A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I long to take a stem of champagne from the waiters, but I can’t. “Really?” I smile and wave without a care in the world. “How much is he investing?”

  “Iris,” Masa mutters, lowering his voice and clutching the yellow silk of my kimono as I finally give him my full attention. “He is looking to buy them outright.”

  “He is an Italian,” I reply. “Stroker Mullins will never allow such.”

  “Stroker would suck the dick of a hobo if it meant saving Kill Rat.”

  “Shit,” I curse as I peer down at the pink lotus flowers in the fabric. I briefly panic in the rising tides. We’re not playing hopscotch on the playground anymore. I should’ve met with Stroker when I had the opportunity to influence his decisions, but it is a little late for that now. “I would like a conference call with Servet, more specifically the Albanians. I want to discuss an alignment.”

  “I will call Raze Kola.”

  I have no idea who that is. “Refresh,” I say, as I note the crowd’s gaze drifting to the star of the show. Not me, but Deacon Cruz in a loose white linen suit and black shirt. Damn. Reminds me of someone else who always wears a white suit. His hair is slicked back, and his pearly white grin mesmerizes. “Dear God, I need a drink.”

  “Raze Kola is one of their top coordinators.”

  “Whatever,” I dismiss, gushing over the dreamy goodness enchanting the gathering. “I just need an in to avoid a war.”

  “You have enough fires needing your attention without involving the Albanians.”

  With exasperation, I command, “I just need to get through the night.”

  “Yes,” he agrees, offering his arm. “Shall I show off the Lotus?”

  “Please,” I hesitate, knowing the Saint I want isn’t coming to save my sins.

  We mingle and search for merriment. There is none because he isn’t here. Hours pass with multiple glasses of sparkling water. They’ve all blessed my baby and given condolences over Aki’s passing.

  The Chairman didn’t even bother to make an appearance, and to me, that can only mean one thing. This—is my new life. I will take my place as Lotus, and Keishi Nakamura will be written in our tomes, nothing more than a memory.

  In removing the ring, we parted like the seas. He went his way, and I went mine. We’d forget the passage of our time together, the bond we formed, and move along in the fray, lost in the rapids of time because that is what humans do. Rare is it to connect with permanence and fuse a lifetime of memories into one compact package.

  We can’t fit.

  I don’t fit.

  “I need some air,” I politely say as the frivolity of the party is almost too much for me to handle. I move away from the chaos and lay claim to these grounds by removing my shoes. I run—really, more of a lagging slog over the grass—to behind one of the tents.

  I stop and breathe, alone and aware, when I hear the muffled, grunting sounds from a voice I recognize. I tiptoe around the tent where another adjoins it.

  In the small passageway, his intense blue eyes glance to mine. I slowly scan over his arm to find his hand in Reo Sato’s hair as he kneels before him.

  Gazing at my shocked expression, Deacon blasts the flesh from the bone with a furious gale as he growls, “Suck my dick, bitch.”

  I close my eyes.

  Some things can never be unseen.

  Holding my belly, I sprint to the party and accidentally run into the back of a man. “Excuse me!”

  His broad frame angles toward me as his dashing grin sends a capsizing wave. I flail in the churn, bubbling up and surrounding me. The water throws me like a rag doll in her riptide.

  He leans down as the scent of his spicy cologne hits my nose. He doesn’t smell like my man. Laying his hand upon my belly, he gently kisses my lips. “Hello, beautiful! I’ve been searching for you.”

  “Durante.”

  V

  An Omen of War

  38

  One Hello

  His Ride

  Tangled in the sheets, I wake up groggy, grab my phone, and reread the messages from yesterday. I rub my eyes, trying to focus on the words from Rowan.

  “He’s dumping money in Kill Rat.”

  I responded, “It would be foolish to revitalize a dying vermin.”

  My comment probably pissed her off.

  While Rowan didn’t fully support Kill Rat’s current leadership in Stroker Mullins, it was necessary to remember; she loved her father, Father Patrick McPhail.

