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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  You’re in love, and so am I.

  I am sorry those two things don’t add up to our being together.

  You were always my one.

  I am just sorry I can’t be yours.

  When you read this, I’ll be long gone.”

  There are flip sides to all of it; I’m just not sure what they are yet. I’m sober. Berk got revenge. Immortal and Montesino are in shambles, which means Zacarro and Campanelli are flailing like a fish out of water, trying to figure out what the fuck to do. Amber and Hannah have checked in on me. Giles called when he arrived in England and thanked me for the opportunity, but he needs to think about my offer.

  Who the fuck turns me down?

  The offer won’t come around again, but I imagine the mafia’s actuality was far less romantic and more violent than he believed.

  I am mitigating the issues.

  Cesario was hit once and likely saved my wife and unborn baby’s life. Fortunately, he had on a vest, but the bullet struck on the edge, dulling some of the impact. The blood loss was significant over half an hour, and his organs were oxygen-deprived. He’s not good.

  I am arranging the security for Maddy’s funeral in Sugargrove with Cristos. It’s one week away, and Moses Hollister is coordinating with Morpheus’ head of security because it’s going to be a fucking circus.

  Speaking of the cirque, I called Tank concerning keeping crazy Nicky at Lakeside and have warned him of the inherent risk. Of course, he is passive and says Reckless Rebellion has got it. I don’t think he understands how dangerous Nicky is.

  Damage control with Trudy makes her house look like a florist, but she’ll eventually give in.

  Daddy Dom is available for counseling sessions. I am not sure if that means he will talk me off a ledge, brainstorm a problem with me, whip my back blood red, or maybe all of the above.

  G-Man can do what he needs to do, but shit, he is good—and I don’t mean that, pervs. Though that was good, he isn’t my guy.

  Hannah and Amber are waiting with open arms, but that’s not exactly what I want/need.

  I don’t know where the fuck my lover is, and I can’t think about that, or I’ll buckle to the ground and wind up losing sobriety.

  Because I am chasing a butterfly.

  “I have to ask,” Gabe says, smoking like a chimney. “Did you have anything to do with the Montesino Massacre?”

  “No.”

  I swear to God, that is the truth. I know what it looks like, but I didn’t do it. I am not Serene, and I would never have intentionally shot up a venue where my wife or father—and I may not like the guy, but that’s a weak move—were present. Ever.

  I prefer single, direct hits as opposed to mass spray shot.

  Have the balls to go after the source.

  In this case, Muerte was attempting to eliminate Dante, Gabe, and Salomé. He epically failed, but I got Berk—by accident, but still, I got him. Call it a subtle advantage in my favor.

  What I did do was send a team led by Cris Crow to oversee Iris’ safety discreetly. It’s rough down there. Hell, even Masa and Sato left before the party—what the hell was that shit? What the fuck kind of security guy goes before the event?

  One of them fuckers is a rat in Lotus. When I find out which one, there will be hell to pay.

  I sent my team, and I will continue to send my team, even if that means Iris goes through four hundred bodyguards; I will keep trying until we find one she likes because that is what I promised multiple people—Dom, Anna, Cruz, and The Chairman—I would do.

  After many conversations with Diablo Cruz, I understood he was a savage, just like his brother. I asked him to join Cris on the expedition and provide Iris with the envelope concerning one of the Grace sisters’ deceit details.

  I do not know what I am doing about my new Grandaunt, Kate.

  Daunt is more like it or D’Aunt. Grins.

  I have enough shit to think about.

  Stress is off the mofo chart.

  I will be taking the Interim Director position at Juliet in January and building my outfit based in Sugargrove.

  I have closed Raniero Enterprises, and Raniero Fisheries is absorbing everything with expansion plans into Maine. My original thought was to declare bankruptcy to eliminate the primary shareholder of Iris Nakamura, and then I stupidly realized, why would I do that?

  I am married to the girl.

  She’s got half regardless because there was no prenup.

