. “Vincent was a good man. We both knew this. Ask yourself why he would involve himself in something nefarious.”
Answer: he wouldn’t.
Which meant there had to be some good end game here, but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see past the damned betrayal.
Pull yourself together, Ren.
“You sent me to New York for Vince’s funeral, reconnecting me with Damian. You kept telling me to let my guard down, which means you want me with Damian. To what end?”
Her eyes dipped to the chessboard, tracing the length of the fallen dark king. “Checkmate.”
“Please, tell me the dark king is not Papà.”
“I could tell you no, but I’d be lying, my little warrior. And what would be the point in lying at this point?”
The butler entered the library, and Maman ordered a peach water like my perception of her hadn’t just done a total one-eighty in the span of a day. I wanted to leave, but I was frozen, incapable of looking away from her.
She waited for me to speak, the picture of patience. Her butler asked me if I wanted anything, but I couldn’t even open my mouth to decline. Maman waved him away with a flick of the hand only she could make graceful.
I’d been so blind. So goddamned blind. In the mafia fold. Out of the mafia fold. It didn’t matter. I was a puppet either way. I swallowed, but my mouth was too dry.
Maman’s lips quirked upward. “Did I break you, ma petite guerrière? Did I blow your mind?” Maman laughed a little, stood, and pushed in her chair. “It’s been lovely seeing you, my darling daughter. However, I hadn’t expected company, and I have plans for tonight.” She patted my shoulder and left the room.
Her butler came into the room and looked around for Maman. “Miss Vitali? Miss Vitali?” He touched my shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Miss Vitali?”
I turned to him. “Where’s my mother?”
He held up the peach water. “She said you’d be needing this.”
Cunning, manipulative woman.
My anger flared. I grabbed the water, because yes, I did need it. After draining the glass, handing it to the butler, and thanking him, I headed to the doorway, where I heard Maman speaking to Gaspard.
“We were talking.” I eyed her and crossed my arms. “Where are you going?” I had my suspicions, but as the lies buried me in their treachery, the need to hear more truths heightened. I needed to hear her say it.
She gifted me a serene smile. “I have pressing matters to attend to.”
“More important than your daughter?”
“Oh, honey. Don’t misconstrue this.” She gestured around at the gaudy marble monstrosity she called a home. “This is all for you. When I pass away, this legacy will be yours.”
“I’m not interested in your legacy of lies.”
She reached out and cupped my cheek. “I have to leave now.” Her hand dropped, and my face burned where her hand had been.
My eyes scraped their way down the length of her. She wore a pair of Lululemon yoga pants, a loose Vince henley, and Givenchy sneakers. Travel clothes. I’d spotted a small overnight luggage set earlier, too.
Maman was headed for Italy. To dethrone Papà.
Checkmate.
Game over.
And the dark king fell.
Our capacity for self-deception has no known limits.
Michael Novak
One Week Later
Fun fact: A wolf who has been driven from the pack or has left of its own accord is called a lone wolf. Lone wolves avoid contact with packs and rarely howl.
I knew this because I’d looked up wolves after Ren had called me one. I felt a little like a lone wolf this week. Fielding Cristian’s calls came easier than it should have. His competency made me grateful, because I knew he could run the De Luca family while I stayed in Oklahoma and figured my shit out. I didn’t think I’d talked to a human since Ren left. Most of our business consisted of oil lands contracted out, anyway.
Another fun fact: Wolves mate for life.
Ren hadn’t lied when she’d said that. She did, however, lie when she implied she was that lifetime mate for me.
My phone rang again. Cristian. I hit ignore, slid it back into my back pocket, and picked up my axe. A block of wood split in two as I swung at it. The flannel wrapped around my waist doubled as a towel for my sweat. I dragged the fabric across my forehead and shirtless torso as a black, unmarked SUV pulled up to the property.
I tossed the flannel to the side, gripped the axe tighter, and raised my hand above my head to block the sun from my eyes. Bastian stepped out of the car, his three-piece suit at odds with my shirtless torso, jeans, and work boots.
He took me in as he approached. “Are you posing for a bodice ripper?”
“Your lexicon is as outdated as your haircut.”
“Hey, I mean it in the best of ways. The book could be called, Her Lumberjack’s Moist Depths. I’m sure there are women into that sort of thing.” He looked around. “Though there doesn’t seem to be one here.” He arched a brow. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Worried your girl will be in jeopardy if I’m no longer cozy with the Vitali family?” I swung the axe into the halved tree trunk, picked up my shirt, and headed into the lake house without inviting Bastian. My phone rang, but I hit ignore and slid it back into my pocket.
He followed anyway. “No. She left the FBI. Turned in her badge. Everything’s been taken care of.” He loosened his tie and took in the house. “I’m here for a meeting with an alcohol supplier. Your consiglieri cleared it. You’d know this if you’d pick up your phone.”
I chugged a bottle from the fridge, tossed it into the recycle bin, and turned to face Bastian. “Cut the idle chit-chat. Why are you here, Bastian? In my house?”
“Ariana told me something interesting.”
