Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  The loud thud of the door draws our attention to the staircase, and as much as I should pull out, I don’t. If he were a she, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but—our halcyon sins excuse unrest.

  Sal has a stronghold on my ass. His opinion is clearly noted on the matter. He’ll risk the hate for this love. And at that moment, I know everything he has said is his gospel. It doesn’t matter what white lies he’s spouted off to any other soul: his truth…his spirit…belongs to me.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Masa flusters, pulling up the lights. “There was an explosion.”

  Sal leans up. “Where?”

  “The Boudreaux mansion…”

  I interrupt, “Was Megan?”

  “According to Dom, she is fine, but I thought I should inform you.”

  Laying his hand on my chest, Sal mutters, “Why Boudreaux?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, God…” Sal’s eyes close as he lays his head back and covers his face with his hands. “She’s going after The Four Horsemen.”

  “Yes,” I acknowledge, emotionless, and glance at Masa. “Thank you for telling us. Can you make sure no one comes down here?”

  “Of course,” he politely says. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news.”

  “It’s not your fault Masa.”

  “No, we both know whose fault it is,” he says. “If either of you needs anything, consider me yours.”

  “That means a lot,” I mutter. “Thank you.”

  Slightly enamored, he briefly smiles. “You’re beautiful together. The door will be secure. Goodnight, Sirs.”

  I hear the door, and my hand caresses his cheek. “Are you okay?”

  He drops his hands to reveal the tears. “Do you realize you just stayed hard inside of me in front of Masa Nakamura?”

  “Yeah, it’s you.”

  “She going to blow up Old Poppa’s building…my history…”

  “I know,” I murmur, laying my forehead against his. “I know.”

  “… Why is she hurting me like this?”

  Kissing his tears, I whisper, “Because she wants what someone else has, Boston.”

  With a watertight gaze, he hisses, “She will never steal me.”

  The Master

  With my right hand pressed against the shower wall the next morning, I welcome his release in my ass as my left pumps my shaft. “Holy fuck…”

  His ringless right hand runs beside mine, and we stare at the bands of ink on our fingers. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

  “Ya, I do, Cruz,” I mutter, leaning into him and kissing his cheek. “Are you putting your rings back on?”

  “Yes,” he replies. “And I’ll probably cover it up with one, and I suggest you do the same.”

  “It won’t matter what they see.”

  “It never has,” he whispers. “But this is private—sacred between you and me—and one other.”

  A slight grin curls up in the corner of my mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I’m so upset with her.”

  “You are,” he assures, wrapping his arm around my neck and shoulders. “You are, and…it’s time to go home.”

  “Home…to Iris.”

  With great care, he lathers my body and washes my hair. “We have to get on a plane,” he says, slapping my ass as I rinse off. I turn my back to him, washing my face, and his fingers trace her name and graze over the brand. “I gotta take you home and make you Mr. Nakamura.” He winks as I grab a towel and step out of the shower. “Hurry up! Go, get dressed! I don’t want us getting distracted.”

  In the bedroom, I eye the luggage lined up by the door, the clothes for our trip laid out on the bed, and our phones charging on the dresser. I haven’t bothered to check the messages because I know what she did.

  And it hurts. Really hurts.

  Spotting the strange-looking black and white photo on Cruz’s phone, I grab it and see the message from Iris.

  “I need you. I’m almost twelve weeks pregnant. Help me. Please.”

  In the towel, I sit on the bed with my hair dripping as my entire body trembles with fear. I stare at the photo of a tiny human in my girl’s belly.

  “… Why are you not dressed yet?” Deacon asks, swiping the source of my focus from my hands—his phone. “Oh, fuck!”

  “… Did you know?”

  “I suspected,” he mutters, sitting beside me. “Did you?”

  “Ya,” I honestly reply. “I just never dreamed I’d be staring down the barrel after what she did last night.”

