The Emperor (Dark Verse Book 3)

by RuNyx

  Clean as he could be, Dante walked back to the grave, to see Tristan almost finished with covering it up. It was unexpected, this little assistance. Considerate, even. He never would have described the boy like that.

  Swooping down to pick up the clothes in a pile beside him, Dante found his own white sweater and jeans and shoes. Frowning, he looked at the seventeen-year-old dedicatedly covering the ground.

  “Did you break into my house?” he asked, mildly surprised.

  Tristan shrugged, a fine sheen of sweat on his face. “Wasn’t hard to break into.”

  Dante shook his head. Quickly dressing, he went to sit down by the lake, and looked up at the mansion on the hill, crowned above the woods, flexing his fingers. Tristan came to sit beside him after a few minutes, throwing the shovel to the side, handing him a bottle of Jack Daniels from Dante’s stash.

  Dante almost chuckled at that, before sobering. “Are we friends now?”

  “No.”

  “So what’s this? You watch my back and I watch yours kinda deal?”

  “Fuck off, asshole.”

  What he expected.

  Taking a swig from the bottle, he passed it to Tristan even though they were underage for it. They were underage for a lot of shit they did. What was the right age to kill someone, after all?

  “That shouldn’t have happened,” Tristan spoke after a long beat of silence.

  “No,” Dante agreed. “It shouldn’t have.”

  “You gonna do something about it?” the other boy asked, the most he had said in a conversation with Dante.

  “Yeah,” Dante nodded, his eyes on the mansion lights turning on. “But not today.”

  “Good.”

  The clouds got darker, the wind chillier as night approached. Minutes went by.

  “How do you move past it?” Dante asked him quietly. “How do you forget?”

  “You don’t.”

  Yeah, he didn’t think they could.

  “Thanks,” Dante muttered after taking another swig from the bottle. “I appreciate this.”

  He was met with silence, but for once, it was companionable.

  And so they sat that night, two young killers, one fresh and one seasoned, swallowing down alcohol to drown the chaos inside them, and knowing that love truly didn’t have a place in their lives.

  She never told anyone about the body.

  That day, walking deep in the woods, Amara had witnessed the two big boys burying a young girl, the same pink-haired girl she had seen Dante kissing all those years ago. Scared out of her mind, she had run home and stayed in bed for a week after that, worried that someone would come after her for seeing what she had seen.

  Nobody had. Her mother had simply thought it had been a bad period, and let her stay indoors. She hadn’t gone to school, hadn’t even met Vin that week, giving him the same excuse. However, after a week of anxiety and a whole lot of nothing, she had finally accepted that nobody had seen her and slowly gone about her life.

  Her feelings for Dante though? Conflicted.

  She didn’t know what it said about her. On the one hand, she didn’t understand what kind of a man – and he was a man now – would bury the body of his lover. On the other hand, she still found him attractive, more attractive in fact, as time went by. Perhaps, it was because she had grown up on the compound, and had always known that the people around her weren’t morally white. Hell, she was seeing her own best friend training himself into a weapon. She saw his bruises, saw his muscles build over time because he was being conditioned.

  What was morality, anyway? That night had triggered her into giving that some serious thought. Being a good person and doing good things weren’t always the same. As she was growing older, Amara realized there was a very fine line between them. Her hero could be the villain in someone else’s story. Though she hated blood, if one day someone threatened her mother or even Vin, would she not hurt them? Was she incapable of taking another life?

  People weren’t black and white, and sadly, neither were emotions.

  She knew her thoughts were not that of a fifteen-year-old, but what she had witnessed had impacted her. She stopped going to the outdoor training sessions after that and started avoiding Dante. She never went to his door again, and now if he came to Vin while she was there, she simply excused herself and left. Her feelings for him were pretty much all over the place.

  He had noticed her behavior. One time, she’d heard him corner Vin and ask ‘is Amara ignoring me?’ and she’d run in the opposite direction. One time she’d stumbled upon him playing chess with his brother in the gazebo behind the house and ran away. Not one of her finest moments, she admitted. He’d tried to corner her a few times too over the past year, and she had eluded him every time. She knew she should just tell him it was nothing, but he freaked her out a bit. He didn’t scare her or anything, but he’d become a little more intense over the past year and Amara had become a bit of a worrywart.

  “Mumu?” her mother called her from the kitchen, and Amara put down the book she’d been reading, placing her handmade bookmark to mark her page, and walked out of her room.

  “Yes, Ma?” she asked, suddenly coming to a halt at seeing a big, big Dante Maroni standing in the space of her small kitchen. He had never, not in all the time she’d harbored her crush on him, come to their little apartment.

  Her heart, the traitorous little thing, started to thump extra hard breathing the same air as he was.

  Not the time for this.