  Finishing the phone call, I stare at Cruz’s text message, and then I dive into work because it is all I can do.

  The addiction is always flaring.

  It’s just a matter of where.

  97

  Intentions of Gold

  The Master

  In the evening, I stare at the empty shelves in the refrigerator. I’ve been packing, cleaning, and getting ready to leave Italy. The computer rigs are all broken down into boxes except for one laptop. I’m sweaty, stinky, and hungry as fuck. Twisting my ball cap, I glance at my watch and decide to run downstairs and beg Ilaria for some scraps.

  I grab my keys off the counter, swing open the door, and stop dead in my tracks at Cruz holding a bouquet.

  “What do you want?” I ask, pissed. I’ve spent two days thinking his ass left me. “I packed your shit.”

  “These are roses,” he remarks as I pop my jaw. “They are for you. Why are you so fucking mad at me?”

  “… Me!”

  “You’re the one who did some millennial bullshit ghosting breakup via text message.”

  He frowns, clearly confused. “What? I did no such thing.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket and show him the message. “Holy crap,” he says, slapping himself in the forehead. “I didn’t even fucking check my phone because I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t see that. Iris must have sent it from my phone in Rio.”

  That’s not any better.

  I am pretty sure that only makes it much worse.

  “Fuck!” My hands cover my face as I tilt my head back. “Shit! I knew she was always going to leave.” I glance up and pull Cruz inside. Slamming him into the wall, I lay a Raniero-tongue-lashing on him.

  “I love you so fucking much,” he mumbles against my greedy mouth as I refuse to stop. “I would never leave, least of all like that.”

  I stop kissing him and breathe, “Can I please call my wife?”

  “Just a sec,” he says, digging in his pocket. “Before you have to kill me because I lose this.” Taking my hand, he sets her wedding ring in my palm. “I took it from her in Japan, so everyone would believe you two were through. I’ll give it to you, but how much did you know?”

  My eyes shift several times before landing on his. “I knew she was up to something because every time she fucking leaves, she is up to something. I did not know the details of her plot to undermine all of it.”

  “Did you have anything to do with the shooting?”

  “What the fuck is with everyone thinking I did that?” I argue, agitated as I remove my chain and lace her dainty rock through it.

  “That’s a good look for you,” he mutters, snorting. “Half mil in ice on your two dollah chain.”

  “This is not going to work,” I remark at the ring’s inability to lay next to the crucifix. “They aren’t playing nicely.”

  “I see this,” he snorts at the irony as I pull off the cross.

  “Choices must be made.”

  I sprint to my luggage, pulling out a different chain, and threading the cross onto it. Without asking, I latch it onto his neck. “Do I want to know whose cross this is?”

  I eye the jewelry and squint as I flip through the data. “That one was given to me by Delilah for my…twenty-third birthday.”

  “Elephant,” he comments, referring to my memory.

  “I don’t understand why everyone thinks I am the guy who would shoot up an event like that. Is that what they’re expecting me to turn into?”

  His finger runs along the chain to the ri
ng. “Probably. Iris did shoot up the Cinco compound, and you’re married to her. Guilt by association. What she does affects you; what you do affects her. That’s how this works and why I will never get married to a bitch.”

  “Iris wouldn’t shoot up a birthday party! And I get that I am bad, but I would never point a gun anywhere near Iris. I don’t even like the fact that she has a gun. I am a bit of an asshole when it comes to Iris.”

  “You can be quite the gentleman,” he says. “And that is the source of many of your problems.” I arch a brow. “She’s accustomed to being looked down upon. You’ve never done that, which leads to her feeling like she doesn’t deserve you. She lied. You cheated. She cheated. It’s a mess.”

  “You blame her?”

  “You want the honest answer?” His blue eyes focus on mine. “Yes, I am pretty fucking angry with her for lying about the baby being Costa’s kid. As your lover, as your right-hand man, as your best friend in the whole goddamned world, I am mad at what she did to you.”

  “I’m starving,” I admit as he grins.