  Reading through his messages, he holds my hand and informs, “The Boudreaux mansion, Wendy Cruz’s house in Sugargrove, the Old Gennaro Warehouse, and the new shipping docks at Raniero Fisheries were all hit.”

  “She didn’t blow Old Poppa’s original building?”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head as I get up to pace.

  “Fuck, Cesario is going to be pissed,” I contend. “It would have been one thing to hit the original building that we no longer use, but she went after money and blood by hitting the new docks.” I light a smoke and lean against the dresser with my head lowered. I press my palm to my forehead.

  “Oh, motherfuck! We gotta go!”

  With tears in my eyes, I glance up. “… What did our lovely girl do now?”

  “She ordered an attack on the Cinco compound, headed up by Morpheus’ men, and then she took off on the Lotus jet.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” I grab my phone and see the message from Pico. Despite being Reckless Rebellion now, Pico Neves’ familial ties back to Cinco are no different from my own. We turn the other cheek, walk away, and pretend not to care, but somewhere, I feel compelled to check on my family…my parents…both sets. “Hell…”

  That’s one way to end it.

  And one way to start a holy fucking war.

  99

  Young Gods Drowning

  His Ride

  “What are you going to do?” I ask on the plane as he stares at his laptop and the paternity tests from Jaid.

  “What can I do?” he replies, shutting the computer and tossing it into the chair. “Merritt isn’t mine. Raine isn’t yours. There is one thing we know…”

  “Without a doubt, Iris is carrying one of our babies.”

  “You got it,” he says, leaning against the headrest and staring out the window. Tears well in his eyes. “I just don’t understand why she is doing all of this. We have to find her.”

  “We will,” I reassure, walking over and moving the laptop. I lay my hand on his thigh. “The Lotus jet landed in Boston.”

  “He’ll kill her,” he mutters, breaking down. “I’m not happy with her at the moment, but he will kill her.”

  “We’re going as fast as we can. Dom and Nico are at the warehouse with Georgia, Jas, and the whole team.”

  “Where is Q?”

  “I assume at his parish.”

  He turns to look at me. “Are The Preacher and Zeke in Nola?”

  “Nola is quiet,” I inform with a shrug. “As quiet as it ever is. Her attacks are very targeted. She isn’t shooting in the dark. They’re all purposeful and intended.”

  “Why did she go after Cinco, though?”

  “Because they helped Kaci,” I whisper. “For years. She is aiming to take out Cas.”

  He heavily sighs. “Do we have any idea where she is?”

  “Not a fucking clue.”

  “Amber and Diablo?”

  “Not a word,” I say.

  “Are we sure Cas isn’t working with Iris?”

  “Fuck,” I mumble. “Anything is possible with Iris at this point.”

  His jaw grinds as he shifts his lips. “What am I missing? Everyone is accounted for…Stella and Vinny?”

  “They’re fine, so are Cesario and Lucilla.”

  He bends forward, rocking in his chair and gripping his hair. “There is something else. There must be a reason she is going to Boston. What is it?”

  “
I wish I knew,” I regretfully say, knowing I cannot pull a rabbit out of a hat. “The only thing I can come up with is she is waiting to take out Cesario.”

  “Too easy,” he hastily replies. “She is a sadist. She won’t just pop him off. Where is Durante?”

  I scan over the list Dom sent. “I have no known location.”

  “Are we sure that baby is ours?”

  “I said it a few minutes ago, and I will say it again—without a fucking doubt—that baby in her belly is either Raniero or Cruz. There is no way it is Kid Costa.”

  “It would unite Lotus and Immortal.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” I fiercely argue. “Never. She’ll drain him empty and spit him out.

  “How do we know?” he rebukes. “She had zero problems initiating a massive attack last night.”

  “She wants to keep her baby, Salvatore,” I point out. “Immortal wouldn’t try and kill it. Only the horsemen would.”

  “Simple reasonings?” he asks. “And what if it’s just a decoy.”

