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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Who has more lethal venom—him or me?

  “How can I help you, Mr. Raniero?”

  “Seriously?” he mutters, sounding exasperated like he’s been running. I hope he has. It’s good for his mind to deplete his high-energy body. “Why are you aligning with the Goro gang?”

  What the hell is he on about?

  “I am doing what is best for the interests of Lotus…” I pause, wanting to call him Sir. It will be a dead giveaway. Sir is a bait word. He’ll immediately know that I’ve been lying about carrying Durante Costa’s baby. “My business matters are of no concern to you.”

  “What about personal matters of the heart?”

  I walked into that.

  Fuck.

  “Those no longer pertain to you,” I reply as Deacon stands by the dressing table and lowers his head. It is hard to hear these words from my lungs. I know. It is hard to say them too. “You can send papers at any point.”

  Deacon’s jaw pops as he looks at Masa, waiting by the door.

  “You are sending a ship to Torrente from Goro,” he rallies with anger. “You are getting involved in a game when you don’t even know the fucking rules! You’re dancing in a pit of vipers. And sooner or later, someone is going to strike.”

  “I do not need your input, Salvatore.”

  “I am your fucking husband!” he yells as I move the phone from my ear. “I am your fucking husband, Iris!”

  “I understand the legalities of our decree, and it will be annulled as soon as possible,” I assure as my eyes fill with tears. “I will not ask for anything, and I suggest you do the same.”

  Despite his disagreement with my actions, Deacon shakes his head and mouths—“Do not breakdown.”

  Sal snickers like the asshole he is. I miss him so much. His voice fills my heart with warmth and love, even when we are at war. He could be a complete imbecile, and I would endlessly love him. Bring your best beast, baby. “I will have that taken care of this week.”

  Click.

  Everything freezes as my limbs fall numb. “He hung up on me! Oh, God, what the fuck have I done?”

  “Shhh!” Deacon rushes over with a tissue in hand. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than one to catch all of my tears. “You started this. And you must finish it.”

  “He’s mad about Goro,” I cry as Masa departs with a solemn gaze. No one is happy that Sal and I are apart. “He didn’t ask about the baby or me! He’s such a motherfucking dickhead!” I wildly swing my arms, pounding on Deacon’s chest. He stands sentinel, taking blow after blow from a raging pregnant woman. He doesn’t dodge or move or say a damn word. “Why did I let him get under my skin like this? Why did I ever let him in my heart?”

  “You love him,” he quietly confides. “More than words.”

  “And you!” I detour my rapid-fire animosity and angsty attitude to him. “You fucking gave him up for me!”

  He tilts his head and smirks. “I didn’t give him up, babe. I just earned you, too.”

  “I hate you!”

  “That’s fine,” he sneers, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “You can hate me until your last breath, but I always love you. You don’t get to control who loves you.”

  “I need to get out of here after this weekend,” I beg as my mascara trails over my cheeks. “I need to do what I set out to do.”

  “I have a plan,” he contends, kissing my head. “Diablo is helping us after the dinner party on Sunday.”

  “… Your brother?”

  “That’s why I went to the hotel. I had a meeting with Diablo. I never expected Amber to answer the door or for things to unfold the way they did.”

  “Where is she?” I ask, wiping my nose as Masa returns with a bottle of sparkling peach water. “I’d love to see her.”

  “I sent her home.”

  No. You didn’t.

  Liar.

  “Hey, pretty knocked-up lady,” Amber said on the phone. I was waking up from my nap. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “The only thing I need…no one can bring me…”

  “He’s sending me to check on Sal,” she replied as my tears dripped onto the pillow. I want to be mad, but I can’t be. He needs someone with him. “I’m about to board a plane in Tokyo bound for Rome.”

  “I need you to go to Texas,” I said. “Don’t tell him.”

  “Your secrets are safe with me, princess.”