  Love is a dangerous weapon.

  McPhail’s vast connections through Sanctum and beyond put Kill Rat on the verge of moving from small-time gang status to a legit organization. His death stifled their growth because their new priest, Father Carrick Byrne, had the personality of a turnip.

  I never wanted The Unholy, Sal, or Iris to invest in Kill Rat. There were far better options if they needed a lucky leprechaun with a shamrock and a pot of gold.

  Having spent too much time on Iris’ hair and makeup, I was in a hurry when I saw her first message and responded in a rush. Maybe I was a little harsh, but I didn’t know what Sal was thinking. Last I heard, we were pulling out of Kill Rat, not buying-in on the whole scandalous ordeal.

  I was pissed off when I went to shower.

  After spending three hours staring at Iris’ heaving bosom, I was beyond sexually frustrated. Very few women could turn me on to the point of an aching, throbbing arousal, not in my cock, but deep within my soul. And Iris Kettles was one. I needed to get off, put a smile on my face, and pretend everything was A-okay. I wanted to come back to my room, stroke one off in the shower, and have a great night twirling Iris around the festival.

  That was what I planned to do.

  That is not what happened.

  In our one brief exchange, my lust amped up to a place of questioning Sal’s motivations. I was no longer thinking about Iris’ tits and Sal’s sweet ass, but needing answers to why everything we planned had changed.

  We certainly didn’t plan on Aki dying, or having a threesome with Mass, or Iris telling a lie.

  We weren’t navigating our lives; life was navigating us.

  And it fucking sucked. I didn’t like one damn bit of it.

  Aki’s shooting was a hit, but I doubted the Goro gang’s ultimate responsibility despite taking the blame. They may have pulled the trigger, but someone else instigated it. Someone else ordered it.

  Mass was my fault. I indulged Sal in a way I never should have, sharing a sacred piece of our love with another, diminishing the integrity and cracking our precious bubble.

  There was so much to say about what Iris did. She was foolish, reckless, and sick with the same plague I had. I understood she was planning to lure a shark away from the coast of Mexico, but he was still circling in the gulf. Nothing had changed because she missed one critical point.

  The shark is being hand-fed by the cartel king.

  And every relationship is a two-way street.

  Cristos may have cared that his boy Sal was suffering from a loss in Iris, but it wasn’t enough to send him packing it up and moving away from Muerte’s buffet. Iris needed a dual plan of attack, not singular.

  And that was where she went wrong.

  With a towel wrapped around my waist, I dripped with water and stared at Rowan’s response until my eyes glistened. She sent the words to hurt me for my aforementioned “dying vermin” comment.

  Words were like poisoned daggers, sharp and lethal. And we slung them like guns in the Wild West.

  “I had a private party with your boy in a hotel room in Rome.”

  What the fuck?

  Private party. Drugs. Sex. Sal.

  I lost my shit. He knew I cared about Rowan. Did I love her like I loved him? Fuck no. I love no one the way I love Sal, but the solitude in Japan has given me time to think. And the only conclusion I can come up with is I am never going to get my ideal perfection.

  Alone on a deserted island with my bitch, Sal.

  I love that boy mor
e than life itself. In that love for him, I do stupid shit, falling prey to his words and traveling halfway across the world on a hope and prayer of being wrong. I crossed my fingers that Iris told the truth, and she was actually pregnant with Durante’s baby, and I would need to shop for beach attire for Sal and me.

  “Yours, if she fucked us over.”

  He’d look amazing in a Speedo dripping with water as he walked onto the white sands. His hand would slick back all those raven curls, and I’d be sunk like a ship lost at sea.

  Sorry, I got sidetracked for a second.

  So I knew better because I understood Iris. There was no way in hell she fucked Durante Costa. Maybe four years ago, she would have, but I couldn’t apply the template of things that happened in the past to today. People change. She changed. Sal changed. I changed. Hell, who we were a year ago, isn’t who we are today.

  Love coerced an unhappy Lotus to lie with a forked tongue.

