Carlyle: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Raven Scott

  Flopping my head down, I circled my thumbs over the screen of my phone as I thought up a reply.

  Carlyle: What else am I supposed to say? I own a business. There’s not much else to say. I just manage everyone.

  Slipping my phone back in my pocket, I waited for the doors to open again, and Theo stood across the threshold. Before he could scowl nastily at me, I gestured to follow, and my brief, digital exchange faded to the background of my mind for the moment.

  “I have a job for you.” Crossing the bridge to push open my office door, I sat on my desk and rubbed my face as stress tingled my fingers and palms. “Go to New York City and tell Fabuccino that I accept his offer, and to expect it on Friday. He’ll know what I mean.”

  “Why not get one of your liaisons to do that?” How much should I tell Theo? Frowning under furrowed brows as the question circled in my head, I watched him roll his eyes with a scoff. “I don’t give a fuck why just tell me anyway.”

  “Someone sent me a threat to not do whatever I’m going to do on Friday.” Theo and I were not friends, no matter how much I enjoyed picking on him and how much he enjoyed being an asshole to me. His brows furrowed gravely, and I cupped my chin as I slumped a little over my desk. “I want you to go because I want you associated with agreeing, so when I snatch and bag her, it’d be easier to make it look like she just ran away. It’s going around that I’ll propose to her and get the Italians in my corner, which I don’t need her to do that. That crusty, old bastard is more delusional than senile at this point.”

  “No one knows about your plan to kill her, but Illya, though, I thought. That was the whole point of having me bag her after Illya drugged her.” My cheek twitched at that, and I nodded as Theo rocked back on his heels to bluster a breath. “Were you able to get anything from the video? Assuming these guys have the balls to threaten you, it’s probably not traceable.”

  “Jerry’s working on it.” I frowned under the thick crease between my brows, training my gaze on a carpet fiber as I thought on it a little more. “You know, this might not be a bad thing. If everyone expects me to marry this bitch, and she ‘runs away’ . . . ”

  “What did the guy call you in the threat?” The question threw me for a loop even as I answered, and Theo cocked his head to show off his shiny scar ripping down the side of his face. Truly, I was glad Mateo did something that benefited me, even though he was still frumping and grumbling around his apartment. I didn’t have a moment to get distracted, though, when Theo opened his mouth. “Why’d he call you that?”

  “It’s fucking obvious, Theo— because I run the show here.” He didn’t flinch at my snap, and frustration boiled my lungs as I inhaled sharply through my nose.

  “You run the show here. How do you know that isn’t a threat directed at your father?” That caught my attention, and I arched my brows quizzically as Theo grunted to himself like an ape. “He’s here, and he knows everything, right? Nothing goes on without his eye on it, supposedly. What if the threats directed at him? Which means he’s got something in motion that you don’t know about, Carlyle. I think you two need to get on the same page before you start doing damage control.”

  “Alright. Let’s go have a chat with Dear Old Dad, then.” Standing on my feet, I left my office with Theo in tow, and the possibilities suddenly seemed too many. I’d been too pissed off to consider that the threat wasn’t aimed at me, and I raked my hand viciously through my hair.

  My father had his hands full with Mateo’s sulking ass, and bitterness clung to my ribs like sticky, hot tar. If the old man could feel anything for anyone, it was Mateo . . . to a certain point. That little shit was the youngest, and although far from infallible, he always got off light.

  Scratching my cheek, I frowned against my palm and wished my phone would buzz . . . but it didn’t.

  8

  Carlyle

  Illya was leaving her apartment when I stopped in front of my father’s door, and I gestured her wordlessly to me. For once, she didn’t open her mouth, and I knocked hard as determination set my shoulders. Within seconds, the lock clicked, and I managed a short exhale before the barrier swung open to reveal my dad with a tie hanging uselessly down his chest.

  “What happened?” Stepping through the threshold, I scowled when I saw Oran hunched over a laptop on the sofa, and our dad breezed past us when my brother looked up. “Get out, Oran.”