  I don’t bother to call him out. I don’t have the energy. I must prepare to meet with The Commission. Months of work hinges on this weekend going off without a hitch, but all I want to do is pack a bag, board a plane, and escape to a beach.

  Somewhere exotic.

  Somewhere alone.

  Closing my eyes, I imagine the fantasy where I am basking on the sand, and he strides up out of the ocean, drenched in salty water. He shakes his hair back, and droplets splatter on my skin. They’re hot and burning like the fire he possesses. His kiss quenches the ache in my soul and shatters my driving spirit.

  The images flash fast, quicker than I can comprehend.

  We’re in the boardroom with his hair slicked back when I fall prey to his flames, selling off my legacy to a man who looks good in a suit.

  “Are you sure you want to sell it all off?”

  “Give everything to the Boston mafioso’s kid. Claim all of me, Salvatore. Take all that I am. I surrender in your ring and a collar, with a hope and a prayer, for infinite, boundless love.”

  Taking a breath, I emerge from the safety of the bubble and open my eyes. There is no time for tears. There is no time to be a woman in doubt.

  I must rise my tides like the meteoric blaze of his wildfire.

  I must slay.

  “Masa, redirect the Goro merchandise from New York to Mexico.”

  Deacon backs up with a frown. “You can’t do that.”

  “It’s on my ship, Mr. Cruz,” I reply, cutthroat, conniving, and built to withstand the cursed subterranean heat of his nether world. “I can do whatever the fuck I want with my ship.”

  “Iris,” Deacon preaches with condemnation. “You are stealing the Goro merch…”

  I push the tall tray table full of makeup away. It hits the floor with a crash. “I did not ask for your opinions. Do what I am asking, or I will do it myself! Do not question what I want again, Masa! And do not reprimand me, Cruz! Pregnant or not…Mrs. Raniero or not…” I cringe but refuse to bend. “I am still the fucking Lotus! And I will not be ignored.”

  “I will contact the captain,” Masa replies, exiting the room. “But you best prepare for war, Lotus Queen, because they will come after you.”

  “Let them try!” I yell as he leaves. In a fit of rage, I throw a ceramic tub of moisturizer at the door. The jar splats against the wood, creaming the door and shattering into pieces on the floor. “Fuck…”

  “I can replace that,” Deacon humbly assures as my fists clench to my side. “I can even clean that up, but I cannot reassemble you. If they get ahold of you, they will decimate you.”

  “I will run faster.”

  “You are six and half months pregnant,” he reminds, grabbing a wad of paper towels. “And as your trusted advisor, I suggest finding someone to carry you, who can run faster.”

  God, if you only knew.

  I need a dragon.

  Or a phoenix.

  57

  The Gilded Bones

  The Master

  In the East Wing of the Nakamura Palace, I wait for two days watching the meetings and gatherings between The Commission and my Iris.

  During breakfast yesterday, Durante surfaced from his hell pit, but Oscar Sato and Gaspare Castillo quickly silenced his foul intrusion. I snickered from the window eating handcrafted ciabatta with olives, basil, vine-ripened heirloom tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella while sipping on expensive prosecco.

  Bitch went out of her way to be impressive for a bunch of guidos.

  When all she had to do was ask her husband if she could align Lotus w
ith The Commission, but no…she wants to do it on her own. Maybe she couldn’t ask because of her gymnastics routine in the back of a limo with a mangy mutt.

  Who knows her reasonings?

  She’s a goddamned woman crafted like a nuclear fallout shelter.

  Nothing fazes her anymore.

  And ya, I am the daego, cocky enough to stay under the same roof as the royal courtesan.

  I visit with Keishi, and we agree to Sal Raniero being a part of the future of Lotus. We’re going halfsies, and I am almost fucking giddy about that. We’re getting the best friend necklace ready cause we’re going golfing soon. Unfortunately, I do not play golf. This is beside the point. Keishi can have his half of the token, and I will take the Lotus.

  Bitch doesn’t own Lotus…yet.

  She just acts like she does.

  But I own her.