  “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner,” Cruz says, swiping his finger across my cheek. “Maybe it’ll get me laid.” He winks.

  “I’m sorry I thought you broke up with me…”

  “You seem to have kept your head above the water,” he proudly boasts.

  Because I thought he was full of shit.

  Since I know Iris sent it to me, I am going to live in a winter wonderland with lots of blow, boobies, and blowjobs. Fuck this shit.

  “I tried,” I say.

  “Maybe it was worth it. But let me just say this to you, if Iris plans on making a habit of doing what all she did in the last four months, you need to think about if you want to spend your life like that. You deserve better than that. I would treat you better.” He snidely remarks, “Even Hannah would treat you better, and I don’t want you with her. But Iris started this. And Iris fucked this up. Not you, brother.”

  “Since we’re having an honest moment, I got a blowjob from Giles Kettles.”

  His jaw tightens. “You plan on doing it again?”

  “No,” I say. “Never. You?”

  “No,” he replies, shaking his head. “Never. Are we even now?”

  “Ya,” I agree. “What about Amber?”

  “We should eat before discussing that one cause it’s complicated.”

  His Ride

  Dipping the pork spring roll in the sauce, I offer the bite to Sal. We’re sitting outside the little eatery despite the chill.

  He frantically points, mumbling, “That’s amazing!”

  “The sauce really makes it.”

  He smirks but holds back with an expression of mischief. “Amber Leigh Rosen Cruz?”

  “No,” I declare. “No way! Not that far.”

  Sipping on his lychee boba tea, he teases, “Yet.”

  “I tell you what, Raniero,” I say, sitting back and lighting a smoke. “You and Iris make it work for a year, and I’ll consider it.”

  “… Only a year?”

  I shrug. “I don’t even know that you’ll make it that long. Give me one marriage that has been a shining example and don’t say Serene and Nicky because they do not count.”

  “Kate and Dev.”

  “Really?” I burst out. “You’re going to use Kate, who has been conniving and causing strife, as a marital example?”

  “I like Dev,” he says. “Morpheus and Reza!”

  “Not married,” I reply. “Just lovers. Been working great for what?”

  “Years and years…like you and me,” he whispers.

  “You cannot use you and me as a template for Amber and me.”

  “That’s fine,” he replies, twirling his fork in the noodles. “I’ll use you and me as a template for Iris and me.”

  “We’ve been pretty good to each other considering,” I say, gripping his hand. “I wouldn’t trade you for the world. You’re my old ball and chain.”

  “I am gonna chain you up,” he announces, staring at the fork full of noodles. “Use you as my practice sub at Juliet.”

  I glare at him as he suddenly drops the fork. “Was that on purpose?”

  “No, I am fucking full.”

  “Hands okay?”

  “I miss Allison,” he says.

  “She did give an incredible hand job.”

  He smacks my arm hard, and I laugh. “I miss Allie too. I tell you what; when we get settled, I’ll find you, someone.”

  “I already did, and he left me.”

  I ask, “Who?”

  “Blowjob Giles.”

  Rolling my eyes, I snarl. “How much do I trust you?”

  “Should be a lot,” he replies. “It was impetuous and stupid. Raze Kola was bragging to Fabian Montesino about getting it on with the Lotus. My wife has quite a reputation as a slut negotiator.”

  “Fuck, no…”

  “Ya,” he confides, raising his brows. “I got mad, held back my fists, and instead, did a dumb thing.”

  I briefly consider what he is saying. “You weren’t hot and bothered over Giles?”

  “No,” he scoffs. “I won’t lie. He is a good looking fellow, but it was more because he was there. I needed to exert some control because Iris likes to spread and ‘suck my dick’ seemed to have the intended effect.”

  “That changes everything,” I respond, snatching his phone off of the table. I flip through his contacts and send Giles to my phone. “I’ll get him back for you. “Is he a therapist?”

  He shakes his head. “No, he’s a mathematician. His mother was a therapist.”