  He didn’t object— the tone our father used was warning enough not to be a little crapheap, and I hoisted myself up onto the small ledge between the kitchen and the living room. Waiting for the door to shut, I rubbed my neck and rolled my shoulders as stress tightened my skin and wedged between the blades.

  “Are you planning anything on Friday night? I received a threat titled ‘Mr. Syndicate’, and it could be about either of us.” For the first time in a long time, my father seemed genuinely surprised, and he scowled darkly. Seating himself on the couch, he crossed his legs and pressed a thumb to his temple as expectation hung heavy in the air.

  “What did the threat say, exactly?” Repeating the message dutifully, the roiling feeling in my chest intensified as my father swore under his breath. “Well, I guess the secret’s out. I’m handing you control of everything on Friday, Carlyle.”

  Stiffening as shock bolted through me, my jaw slackened stupidly, and my brows nearly flew off my face even as my father laughed humorlessly. He stood up, smoothing his button down to start fixing his tight as he shook his head. My mind stalled in the tense silence, and the atmosphere became charged with electricity that crackled just above my head.

  “I was going to wait a few more years, but with everything going on with Mateo . . . You’ve been more than capable of handling the companies here in the States. I’ve already got the transfers of ownership. All they need is to be signed. It was supposed to be a present for your thirty-fifth birthday, but . . . ” My jaw nearly fell in my lap at that, and my dad’s soulless, dark eyes met my wide ones firmly. “I have no doubt the threat was directed at me, although I’m unsure who would send it. A few people knew about my plans, including Oran, but I never gave dates. I wanted you to go to New York City with ammunition. The Italians are inconsequential rats who we don’t need complicating our plans.”

  “I’ll have someone investigate it.” Grumbling as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth with disbelief, I covered my mouth to hide my frown. “Until then, I have to figure out what I’m going to do about the Italians. There’s no way in Hell I’ll ever get caught in the same building as that unruly princess.”

  “You’ll find a way, my boy. You always do.” Sauntering his flabby ass over to clap me on the shoulder, my dad knocked the air from my lungs, and I choked a little on my own surprise. He smiled, the first hint of real emotion I didn’t know he had, and relief and pride flooded his otherwise threatening gaze. “I always had such high hopes for you, and you never disappointed me, Carlyle. Not where it counted, at least.”

  “Mmm . . . ” Humming softly, I sat back as he resumed tying his tie, and my dad cast me an expectant side glance. “I was planning on crashing that party myself instead of sending a liaison, but considering this . . . development . . . ”

  “You should go to New York City to celebrate, anyway. You deserve it, Carlyle, and then the real work begins. And by that . . . ” Leaning in with a curious twinkle in his eye, my dad smirked knowingly. “It’s a lot more boring, not answering to anyone.”

  “Damn.” Scrunching up my nose, I bit back a groan, and my dad chuckled softly as he tightened his tie. “Thanks a lot, Dad. All my life, you told me never to care about anything, and now I’ll die of boredom.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find ways to amuse yourself. Regardless, I do expect you to do something about your brother. It was your idea to stick Mateo in California, but you won’t be able to pull that stunt with Oran.” Arching sharply to relieve the tension zinging up my spine, I nodded firmly, and my father waved his hand dismissively. “Maybe he’ll get a girlfriend or
do something stupid, and you can force him out. I honestly don’t care at this point. I’ve dealt with him trying to stick his nose in my business for a decade, and I allowed it because I thought— hoped, really— that he’d be humbled. Obviously, he hasn’t.”

  “I’ll take that as permission to shoot him if he deserves it.” Nodding, satisfied, my father grunted lowly as the air cleared, and I hopped off the ledge to clear my throat roughly. “I have a lot to think about. Jerry’s going to try to get the original voice for the video, but don’t get your hopes up. Also . . . ”

  “Son.” My father clapped his palms against my biceps, and I suddenly felt like I was fourteen again as he stared directly in my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything anymore if you don’t want to. You don’t answer to anyone at all. You can do whatever you want; however you want, whenever you want, and the only person that should influence your decision is you. I’m old. I’m tired. I don’t care about what who does or why. So, whatever it is that happens next is entirely up to you.”