Obviously, it had to do with me, because he was here. If he thought I’d let him hold it over my head or use it as leverage, he was more daft than I gave him credit for.
I beat him to it. “She’s my sister. I know.”
He seemed unfazed by my brute honesty—something new I’d been trying, though I didn’t exactly have an audience to lie to lately. “So, why the fuck haven’t you talked to her about it?”
I wanted to. I did. But spending time with Ren seemed more important, and now that she’d left, I’d been too preoccupied trying to figure out why the lies even mattered so much when I loved her more than I hated the lies. Lies I was starting to consider she hadn’t even had a part in. Stranger things have happened.
“If you haven’t noticed, I run an entire syndicate. I don’t have time to shit rainbows and make small talk over pumpkin spice lattes.”
“Trust me. Ariana is worth making time.”
I studied him. “I assume she wants to meet with me.”
“I told her you’re not your dad.”
“I’m not.” I ran a hand over my head and really took him in. There was something about him that had changed. He looked… peaceful. Maybe I was a miserable asshole, but that tempted me to fuck with him. “You know, if you guys marry, you’d be my brother.”
“Stop. I still have to digest my dinner.”
“Look around. The De Lucas aren’t that bad.”
His eyes took in the surroundings. A box of shit Ren had left laid at his feet. He eyed it from his spot at the edge of the island. “Look, here’s some unsolicited advice—”
“The worst kind. No, thanks.”
He ignored me. “—You’re not your dad. You don’t have to act like him. Maybe you should unlearn everything he’s taught you and embrace the best parts of being in a syndicate. And there are good parts. It’s taken me a wh
ile to figure this out, but these good things exist. Take time to discover them.
“You have a rising syndicate, earning potential in your business ventures and oil lands, and enough money that you could live like a Saudi prince for the next ten thousand years and not have to work a second.
“Your dad jeopardized these things when he ran the De Luca syndicate. Now that you’re in charge, you can do things differently. You can build, expand, and thrive. Blocking people out… Well, that’s your dad’s M.O. Don’t turn into your dad. No one liked him. No one even respected him.
“When you take the time to discover the best of this world, you’ll learn that it’s the relationships. The loyalty, trust, and honor. You may not be used to these things thanks to your upbringing—and I don’t mean this disrespectfully—but it doesn’t mean you can’t start embodying them today.
“If you think about it, there was no real reason to keep the fact that you knew Ariana is your sister from her. A lie of omission is still a lie. You lied for no good reason. Think about that. Own up to your lies. Only then can you own your truths, De Luca.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you don’t look happy, and my girl’s the type of girl that would want her brother happy.” He checked his watch and straightened up. “I have to go. I’ll show myself out.”
He left, but his words stayed with me.
Own your truths, De Luca.
Ren and I were both guilty of lying. To others. To each other. To ourselves. She was as guilty as I was, and I needed to own that. I needed to admit that we’d both been wrong, apologize for my part of the bad stuff, and get my girl back.
I had everything I’d thought I wanted—money, autonomy, control of the syndicate. Why wasn’t I happy?
Because I didn’t have Ren.
And I didn’t deserve her until I shed all the lies.
Own my truths, indeed.
Though deception is seen as an attack upon the other, deception is a tool of emotional suicide.
Unknown
The children screamed as they ran out of the classroom.
My migraine bit at my sanity, and I forced myself to yell out, “Walk, please! Walk! Dylan, stop pushing Andy or I’ll send you to the principal’s office!” I groaned and pressed my forehead against the whiteboard. “Why must children have vocal chords?”
“Ren? Are you okay? You’re normally so calm and unfazed.” Silence. “Ren?!”
“What?!” I faltered as I took in Sally’s stunned eyes. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you… I’m a mess.”
“You’re a second-grade teacher. I think you get a hall pass.”
“Thanks. It’s just been a crazy week.” Try a crazy life. “Did you need something?”
“One of the parents brought pizza.” She gestured behind her even though the lounge was to the right. “It’s in the teacher’s lounge.”
“Thanks, Sal.” My weak smile fooled neither of us. “I’ll be right there.”
“I’ll save you a few slices.” She took in my no doubt haggard appearance. “Good thing it’s Friday, right?”
Yup. Definitely haggard.
I was thankful when she left. I barely held on as it was. Sanity seemed like such a stranger these days, and I craved an ugly cry session like a reality star craved attention. I eyed the clock. I had thirty minutes of lunch left. Not enough time.
I pushed the tears back, but they wouldn’t recede. One slipped past my lashes and down my cheek. Then, another. Oh, God. My heart was breaking, as slow as the Earth’s rotation. I never stopped to let myself feel it, but I knew it was happening as much as I tried to prevent it.
My body sank to the floor. I drew my knees to my chest, rested my cheek on them, and for the first time since I fell in love with Damian more than ten years ago, let it happen. I let myself break. The tears didn’t make me feel weak. They cleansed me, pushing away the bad memories until I could only focus on the good. The parts of Damian I fell in love with.