  “Stop speculating on this.”

  “I can’t,” he says. “Something is missing. It doesn’t make sense for her to run off to Boston. Why not just go home to Gifu and call it a day?”

  “I don’t know,” I angrily yell. “But the one thing I do know is she is vehemently defending her right to be a mother and play in this game. She is protecting that baby with everything she has, so stop doubting her for half a fucking second and think about how much she loves you.”

  “She’s mean,” he replies. “I can’t beat her in the game.”

  “Yes, you can,” I assure. “You are probably the only one who can.”

  “I won’t attack Lotus.”

  “You don’t have to,” I arrogantly say. “Just seize her castle.”

  “… Les Pétales?”

  “Yep.” I raise a brow. “She thinks she has resources, but she ain’t got shit without us. Call Cristos and shut her ass down.”

  “You’re assuming he will side with me…”

  “I guarantee he will,” I maintain. “Move the shit out of the sixteen warehouses you’ve been stashing as her reverse dowry. Stick it on the ships in the middle of the goddamned ocean and stand your fucking ground until she listens to you.”

  With an almost proud snarl, he snickers, “She has a penchant for detonating things.”

  “She won’t blow them up,” I reason, holding my neutral territory. “She isn’t stupid. And she doesn’t have enough power to do that kind of assault without Keishi.”

  “I’m not playing chicken with that much merch.”

  “No.” I shamelessly advise, “Play with what you know. Play with fire. Play with you, Boston.”

  The Master

  Sitting next to Cesario at his dining room table that night, I interrogate, “You haven’t heard from her?”

  “I have not.” He takes another forkful of pasta as Deacon helps Lucilla and Stella in the kitchen. I hate being here. I swore I would never come back. Unfortunately, the girl I am in love with is here. I was backed into a corner, so Boston it was. I am in a race to find Iris before…every other hitman in the fucking world. “But if I nab her…”

  Nab, really?

  Why not a scary word, Cesar?

  Like capture, seize, or abduct?

  “Don’t kill her.” I grovel, “Please…”

  He wipes his mouth as I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out, keeping the screen low and out of sight.

  New message from Dandelion: “Meet me. Old docks.”

  Stunned, I blink but stay calm. I zip out a quick text to Cruz. “I’m going to get you some beer.”

  “She messaged you.”

  “Yes,” I reply.

  “Be careful.”

  “She won’t kill me.”

  “With your peculiar way of thinking, sometimes—she might.”

  “I know she is responsible for the explosion!” Cesario randomly hollers, fuming. “Damn bitch is costing Raniero Enterprises hundreds of thousands in relocating our facilities, not to mention reconstruction time. Her moves aren’t going unnoticed. Everyone is paying attention to the slant-eyed whore from the Orient!” My fists clench, and I snarl, but I keep my lips zipped tightly because I need his intel. He knows enough slimy eels in murky waters, and if I know where they’re headed, I can run an interception. He scrutinizes me. “There is a two million reward on her head.”

  Fuck.

  I didn’t put grace back on her with everything going on. One of those bastards in The Commission will take the hit on her just to turn a profit. “I need a smoke.”

  “If you know where she is, you best do the right thing, son.”

  Don’t even.

  Standing, I accuse, “You caused this, old man.”

  With his mouth full of spaghetti and tomato sauce, he garbles, “I did no such thing! I was prepared to leave you and her alone but no longer! She sealed her fate!”

  “Her fate ends with me being her husband,” I smoothly warn, hearing my mature voice. I sort of like it but feel the need to creep around this “new” Sal until I get to know his real prowess. “Unless you plan on coming after me, I suggest you think about your threats.”

  I walk away before things escalate. On the way out the door, I ask Chelle, “Can I borrow your car for a half an hour?”

  “Sure, babe,” she says, reaching in her pocket and handing the keys to me. I don’t want to leave Cruz without a vehicle. Better to leave the rental with him. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble when I told Vinny about Etienne, but it’s tough to leave him and the family. You know?”