  Today. Now. Present.

  Fuck her flower; she slithers.

  I should have sold her down the river to Sal. Truth told, I’m still trying, which is why I encouraged her to broaden her horizons with the onslaught of suitors that would be knocking. I wanted her to squirm and pay for her sins, so I called up Durante Costa and invited him over for a visit. If she wants to swim with the sharks, I’d let her. All the while, holding a net to fish her out of the ocean again, because I loved Sal that much.

  But I am also challenging her resilience to see if she is truly good enough to warrant my letting Sal go. If she services the manwhores, Sal is mine. If she doesn’t, then I will have to decide what I am doing.

  I am not innocent, and I am no Saint.

  I have faults, but all too often, I am underestimated in the love games we play. I will do anything to make Sal happy, but I have no problems in twisting and stretching the elasticity of our love to know how much we can endure.

  That makes me a risky bastard.

  And we love deeper because of it.

  I didn’t plan on one ‘Hello’ evolving into Sato’s decadent lips wrapping around my dick. And I certainly didn’t imagine every stroke would feel like the chains broke free in my lovesickness with Sal.

  There was a cure; his name was Reo Sato.

  I was pissed at Sal, angry at Iris, and I wanted a minute to catch my breath in someone else. It was a blow job, not a proposal. And heaven knows, Sal and Iris are allowed to fuck up. So when do I get mine?

  Sato was an accident that felt too good.

  Dams broke, and the fire burned beyond the boundary as the uncontrolled, violent, windy storm—a tempest—tested the elements of who we are, sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind.

  Love unhinges a Dark Prince.

  Love unleashes a Saint.

  I own the things I have done, but there is no taking my indiscretion back.

  Unhappy cannot describe the freezing burn of love.

  His Butterfly

  On the patio, I have tea the next morning as I scan over the latest briefings from Lotus. It never stops, even on a Sunday. My fleet of ships serve Immortal, refusing service to any others. If nothing else, I’m making enemies.

  I scan over the memo from Masa concerning the latest rumblings.

  “Sal Raniero considering Kill Rat merger.”

  My immediate reaction is to call Masa up and request that Lotus refuse any future payments, but I hold off, waiting to see what Delarte Cristos will do. My best guess is nothing. He isn’t one to do business with any Irish and generally ignores their presence like pesky gnats unless they’re landing on his sandwich—or causing strife at one of his outposts.

  To my surprise, I glance up from my tablet to find Durante Costa grinning at me. He is in casual attire and a remarkably—still dangerously—handsome man. His mixed racial heritage bodes well for my eyes with penetrating hazel eyes and full pouty lips. His black hair is short and thick with tight curls, not able to be pulled.

  Not like my husband.

  I had no idea what kind of physique he was sheltering under his expensive suits until now. He’s got some tone, but not too much bulk—more of a long and lean build like Nicky. Not quite as thin. Based on the body alone, I wouldn’t sleep with Nicky, and I damn sure wouldn’t select Durante out of a lineup of hot guys to take to my bed.

  “You spent the night in my home.”

  “I did,” he says with a perfect smile and nods to the chair. “May I?”

  I quickly agree. “I didn’t plan on you coming.”

  After refilling my teacup, he pours one for himself and grasps my hand laying on the table. “Iris, I am not letting you do this alone.”

  “You always follow the power,” I mutter, unimpressed. “I’m not surprised you latched on.”

  He shrugs with a smirk, caught redhanded. “I won’t deny the appeal, but if we’re merging our minds, then we must make it believable for all to see.”

  “Do you realize my husband is a violent man, Mr. Costa?”

  “Yes, Ms. Raniero, I do.”

  “And your desire for power is fueling choices you might not have made. Greed is a heady intoxicant.”

  Taking a sip of the tea, he grins and whispers, “In the back of a limo, a beautiful and brilliant woman said, ‘Power festers with a deadly infection called greed.’”

  “I said that not realizing what a fool you could be. Why did you agree to this, Durante? And don’t say it is because you like helping people. After all, it’s more of a death wish than that, and we both know it.”

