Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I’ll be your honeymoon, Master.”

  It’s the least I can offer. The guy is in real trouble. Nico knocks on the window. “If you are ready, you need to come on.” He stops talking to catch a glimpse of the bruise on Dom and his words slow to almost a halt. “Ashley…said she is leaving…with Romeo…in ten minutes.”

  “I’m coming,” Dom asserts as he puts his shades back on. “Let’s make this the performance of a lifetime, shall we boys?”

  Nico opens my door and I get out. “What the fuck happened to him?”

  “We’ll have a chat later, Nicky,” I say as we stride to the door where Deacon is waiting. He takes one look at me and knows shit is not okay. I’m fucking pissed as we pass by her mother and father. I step into the cathedral and tap Deacon on the arm. “I need to go piss.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  I walk through the church and locate the bathroom. I splash some water on my face and look in the mirror. I’m so goddamned angry. How dare she? What would compel her? And how could he allow it? I know the answer—Romeo Gennaro—but it doesn’t make it any easier.

  I exit the bathroom and spot the dressing room sign. I duck inside to find Ashley and Allie waiting. “Can you give us a minute, Allie?”

  “Of course, I’ll be waiting with Mom and Dad,” she says, kissing her sister’s cheek. Passing by, she grabs my hand and gives me a look of knowing. “I’ll save you a dance.”

  Standing silently, I stroke my jaw line as I stare at the worn red carpeting. I shift my weight between my feet as she glares from the chair at me. “Is there something you need, daego?”

  Thinking I can leave, I turn away, grab the door knob, and decide…

  Nah, fuck it, I can’t just walk away. Not from this.

  I pivot back fast, grab the chair, and tilt her back as she comes face to face with the devil inside of me.

  “What are you doing, Sal!”

  “If you ever so much as lay your hand on Dominic again, I will make sure it is the very last thing your hand ever does. Do you understand me?”

  “Let me down, you asshole!” She grabs my arm, poking her talons into the jacket. Little does she know I have a thing for pain. I tighten my arm around her chest as she wobbles back and forth like a pinned bug. “Fucking thug!”

  “You didn’t answer me,” I warn, dropping her back another few inches. “Answer me properly or you may not make it to the altar. And that’d be a pity because I love me some cake.”

  “I don’t play your fucking sex games! I’m not answering you!”

  “No, but you are a lying sack of shit who is only out for Dom’s money. And you’re holding that baby over his head like the rancid cunt you are.”

  With more hate than I have ever seen from a woman, she spits in my face. “I’m going to scream for my father!”

  “I have no problems killing him, either,” I threaten, utterly stoic. “There is zero guilt in my conscience when it comes to those I love. You do not fuck with that which belongs to me,” I growl. “Marry Dom and keep your grubby ass hands off of him. And if I find out you’ve hurt that baby, my killing you will be the last thing you ever see. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes!”

  I plop her ass upright and breathe. “I’ve never hit a woman. Don’t be the first, bitch.”

  “God damn daegos, you’re all the same,” she rattles off as I head for the door. “He can’t keep his dick in his pants and neither will you. All you’re good for is a bankroll. I ought to tell Emily you’re still in love with Iris.”

  I stare at the door. I want to kill this girl with my bare hands for even mentioning Iris’ name, but I’m Sal Raniero and I’ve got more class than that. “Considering Emily already knows about my Mistress, you’ll only be making a fool of yourself. Have a beautiful fucking day, whore!”

  After the wedding that never should've happened, Dom asked to go back to The Dollhouse. Ashley was on her way to Hawaii with Allie and Romeo with a promise to return and be a good little mafia wife. I'd believe it when I saw it. I didn't think she had it in her honestly. The whole thing was so damn depressing, even I wanted to escape.

  With the floor to ceiling bookcases and dark furnishings, the library of the mansion was rarely ever used. I liked going in there to hide, which is what Dom and I were doing with the bottle of Disaronno between us.