  “Wait…what?”

  “Iris offered to let me buy-in,” she informs. “We were splitting up, but then a few days later, he came home and everything…worked out.”

  It won’t stay worked out. Because for thirty years, their relationship has been like a couch potato—passive, distant, and unhealthy.

  “You told Vinny about the offer?”

  “Yeah,” she says, smiling. “He’s my husband. I tell him everything.”

  What a convenient fucking excuse at the worst possible time…

  “Thanks for the car,” I reply. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get Cruz some beer,” I lie without guilt. One word: Iris. “He’s not much on the wine.”

  Immediately, in the car, I called Oscar Sato, who is a revered Bianco in The Commission. He agreed to grant grace and issue the formal statement via email.

  “Oscar, you should know,” I say, waiting at the light. “She’s pregnant.”

  “You want grace on the baby as well?”

  “Yes.”

  It is a risky move. Word will quickly spread that the hottest international ticket is also with child. Her price will likely double in a few hours, but I plan on seizing possession of my property in the next ten minutes.

  She likes stealing things.

  And I am helping myself to her.

  In the car, I spot the girl I love more than words. I haphazardly park and quickly stride over to her, standing near the water.

  The sea stings my eyes as I quietly say a prayer to Luca Raniero’s majestic building lit with three wrought-iron gas lamps. He reminds me of who I am and the legacy I inherited.

  With her lace throw billowing in the breeze, I note the black pants and oversized shirt. She blinks as I step up onto the creaking wooden planks. Her hair falls from the clip in the wind.

  She’s so damned beautiful.

  “Hi,” I gently say. “How are you?”

  “Feeling pretty lost.”

  “You pissed a whole lot of people off, baby,” I softly reply. “They aren’t just going to forgive you overnight.”

  “I don’t need anyone to forgive me,” she whispers as her voice cracks. “I need them to fear me.”

  “This was a warning.”

  “Yes,” she murmurs with a nod. “The storm hasn’t even started.”

 
I don’t tell her the war fund in the warehouses is vanishing or that her precious rowboats are being moved to the middle of nowhere or that Les Pétales is about to be inhabited by Trudy and Serene Cristos.

  We stand as one famiglia.

  Even in the face of a wailing siren.

  “If I hurt people, I am sorry.”

  “I don’t care about what happened,” I honestly admit. “All I care about is you…and our baby.”

  “They think it’s all hormonal, and I’ve lost my fucking mind,” she yells in a frenzy. “But they don’t understand any of it, not a goddamned thing. They don’t know me!”

  “I know you,” I mutter, stepping closer as I note the gun her hand. “Iris…whatever you are thinking…”

  “Don’t come any closer, Sal.”

  “Baby,” I growl low and commanding, trying to diffuse the bomb that she has become. “Let me take you home to Texas.”

  “There is no home for me there,” she cries, slipping. “There is no home for me anywhere with you.”

  I ignore her hurtful words as she fires a shot in the distance as I calmly implore, “Angel.”

  “I’m serious!” She grits her teeth. “I will shoot you dead and watch your body fall in the water if it keeps you away from me. No cement blocks in the river necessary.”

  Fearlessly, I step closer and smile as I play her bluff. She won’t kill me. “You love me.”

  “Endlessly!” Her screams echo. “But we cannot be together.”

  “Why?”

  “We aren’t fate; we’re only a mistake.”

  Four black cars pull into the lot. “I am in love with you, Iris.”

  “That’s nice,” she scornfully says as they stop in a row, and I block the stairs. “Get over me.”

  Father Quinn gets out of the SUV. “Salvatore…”

  “Don’t!” I raise my hand. “Let me do this!”

  “Son, consider what you are about to do,” he sternly says, taking a few steps up the staircase. “You need to let her pass. She is pregnant.”

  “With my fucking baby!”