  “To you, my father is Morpheus. To me, his name is Stephen Jones. I carry his genetic code in my being, but he’s wanted little to do with Yara and me. This isn’t about overtaking Immortal.”

  I lean back in my chair with a scrutinizing glare, unable to discern his intentions. “You’re doing this to get your father’s attention. This is no different from a sixteen-year-old rebelling.”

  “He treats Donatien Ravenna more like a son than me. If I can kill two birds…”

  “Dragon,” I whisper, understanding Durante’s willpower to do bad things. I hastily snatch my hand away from his grip as I mumble in horror, “You’re aiming for my husband’s family.”

  “Would I do something as conniving as that, Lotus?”

  I erupt, full of fury and hate, as I unleash with a collected, comfortable tone. “You are threatening my name, my family, and my husband, Mr. Costa. In the end, it won’t be me drowning in a cesspool of shit, but you. I will sell you off to a low-baller and watch you starve. You’ll be nibbling on the corn floating in shit water before you ever come close to my husband. I suggest you elevate your game because you just became my number one enemy.”

  “Iris,” he says, latching his hand around my wrist as I stand. “Please, hear me out…”

  “There is nothing to hear.”

  “Take your hands off of her,” Deacon warns from the doorway. I’m surprised by his presence and even more by his protection. After last night, I assumed he drew a line in red sand. Assumptions are for fools, and I make mistakes too. I am human. “Don’t make me repeat myself, asshole.”

  “She’s pregnant with my child.”

  “No, she’s not,” he vehemently opposes. “She’s pregnant with the future Raniero prince, and I suggest you be respectful of that. Or I will kill you.”

  Point blank. No holding back. Verbal guns drawn.

  Dear God, I’ve never been so turned on.

  Durante releases my wrist. “Funny, I never imagined a faggot like you would get his hands bloody.”

  With ferocity, Deacon soars down, spinning Durante in the chair, and growls, “You have no idea about the secretions I enjoy lathering my palms in or how the sweet stench of blood sends a blaze to my loins. Leave Iris alone. This is nothing more than a play. And if you take it further, I will rip you off the stage.”

  “You have a lot of nerve considering the deals she has made with Torrente. The Lotus is a beautiful flower, but her roots are sown in dirty waters. Her veins a
re filled with nothing but murk.”

  Damn straight. All from my Swamp.

  Durante leaves as I stare at Deacon in awe. I want to tell him how much it means that he would stand up for me. Not Sal. Me. But somewhere in my heart, I fear he’s only doing his Master’s bidding. He didn’t defend me because of me, but because of him.

  The whole thing leads my mind to wonder if Reo Sato was another precision stroke executed by an invisible Master or a treacherous act of disobedience.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “That meant the world to me.”

  He snarls before assertively wrapping his arms around me. His loving embrace sends a chill through my bones as he kisses my head and mutters, “You keep my secrets, and I will keep yours.”

  The brick to the head stuns my core, rattling like an old rusty engine with missing nuts and bolts. I want to confront him, but how can I when I’m trapped in a lie?

  I have no rights. I gave them up the second I claimed to get jiggy in the back of a limo. Tears cluster on my lashes, accepting the change his storms will bring, and knowing my pacts with the devil brought them on. If I had not lied, then Deacon never would’ve let another man do what he did.

  We’re dominoes on a roller coaster crash course into an infinite void of miscommunications, lies, and betrayal. And we will never be able to pick up the pieces.

  I have a secret.

  Deacon has a secret.

  So what the fuck is Sal’s?

  39

  Reviviscence

  The Master

  “What do you mean I need to do something about my wife?” I grumble, scratching my dick as my mother rallies on about all of the shit going on in New York.

  The Torrente offspring have chosen to be silent—heaven forbid they need a moment of peace while the patriarch passes on—yet my lovely and dear mother feels she has a right—as a Raniero—to know what is going on. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame them if they told her to fuck the fuck off.