  “That’s not exactly good enough, but he would be 24/7 so…”

  He quizzes, “What are you doing?”

  “Sending him a text message to please call me.”

  “You’re finagling him back?”

  I nod and hit send. “I’ll give you the world, even if that means forgiving your sauce depository.” I wink, and he laughs. “I’ve been around you too long, man.”

  “Almost a decade.”

  “What about Rowan?”

  “Fucking bitch sold all of the merchandise on the street, multiple people, no leads.”

  I take a deep breath. “Damn!” Near my arm, his phone lights up, and I can’t help but notice the message from Joe Kaiser. “When were you planning on telling me you were adopting a four-year-old?”

  The Master

  After he pays for dinner, we walk home in silence with nothing to say about the knee-high doll I singlehandedly invited into our lives. Perhaps I should’ve consulted with Deeeee, Bamber, and Auntie if this was okay.

  I was in a position—kneeling on top of Archer—and couldn’t very well pick up the phone, asking for permission for Mae-Mae to come over and play for the next thirteen and a half years.

  Holy shit…wow.

  That’s a big commitment.

  My baby will be my responsibility for eighteen years…for the rest of my life.

  FUCK.

  Okay, I understand why Deeeee might be a little chafed.

  We arrive at the apartment. I unlock the door, drop my keys, and strip off my shirt. “I’m going to shower.”

  My moves are systematic, routine, and paced. I step into the hot water, never expecting his sweet ass to follow me.

  “If she doesn’t come back…” I blink, fully aware that I am on the shit list. “Or this does not work out; you agree to do the deed with me, so she has two parents.”

  Wait. What? Whoa!

  “Your big concern is that Mae-Mae won’t have two parents?”

  “Yes,” he replies. “Let me lay down some facts for you.” He lifts his hand, pointing to his fingers. “I don’t know how long you intend on keeping Hannah Beth. I don’t know how long you intend on keeping Amber Leigh.”

  “Why are you using their middle names as a parent?”

  “Lucas Salvatore, shut up.”

  Point made.

  “Sorry,” I innocently quip, laughing under my breath. I gr
ab the soap and lather up. “Please continue.”

  “I don’t know how long Iris Amarie and you are going to last. Mae-Mae Helouise needs…a new middle name…Helouise?”

  “It was Archer’s grandmother’s name.”

  “Okay, you are changing that shit,” he declares, holding up a finger. “Mae is going to need stability, especially considering who she is growing up with, and I want to give her that. If your marriage goes kaput, you’re putting on a white suit and marrying my ass, bitch.”

  I raise a brow at his machismo running rampant in my shower and fully anticipate any moment that he will drag me out by my hair and mount me like an animal from behind.

  God, I just gave myself a boner.

  “Cristos wears white,” I segue, ignoring the throbbing. “Pick another color.”

  “You ain’t wearing black because you are too fucking sexy in it, and we won’t make it down the aisle.”

  Shit. I twitch.

  Brushing my teeth, I nod, spitting. “Can I be Luke Cruz?”

  “That’s got a nice dirty ring to it,” he oozes sensually like calling me Mrs. Luke Cruz would be his crowning moment of gay biker glory. He’s washing his body, bubbling up everywhere, and all I can think is how much fun sliding on that ride would be.

  “Mae-Mae Gertrude?” I offer, ignoring my lust. “Mae-Mae Elena?”

  “Fuck you on Gertrude,” he quickly responds. “I love Ma to pieces, but no. And I never knew my grandmother, Elena Cruz.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  He rinses off, thinking about it. “I don’t know.”

  “Mae-Mae Aki?”

  “Too clashy,” he argues, washing my backside. “Mae-Mae Paloma? Wait a sec, what are you doing with her last name?”

  “She will be Mae Raniero,” I say, wishing he’d reach around just once. “Mae Allison Raniero.”

  “MAR? Are you going to make our daughter’s initials MAR? You and Iris are so not ready,” he mumbles. “Have you ever considered what you are naming the baby?”