  My heart stuttered when his expression darkened, eyes sharpening, grip tightening until his nails dug into my biceps through my shirt.

  “Don’t fuck this up.” Nodding curtly, I pursed my lips thinly as a cold sweat broke out under my shirt, and my dad released me to smooth his tie. “Congratulations. Send Oran back in on your way out. I’m sure he’s lingering with his ear to the door.”

  In that second, my phone chimed shrilly, but I ignored it for the moment as I turned on my heel and left. Carefully, oh, so very carefully, I blanked my expression before opening the door, and Oran was leaning on the opposite wall. Arching a curious brow, his eyes flickered between the three of us, and I went to Illya’s place instead of my own just because it was closer.

  There were several locks on the doors, but I was the only one who could use the key card reader, and my hands shook as I swiped my master card. The conversation with my father hit me all at once, and I breathed hot, heavy pants as a huge grin threatened to burst my cheeks. Whipping around, I grabbed her to twirl around, and an almost joyous laugh escaped past the dense lump in my throat.

  “Yes! Fuck! Yes!” Clenching and releasing my fists, I shivered with the urge to hug Illya, and she smiled a little before holding her arms open.

  “What the Hell?” I had to do something, and I palmed her head against my chest as it heaved with exhilaration. My restraint even surprised me, and I cupped her cheeks to press my dry, quivering lips to her forehead. Pressing my cheek against her crown, I closed my eyes to watch the fireworks of my excitement, and she sort of just stayed still. It was all I could do not to squeeze her, and that edgy apprehension tinged the outskirts of my mind as I struggled to contain myself.

  “I’m really happy for you, Carlyle . . . but . . . you’re gonna squeeze my brain out of my ears.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I leaned back at Illya’s murmur, and she gripped my wrists tightly even as her eyes shimmered with happy tears. “Congratulations.”

  “I’m really . . . I-I’m . . . ” A laugh drowned out my attempt at words, and I couldn’t stop smiling even when I licked my lips heavily. “I’m so glad I got to share this with you. At least you understand the importance—”

  “I feel really fucking left out here, Carlyle.” For the first time, maybe ever, I looked over, and Theo was smiling— no matter how malicious it might’ve looked— and I sniffed hard. Nodding firmly, I stepped away from Illya, and we shook hands before he clapped me on the back. “Let’s go out for dinner to celebrate.”

  “Yeah. I need a minute, though. I’ll be outside in about half an hour.” Rolling my neck and shoulders hard, I headed out of the apartment on stiff legs, and I squeezed my eyes shut to take a shuddering, stabilizing breath. I’d been born for this job— my dad never missed an opportunity to tell me that my life was made out before I even came squealing into the world. He had his fatherly moments, of course, but he always kept a glass wall between us. That was never the secret.

  The secret was that he was proud of me, and childish happiness bubbled up to clog my throat. My father was such a good actor who sometimes, I thought, the whole sociopath bullshit was just that . . . bullshit.

  I cared about my achievements being acknowledged, and this . . . this was the ultimate ‘good job.’ Jesus Christ. I’m thirty-one years old. I guess it never really mattered how old I was. A father’s praise is still a father’s praise.

  9

  Valerie

  The wonderful scent of charcoal filled my nostrils even as I leaned back on my stool, and I wiped under my eye to squint. Tomorrow, it would be September first, and a Thursday, which was poetic because September sucked and so did Thursdays. Weakly, the sun filtered down to warm my crown, and I cocked my head as I gazed at the drawing of what originally had been a swing set.

  ‘Originally had been’ because it ended up being . . . something else.

  “Mm . . . ” Humming softly, I nodded happily at my own work. Rarely did the things I intended to draw end up that way, so I tried not to get hung up on it. The sun had been replaced by the moon, the swing set replaced with a hanging porch swing of some sort. Honestly, I liked this one better than what was in front of me, and I reached down with my free hand to grab my water bottle. Pushing the page of my easel, I took a huge swig from my bottle and glanced around the park through narrowed eyes.