  “What am I going to do?”

  It seemed outlandish for my Master to be asking me what to do. He was older, wiser, and far more refined. His question left a strange feeling of role reversal lingering on my tongue. I had no desire for his subservience, but he needed guidance and there was only one way I knew how to give it to him.

  By reminding him who he was.

  “You're going to be Dom Gennaro.”

  I stand and walk to the middle of the floor as he calmly asks, “What are you doing?”

  “Illustrating a point,” I say, unbuttoning my shirt. I pull off my undershirt and kneel.

  “If I had been a smart man, I never would've let you grow up.”

  “You couldn't stop it,” I reply with a snort. “No one could.”

  “But if things would have been different…”

  “I still would've grown out of this,” I assure, maintaining my perfect posture. “How do you feel when you see me?”

  “Like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see the hint of a young man I used to know, but he's grown into so much more than I ever dreamed possible. There was a time after Kaci's death when I wasn't sure we’d ever pry the remote control out of your hand or get you up off the sofa.”

  “That's not answering the question,” I argue. “How do you feel when you see me?”

  “You look ridiculous on your knees in front of me, Sir.”

  I laugh. “What else?”

  “I'm so happy when I see you with Deacon. It's such a fluid relationship. It's very special what you have.”

  “If I asked you to fuck my ass today, would you do it?”

  “Not with you as confident as you are, you'd have to be struggling and broken. I would need to save you.”

  “Right!”

  “And I'm broken now so I need to find someone to put me back together again?” he asks as I smile. “All of my Masters are dead and aging, Sal. I haven't had or needed a lead in years.”

  “We all need a lead sometimes.”

  He polishes off his drink as I take a minute to reflect over the man who has meant so much to me. His driving force has served to guide me along the track when I didn’t even know there was a track. Seeing him broken hurts in a way I never could’ve imagined.

  Who would have thought Dom—the pillar of Dominance and resilience—would have a black eye from a woman? Much less one he is married to. I wanted to come down on Ashley with the vengeance of a thousand men, but what good would it do?

  We tend to think of domestic abuse as a one-sided street where all the victims are women, but here in the library on my knees in front of Master, I can say with complete accuracy it goes both ways. This bitch has a problem.

  Me.

  With my back to him, I rise up on my feet and undo my belt. I drop my pants, extend my arms wide, and let my head tip back as I look to the ceiling. I know my Iris Amarie is emblazoned across my back, a declaration of my love and a proclamation of my freedom.

  “Is she your absolute?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, walking to the antique case where the tools of his trade are kept. “If wisdom can reside at the bottom of a whiskey barrel, then the ink on my back holds the truth.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No, but I think you do,” I admit, selecting his favorite riding crop. “And it’s killing you not to tell me.”

  “What makes you think I know?”

  “Because if she was going to tell anyone, it would be you.” His brows arch with a confusion as a I tread closer. “What I realized is that you and I aren’t really all that different. You held Iris when she was a baby
. I held Emily when she was a baby. I know the kind of trust that develops over time. If Emily ever needed anyone, she’d turn to me. And Iris would do the same with you.”

  “You realize I could poke a hole in your theory?”

  “Then do it,” I arrogantly say, handing him the riding crop. “Prove me wrong.” His eyes lift to meet mine. “You aren’t just leaving the Gennaro family business behind. You fucking sold it to Lotus. Or you just gave it away to Iris.”

  “Damn, son.” He stands, brushing against me. “You got a wild imagination.”

  “And you can only deny what you’ve done for so long.”

  He slightly turns to get around me but stops. His side-eyed stare saturates through every pore of my being. I may be the devil, but I’m created in Dom’s image.

  He built me. Not my father. Not even my grandfather.

  I am the product of Dominic Gennaro and Atticus Huit’s science experiment gone mad.

  Maybe that makes me a traitor.

  Maybe it makes me the villain.