  Well, I’ll be! Or is that, I declare? I do not know why that cargo ship did a one-eighty and was headed back to the Big Apple. I’m as stunned as you, Miss Iris. Could it be magic? Mayhem? Or her angry fucking husband?

  Who knows?

  Maybe because I believe in the power of something she routinely fails at—good, old fashioned chitchat. Small talk. Networking over coffee, tea, or my naked abs.

  Keishi loved Old Poppa. And Keishi loves this guy. He’s not sure that his granddaughter hasn’t lost her fucking mind, and I tend to agree with him.

  No one cared to ask if I would raise Durante’s kid. At least not in any serious conversation. I am confident I called his skanky douche ass a million names, but Iris never sat down with me to discuss this.

  Shit has got to change.

  Nowala.

  By Sunday night, I am just raring to go guns ablaze into the party.

  Surprise!

  Look who is here!

  But I decide to be a little more discreet about the entire thing.

  I dress in her favorite navy blue suit, slick back my hair, and smell to die for because it can be his baby, but she is my fucking wife. Contrary to my recent displays of lascivious acts, I love the girl more than life itself, and I can’t imagine my life without her by my side.

  I am making a statement.

  A Sal Raniero has come to take back what is his declaration.

  She can resign peacefully to my whims, or we can go to war.

  The choice is hers…

  His Butterfly

  I am fucking exhausted when I slip out onto the terrace in the white dress I bought in Tokyo with Deacon. Every curve is on display as I make my final pitch for The Suits.

  I need their support, not financially, but in a bold statement that we can work together in harmony. Honestly, after two days of meeting with them, I am relatively certain it would be easier to collect their donations on a silver platter than to earn their alignment.

  For the purposes of this meeting—

  I am Japanese; they are Italian.

  If they knew the baby in my belly were half Italian, deals would’ve been done on Friday night. Despite the budget for this weekend, I fear I am fighting a losing battle. So much so that I almost didn’t show up this evening to my farewell party.

  “You’re looking beautiful, Iris,” Oscar Sato says, kissing my hand. “Would you like to dance?”

  “I’m losing them,” I whisper, staring at the crowd of two dozen Suits and their wives, mixing amongst my family. “I won’t have their support.”

  “You should never have expected that you would.”

  “I was doomed from the moment this idea popped into my stupid head,” I admit as the waiter brings me a special glass of non-alcoholic effervescence. “Someone should have stopped me.”

  “You are a bit hardheaded,” he laughs, and I smile. “You need to tone it down.”

  “How can I with what I am up against?” I ask, sincerely wanting an answer. “I am trying to keep our status and losing ground fast.”

  He shrugs. “You did the deal with Servet.”

  “It’s Servet,” I rebuke. “They’d take a deal from anyone willing to talk with them.”

  “You do realize that getting The Commission to listen to anyone, not like their own, is almost futile.”

  “I do now,” I say, regretting every decision I have made since July. “Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be thirty-two.”

  “Happy Birthday, Iris!”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, almost saddened because Sal will miss another birthday. “It means a lot that you came.”

  “I’ve got your back with the insurgents,” he confirms. “We’ll get Durante Costa in a cushy spot, no worries. Would you like to dance with me?”

  “I would love to.”

  He sets down the champagne flutes as we walk to the candlelit dance floor. I’m in the arms of an Italian belonging to a biker on the night before my birthday. I want to laugh and cry because I have doubted Sal’s dedication to me.

  He isn’t the fucking idiot.

  I am.

  In his arms, I note Durante’s presence. He’s talking with Giacomo Benedetto and Alessi Ettore, who I am not sure I like. Giacomo’s wife is a loudmouth, and I don’t think they get along. I keep catching his eyes glued to me. Like he’s shopping for a new piece of meat.

  A quiet piece of tender flesh that he can silence and season.

  I watch their expressions shift as a blanket of gasps rustle through the terrace.