  My phone chimed, giving me a welcome distraction to the mundane scenes around me, and I picked it up off my bag. Carlyle and I had been texting back and forth about stupid stuff, flirting heavily, but he’d gone dark last night.

  Carlyle: sorry about not reply. I got a promotion yesterday, so I got drunk.

  The simple text brought a smile to my lips, and my thumbs hovered over the touch screen for a quick second.

  Valerie: congrats! How can you be promoted if you’re the boss?

  He started typing back immediately, the little bubble flipping at the corner of the screen, and I rolled my lips between my teeth in expectation.

  Carlyle: I was just handling the stuff in the states, but I got promoted to global. We do a lot of security contracts, building renovations, shipping. A lot of government stuff that I’m not allowed to talk about.

  “Ah.”

  Valerie: I guess there won’t be much pillow talk, huh.

  Gnawing on my bottom lip, I locked my phone when Carlyle didn’t start replying instantly again, and I flopped my head back to blow out a breath.

  “Val! I got you the chicken tacos.” Glancing up, I smiled gratefully as my sister sauntered over with two cardboard boats of three tacos each. She handed me mine, sitting down smoothly on the grass, and I slid off my chair to cross my legs next to her. “I’m glad we took this day off. I really need it after that shit that went on yesterday.”

  “Paul’s just an ass. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Natasha.” Picking up my hard-shell taco, I scooped up lettuce threatening to fall out, and the smell of hot sauce curled my nose hairs. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal! That pig tried to mansplain how to build a shelf at me.” The delectable crunch of my taco drowned out my sister’s complaining, and I nodded around my mouthful. Of course, I was right there when this happened. Natasha was complaining then, too. The shelves she bought for the living room weren’t as easily assembled as was to be believed, and she huffed as she pulled her hair into a tight bun. “I’m not an idiot— I know how to connect A to B and twist a screwdriver.”

  “I know.” Tomato and marinated chicken danced together on my tongue, and I hummed happily at the party in my mouth. “At least he doesn’t tell you how to do your job. Just drop it.”

  “If it gets worse, I’m packing my ass up and getting a job somewhere else. This city’s big enough, so it’ll be easy.” Rolling my eyes, I swallowed my bite knowing damn well Natasha won’t quit just because Paul’s a bit chauvinistic. “But, for real, I’m glad we took this day off. It gives me time to interrogate you about this guy, Carlyle. Is that really his name?�
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  “Of course it is, idiot.” Flames licked up my neck, and Natasha hummed before taking a big bite of her own steak taco. “I like his name. At least it’s not Brad or Carl or Paul or something.”

  “Damned right. It’s an old-fashioned name. Imagine moaning Carlyle during sex.” Frowning when she shivered in abhorrence, I reached to pluck a strip of steak off her taco, and she scowled at me. “Hey! I’m just sayin’, it’s not a name you hear every day.”

  “It’s a good thing I don’t care if you like his name or not. Anyway, that’s not the point. He’s really hot, okay— that’s the point.” I couldn’t overestimate how delicious Carlyle was, and I took another bite of my taco as my sister leaned over the paper boat on her legs. For a moment, we were quiet, and I relished it as I let my mind wander.

  Truthfully, I only knew enough about him to think he was interesting— enticing might be a better word for it, though. Every time I saw him or received a text, an excitement gripped me in a vice, and I couldn’t explain why.

  “At least he’s more exciting than Trevor.” Bringing up my last boyfriend soured my tongue, and I set down my taco to rock back on my arms. Staring up at the blue, cloudless sky, I blustered a raspberry of a sigh through my lips before parting them. “Who’ da thunk it, a quiet, safe guy like him cheating? I always thought he was the kind of guy to ghost me rather than cheat.”

  “Trevor was a little bitch, and you’re better off without him, Valerie.” Glancing over at my twin as she frowned around her mouthful, I couldn’t help but smile at how hard she chewed. “Only cowards cheat. Plus, he was a loser. Loser plus coward equals . . . los-oward.”