  “You wouldn’t stand for seeing your boy beat up, and you wouldn’t cast the first stone against me. We both know I was the next pawn on the list if you were going to hold onto the family business, but you let it go. You let it go because you love me. You let it go because you love Iris. You let it go because you believe we can elevate Romeo to a better place.”

  Dom runs a single finger over my inked, hard bicep. “I let it go because you are so much better than me.” His finger trails low to my waist and runs along my shaft. “I let it all go because you are the man I always wanted to be.”

  “You married an abusive woman to keep Romeo.”

  “I married her because I had no other choice,” he tenderly replies.

  “You did have a choice,” I implore, heaving as he continues to graze the pad of his finger over me. “You could have come to me!” With a desperate measure to save my Master from capsizing, I fight and struggle to hold him up. “I know where the fucking children are, Dom!”

  “… You what?” He stops moving as his eyes dance with excitement, knowing the monster he has made. “You would take Romeo, too?”

  “If it becomes necessary,” I vow, cracking my neck. “I’m certain Henney would be happy to take Romeo.”

  With my promise to hide his son, I undo the invisible choking collar his new bride has on him.

  Not my Master. Not today, bitch.

  I win.

  And I will always win.

  His hand slips around the handle of the crop. “Bend over,” he states, regaining his traction. “Bend over the arm of the sofa. This is going to hurt, Boston.”

  “Make it hurt, Master,” I urge, closing my eyes as the whoosh of the crop stings against my ass. “Harder!”

  He pulls back and soars my drug through the air. The impact on my sanity and the welt on my flesh is profound. “You have any more secrets?”

  Getting high off the pain, I mutter, “Did you call The Commission?”

  “No.”

  He throws the leather again and tears well in my eyes. “Have you talked to Iris?”

  “Yes,” he admits, rubbing my flesh with his warm palm. “I have talked to our girl.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “Not any more than you do,” he says as his confidence emerges and rises above mine with a slip of his finger in between my cheeks. “I wish I did.”

  Do not fall, Master. Do not break, Sir.

  I will buckle and bend to seat you where you belong.

  With his finger circling around my asshole, he reflects, “She reached out after leaving Guam and told me she was going home to Japan. I assume by our conversations and the evidence of your boxes, she is still there.”

  “You let go of years…” I gasp, interrupted by his finger nudging inside of me. We have been this way for seven years—leading and following—chasing and running—giving and taking—and I cannot be the orphan yet…I’m not ready. I don’t want to be a Dominant without a lead of my own. There is so much in front of me and Dom stabilizes it all in an instant. Maybe I should hate my wife for this. But it’s ultimately all falling back on me. I know he is going. I know this is it. I know we are over. This relationship which has held me up for years is ending as we know it. Gazing at the streams lining his cheeks, I whisper, “You gave up years of your family’s efforts and handed it over to the enemy son…”

  “Yes.”

  “And you gave me the lover you wanted in Saint too…”

  “Yes!” He pulls out of me and brings his hand to his nose. He inhales my scent like I cling to Iris. “I gave you Deacon Cruz even though I was smitten with him. I knew he was…a sweet, bad boy.” He winks.

  With sweat pouring from my skin, I curl my fingers but leave my hands open as if holding the balls my father should have pitched to me. He never did. And Dom is tossing those balls now and I’m catching them one after another and I’m so scared of disappointing him. I’m so scared of letting him down. With humility and grace at his generous acts, I stand before my Master and cry out, “… Why?”

  Latching his fingers into mine, he leans in close and kisses my lips. “Absolute love.”

  We are not born from blood, but by the acts of those greater than us.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” He cradles me in his strong arms. “I love you.”

  “I love you, Pretty Boy,” he says, pressing his hands to my cheeks. “Now go kick some fucking ass and bring our girl home. Make your parents proud.”