I never feared for my life in Texas. Not because of my name—Angelo was prone to reckless lashing out that could turn dangerous in a split second, and my name wouldn’t provide enough logic to prevent violence. No, Damian had been my protector, even when he didn’t want to admit it to either of us.
Our library dates saved my soul, and that loneliness I’d felt my entire life receded around him. He protected me when Laura and the rest of the student body drugged me. We fell in love in little moments—battles of wit, tiny shows of affection, resolute faith in one another.
So much for that faith.
My phone rang, and I forced myself to sober. I answered it without looking at the caller ID and pressed it to my ear as I gathered my things.
“Renata, honey—”
What the…
My brows pressed together. “Papà?”
The urgency in his voice had my pulse racing. “I need you to go to your mom’s and grab something for me, Renata.”
I’d opted to stay out of their mess when I left Maman’s. I wanted nothing to do with the mafia. It would take nothing more than a miracle to drag me back—kicking and screaming, mind you.
I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “Can’t you ask her to?”
“It’s a tape, baby girl.” He’d never called me that before. “She’s using it to blackmail me. What’s on it could send me to jail. You don’t want your papà in jail, right?”
“Papà, this is between you and my mom. I’d appreciate it if you left me out of it.”
“Do as I say, Renata.” He’d cut the begging and returned to his demanding self. Oddly, the familiarity relieved me.
Still, I wasn’t taking his shit. “I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t send me off to Texas as punishment.”
The curious part of me wondered what Maman had done on her trip to Italy. Papà sounded like a man hanging together by a thread. It wasn’t what I’d gotten used to hearing from him. I also hadn’t heard anything about the Vitali since then, though I wasn’t exactly in the loop.
Papà’s harsh tone scathed me. “There are other ways to punish you. I know you’re fighting with your mom, but you still care about her. So, either you go to the Hamptons and grab the tape in the safe or I send a strike team to do it for me, and it won’t be pretty.”
He must have sensed my hesitation because he pressed on. “Damiano De Luca.”
I froze at his name. I wasn’t delusional enough not to realize that I still cared. Damian was my first—and only—love. Your first love is the man you’ll always compare every other man to. He’s the person you never get over, even when you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’ve moved on.
I’d dated over a dozen men since Damiano De Luca. I compared each and every one to him, and it had fractured those relationships before they even started. I could keep living, going through the motions, maybe one day even find happiness without him. But I would never get over him. And that included loving him every second of every day.
Papà had me by the neck. He had all the leverage he needed just by mentioning Damian’s name. His laughter rung loud and dry. “You didn’t think I didn’t hear about how you two fell in love when I sent you to Texas?” He scoffed. “I did that. I gave you love.” He lowered his voice. “I could take it just as easily.”
Déjà vu swayed me, warping me back to the hallway in Devils Ridge, where Angelo made a similar threat to me.
“Fine,” I bit out.
“There’s a videotape in the safe. The code is six digits. Three couplets. Your birthdate, plus fourteen on each couplet.”
Of course, the safe code derived from my birthdate. My parents had a fucked-up way of showing their love for me. Papà hung up as soon as I grunted my agreement. By the time school ended and I drove from Connecticut to New York, night had fallen.
The army that met me at Maman’s driveway startled me. I recognized some faces as boys from my high school in Devils Ridge. They’d grown into men and, fo
r reasons which evaded me, gathered on Maman’s stone-paved driveway. A liaison from the Romano family leaned against the front door beside Bastian Romano and Ariana De Luca.
I stilled when I saw who stood next to Maman. He commanded attention beside her in a uniform of all black clothing, black tactical gloves, and a bulletproof vest. He had several weapons attached to his body, including an assault rifle swung across his chest.
When my car was parked, and the engine cut off, his eyes landed on mine.
“Damsel,” I whispered.
And even though I knew he couldn’t actually hear me, I also knew he’d still heard me.
Sometimes, deception can be therapeutic.
Nolan Ross
I came to the conclusion that there was no way I’d get into the safe with this many people around pretty quickly. It took all of point-two seconds for the urge to leave to settle in. Damian took a step toward me, but I didn’t think the movement was conscious. After all, his eyes didn’t seem as inviting as his body.
I wanted to hate him, but staring at him, I couldn’t bring myself to feel the hatred. Just resignation at the fact that my heart would always belong to him.
Maman approached the car door, her eyes delighted. “Did your father send you here?”
My eyes slid to Damian before returning to Maman. “Yes.”
Lying would be pointless. I wanted nothing to do with this mess, and judging by this army and the blackmail tape Maman had on Papà, Papà seemed to be on the losing side. Damian was safe. I could go now and sleep knowing my father couldn’t hurt him, but my fingers wouldn’t turn on the car and my foot wouldn’t hit the pedal.
Maman’s laughter twinkled in the otherwise silent night. “He’s a bit desperate, isn’t he?”
I nodded, my head stiff. “Sounded like it.”
“He wanted you to steal the tape?” Her words seemed less like a question and more like a statement.
“Yes. He said either this or he’d send in a TAC team.” The temptation to stare at Damian gutted me.
Dark Romance Collection: A Sexy, Dark Bundle Page 20