  And I swivel to the staircase…

  The Master

  From the top of the stairs, I smirk at my wife in the arms of Oscar Sato. She’s an angel floating in white. But heaven help her, she looks like a marshmallow with tits in the slinky number.

  I wave and smile at a couple of the guys I know. It’s not every day a scorned Bianco Nero the Black of Sanctum shows up to a gilded palace to rescue a swan from the gross amount of olive oil.

  And this is an oil spill.

  I take my time, pacing down the steps to retrieve what is mine. Much to my surprise, Gaspare Castillo is the first to stand, but within a minute, the entire party is on their feet and clapping for me.

  Most of them do not know I am part of Nero, partaking in horrific sins for dirty priests. They only know I am Revered Bianco Salvatore Raniero, Luca Raniero and Pietro Veramonte’s blood, and I am the chosen one.

  I didn’t choose the mafia; mafia chose me.

  And I must clean.

  Oscar parts from Iris as she blinks to me. There is nothing. No emotion. No break. Play it up, girl. Because I am about to unload my love when I frame your celestial being in my baleful bones on the dance floor.

  “Sal,” she whispers when I take her hands. “What are you doing here?”

  “Crashing the fucking partay,” I snark as she trembles in my arms. “I never had a real first dance with my bride.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she argues. “You need to leave.”

  “I am a beloved guest of Keishi Nakamura,” I say, waving to the old man at the top of the steps. “I ain’t leaving, Darlin’.”

  Her eyes light up, and she gasps, “You got him out of his room!”

  “You’re damn right I did,” I brag with a devilish grin. “You should’ve called me. You should’ve turned to me. You should’ve told me this baby…wasn’t mine before you told the world.”

  “I’m not what you think.”

  “Tell me, what do you believe I think about you?”

  Her eyes glisten under the lights. “You hate me.”

  “Not in the least, Iris,” I vigilantly maintain. “I love you. Every fucking thing about you. Even that brat in your belly that belongs to another man. But you never gave me a chance. You took my choice in the matter away because you assumed I would drop the ball, but I never let go—ever. We’re in this situation because of your inability to communicate with me. Still. Do you not love me? Hell, maybe you don’t like me. Maybe I am a dog barking up the wrong goddamned tree, and you’re never coming down, so if that’s the case, tell me now.”

  “Salvatore…”


  “I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world,” I state, making my case. “I can’t make it any clearer than that. I want you, the whole package, in my life until the end.”

  Her fingers grip into my sleeves as I notice her ring is gone. It hurts. It fucking stings. She is my wife…my girl…my best friend…but I am not hers, and her rejection will be the death of me.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I slightly pivot to his fist, impacting my cheek. And I feel Iris slip out of my grasp…

  His Butterfly

  “No!” I scream at Durante, taking an easy shot at my husband. Sal grapples up from the pronounced deflection. He didn’t hit the ground. Thank the heavens. “Stop this! We do not need a war!”

  “Fuck you, Costa!” Sal lifts, coming back with round after round of calamitous jabs to Durante. “She can incubate your fucking kid, but she is my fucking wife! You fucking asshole!”

  “Holy crap, that was a lot of fucks,” I mutter as Sato and Masa appear by my side to escort me away. “I am not leaving!” They take me by the elbows, and I demand, “Stop!”

  “You are pregnant, Lotus!” Sato implores. “Please come up the steps, so you are out of their aim.”

  Watching the fistfight, I reluctantly stomp halfway up the steps. I never dreamed one lie…one mistake…could go this far and erupt in a battle of male dominated supremacy. They’re fighting like wild animals for rank acquisition, but this is no alpha female society. I don’t get the final say. The survivor does.

  Sal is fighting for my honor; Durante is just being a bully.

  “You can’t take care of her, Raniero!” Durante insinuates, landing an impactful shot as Sal strips off his jacket. They’re swinging fast in a tug-of-war of willpower, strength, and stamina as I scream again. “You should have seen how professional she was in the back of that limo!”