  “I will, Sir.” I collapse to the floor, knowing this is our final scene, and our last goodbye. And the “parents” he is speaking of are the two who raised me—my Pixie girl and my Master. “I have to go out on my own.”

  “You do.”

  “I’m so fucking terrified.”

  “Don’t take their names, just tell them yours.”

  “My name is Sal.”

  34

  This Cheese Smells Foul

  With everything going on, Deacon follows my ass home to Boston. He is worried about my state of mind after witnessing the crime against our partner. Even after offering a solution to remove Romeo from the equation, I cannot forget the image of my broken Master. It happened.

  And I will never unsee it.

  He bears the cuts to his face, but I hold the scars deep in my heart.

  Deacon fears the infection of the trauma, and he probably isn’t wrong. I can be a patient, understanding man and I can forgive many things, but this isn’t one of them. Ashley promised to love him when she accepted his proposal, not beat the shit out of him. And Dom, being the gentleman he is, felt he had to take it for the sake of his son.

  The solution for my burden is shopping, according to Deacon, as we wait at the airport.

  “You know, I saw my stepdad beat the crap out of Ma,” he confides. “I wanted to kill him.

  “You aren’t alone.”

  “I know,” he solemnly replies. “And that is a huge part of the reason we formed The Unholy, to do it better than our fathers.” I’m not totally believing we can be better than our fathers, maybe just different.

  “Oh, dear God… What have you done?”

  Deacon laughs. “Ma wanted to come. What was I going to say?”

  No, Deacon. You should have said no.

  Strolling their way through security, I spot Trudy in her rhinestone jeans and big black hat along with Serene in a sleek black pant suit. The MC old lady and the professional Dominatrix walk together—side by side—like old friends or bitter enemies.

  “I may end our friendship for this one,” I mumble as we get up to meet them. I lean over and feel his hair brush against my cheek. “Or beat your ass with a belt until you scream.”

  The crazy idea was Deacon’s—the problem was he formulated it after the wedding where everyone could hear him. Serene and Trudy would fly to Boston together, spend a few days here with us, before Deacon and Serene flew across the world to meet with Lotus.

  While I originally belie
ved it was all about Iris spending her thirtieth birthday with Deacon, none of that was true. Serene—or perhaps I should say high couture Stephanie with her pristinely coifed hair and manicured nails—pinged The Chairman's radar with her bold statement of returning to Sugargrove with Kade in tow. It wasn’t that different from how The Commission found me.

  Someone is always watching.

  Someone is always waiting.

  Sometimes it is to plan a strategic attack against and sometimes it is to offer a hand out to an exceptional skill, a networking. And this is how the grid becomes skewed. Just because Lotus is being nice to Serene and she is Unholy doesn’t mean that won’t fire a torpedo up my ass.

  Whether we like it or not, loyalty is sometimes singular.

  Serene never planned on garnering anyone’s attentions, but knowing Iris was still missing—which technically she was because even though we knew she was alive, we had no idea where she was—she graciously accepted their invitation. I acknowledge she did it for me and the betterment of The Unholy.

  Serene is a team player.

  Take a lesson, Mrs. Gennaro!

  With her golden ticket to visit Lotus – compound, garrison, forbidden hideaway – sent directly from The Chairman himself, Serene politely asked if she could speak with The Lotus Queen, or in her case, Iris.

  A silent few days passed until her phone rang with Iris on the other end. Again, Iris didn’t divulge where she was, but the clues were dropping: she was in Japan, using Nakamura, and having obvious contact with Lotus.

  Deacon believed she was at Lotus. I disagreed. It was too easy. I contended Lotus had a hand in her disappearance and kept her stashed somewhere remote and luxurious. There was no way possible The Chairman was containing his only precious flower in a dungeon. Nor did I think he had her crated and shipped; she wasn’t cargo but the future of an empire. I’d be surprised if her room wasn’t dripping in gold while two hunky men fanned her with palm fronds and brought the opium pipe to her lips.