  “Dante wants to talk to you,” her mother informed her, her deep green eyes alight with curiosity and a little apprehension. Amara was certain hers mirrored the same expression. There was no reason for him to want to talk to her, not like this. Not unless he somehow knew that she knew about the body.

  Her heart sank.

  Oh god.

  Swallowing, Amara nodded and indicated the backdoor, silently asking him to talk outside. The backdoor of the staff building opened right to the edge of the woods. No chances of anyone overhearing the conversation out there.

  Grabbing the cashmere wrap Vin had gifted her for her birthday a week ago, Amara draped it over her shoulders, pushing her stocking-clad feet into warm boots by the door, and walked out into the bright, cold morning. He followed her, closing the door behind him.

  The cool wind blew around her, bringing the scent of the trees and the soil and cologne. Cologne? Amara sniffed softly and realized it was indeed cologne. He was wearing it, the scent woodsy and musky and reminding her of fire crackling over wood and twisted sheets. Yeah, her thoughts weren’t so pure anymore.

  Down, girl.

  “Mumu?” he asked her, his tone slightly amused, his long legs matching her pace. Though she was tall at five feet eight inches – thanks to a sudden growth spurt that had given her inches and stopped – surprisingly, she only reached his chin.

  Amara wrapped her arms around herself, forcing a small smile to cut through the tension in her head. “Yeah, I used to call my mother ma and myself Mu when I was a kid. It stuck.”

  Dante nodded. “My brother used to do something similar.”

  “I never see him around here anymore,” Amara commented before biting her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that.

  “He’s not here. He visits sometimes.”

  Leaving it at that, since it wasn’t her place, Amara stopped at the edge of the woods and turned to face him, taking in his form. After that night with the dead body, unless he’d been training shirtless with Vin, Amara had only seen Dante wearing crisp button-down shirts and pants. A heavy metal watch glinted on his strong wrist, his jacket tailored for his body. And the cologne, Not to forget the cologne. She seriously felt underdressed in her plain grey woolen dress and wild hair.

  His hair swayed in the gentle breeze as his dark, soulful eyes regarded her steadily.

  “Is something going on?” he asked, his voice matching the warm chocolate of his eyes, making her want to cuddle up with a cat and a book. Then, his words penet
rated.

  Amara forced herself to hold his gaze as her hands gripped her elbows under the wrap. “What do you mean?”

  He quirked a dark eyebrow, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been acting weird.”

  Amara felt her hackles rise, her brows coming down even as her heart raced. “No offense, Mr. Maroni, but you don’t know me well enough to know how I’m acting.”

  Her words had some sort of an effect on him. Amara didn’t know what that was exactly but something cackled between them, something electric, raising the little hairs on the back of her neck and arms with its intensity as she held his haze.

  After a long moment of silence, his other eyebrow joined its companion on his forehead. “I just wanted to check if you were okay. I have a feeling you’ve been deliberately avoiding me for some reason for a while now, and I don’t know why. I don’t like it.”

  He really shouldn’t have added that last part. Her poor heart started working double-time to keep up. Amara focused on the first part of his sentence. She couldn’t very well say, ‘because I saw you bury the body of a girl I saw you kiss once upon a time’, could she? No.

  “You shouldn’t even be noticing that, Mr. Maroni,” she pointed out, her pitch starting to climb again before she leashed it. “I’m of no consequence to you.”

  Dante tilted his head to the side, seeing her. Like seeing her, seeing her. Really seeing her. Uh-oh.

  “It’s odd you’d say that. My mother used to often tell me,” he mused quietly after a moment, his eyes on hers. “People are like chess pieces. Anyone on the board is of consequence.”

  Amara shook off the little tremor that started at the base of her spine. “And you think I’m on the board?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he said softly, still watching her avidly.

  There was silence after that. What did one even say to something like that? Amara broke their stare and looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots, in front of the shining shoes he had on. The mud at the bottom of those expensive shoes just screamed how usual they were for him. They weren’t for her. Her usual was thrift stores and second-hand books and used furniture. Though the Maronis paid well, she and her mother lived modestly. Mostly, her mother put savings in the bank for their future. Gazing down at the differences between their lives laid out at their feet, Amara wondered why he was even talking to her.

  Clearing her throat, Amara looked up at the man she had been infatuated with since before she knew the word and accepted a healthy dose of reality. He might be nice enough to check in on her but he was also the man who owned this entire hill they were standing on, the man who had buried a girl he’d been intimate with. They existed in different planes. Guys like him didn’t have an interest in girls like her. They liked the daughters of their rich business partners, elegant beauties they could have on their arms and make soft, sensual love with while playing power games with their families.

  She needed to get over this, whatever this was.

  “If that’s all, Mr. Maroni?”

  “Dante,” he corrected almost absently. “Seriously, why are you avoiding me?”

  Amara shook her head, sighing. “I’m not.”

  “Liar,” his eyes darkened, his gaze lasered on her. “It bothers me.”

  Amara felt herself becoming surprised at that, but she stayed on track. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s very nice of you to check in on me, but unnecessary. Have a good day.”

  With that, she left him standing there and simply walked to her door without looking back at him, her emotions in turmoil in her chest. She entered the house and closed the door behind her, leaning against it and taking a deep, long breath.

  “Everything okay?” her mother asked, looking up at her from the dough she was kneading.

  Amara nodded, taking the wrap off her shoulders.

  “You want to talk about it?” her mother asked, voice gentle. Amara went around the counter and hugged her from the back, taller than her by a few inches. Burying her nose in her mother’s skin, she smelled the clean scent of the citrus soap she used, the moisturizer, and the sugar. She smelled of home.

  Feeling something inside herself unknot at the scent, Amara reassured her. “There’s nothing to talk about, Ma.”

  “Of course,” her mother chuckled, continuing to push the dough. “Not like you fancy him or anything.”

  Amara pulled back, disbelieving. “Did Vin tell you that?” her voice came out a little too high for her comfort. Pitch control, her music teacher’s voice reprimanded in her head.

  “He didn’t have to,” her ma shrugged, giving her a little look. “Pass the cinnamon.”

  Amara absently took it out from the shelf, handing it over silently. “Then how did you know?”

  “I’m your mother,” her ma stated, as though that was explanation enough. It was, in a way. Her mother saw too much where she was concerned.

  “It’s just a crush, Ma,” Amara said casually. “It’ll pass.” She really, truly hoped so.

  Her mother didn’t call her out on the fact that it hadn’t passed in five years, and for that, Amara loved her a little bit more.

  A few days later, she came out the back door of the mansion with some supplies for the gardener when she saw him sitting with his usually absent brother in the gazebo, playing chess of all things. She started to spin on her heels when suddenly he called her out.

  “Amara, come meet my brother.”

  Amara sighed. While she really kind of didn’t want to stay in his space, it would have been very impolite, outright rude, to his brother whom she’d never met. Pasting a smile on her face, she walked forward towards the gazebo and immediately noticed the similarities between the two boys – the same dark hair, the same tall build, the same cut of the jaw. They were brothers, alright.

  She also noticed that his brother hunched over slightly, keeping his gaze super focused on the chessboard.

  “This is Damien,” Dante said in that voice that sent butterflies rolling in her tummy. “Damien, this is Amara.”

  “Green Eye Girl,” Damien said in an almost toneless voice.

  Dante chuckled, turning to the side, casually leaning against the marble pillar. “Yeah, Green Eye Girl.”

  “Hello, Green Eye Girl,” Damien said in that same toneless voice, moving a piece. “Are her eyes really the color of forests?”

  “Why don’t you see for yourself?” Dante dared him and looked at the board.

  Damien glanced up at her, his dark eyes fleetingly coming to hers for two seconds, before he looked back at the board again, tapping his foot on the ground in sets of three.

  Dante looked at him in surprise, before glancing at her. “He looked you in the eye.”

  Amara felt a little awkward but amused. Before she could say anything, the gardener called her from the back. She said her goodbyes and ran back, happy for the escape from his company.

  It was the noise that made her do it.

  There was a party at the mansion celebrating something, and it was an all-hands-on-deck kind of event. Since it was the weekend, she had pitched in to help out her mother and run around getting everything organized. Parties were the worst to execute. It left her mother so tired afterward, and the idiot Maronis didn’t have the bright idea of hiring someone to split duties with her mother. Not like they couldn’t afford it.

  Amara walked down the mansion’s corridor, her hands full of crisp, white, freshly laundered, and ironed sheets when she heard the noise.

  After the last time she’d seen something she shouldn’t have, Amara really didn’t want to investigate. There was no sense borrowing trouble, and the mansion was creepy enough as it was when it was empty.

  Determined to ignore it, Amara started on her way when the noise came again, halting her in her tracks. It came from behind one of the closed doors.

  Amara looked up and down the corridor, trying to see if anyone was coming that way. It was the third floor and it was deserted.

  Taki
ng a deep breath, she put the clothes on a table by the wall, nudging a crystal vase aside. Who the hell kept a crystal vase on the third floor in an abandoned corridor? Crazy rich people.

  Hushed voices came from behind the door, and Amara tiptoed forward, bending down to peek inside the keyhole.

  Mr. Maroni, the older Mr. Maroni, stood over a man, a gun held to his temple.

  “Will you give your masters the message or should I send one with your body?” he asked quietly as the man in the chair whimpered. That was the noise she’d heard. Whimpering.

  Amara felt her heartbeat in her throat as she cast a quick look around the corridor again, ensuring it was empty, before watching what was happening inside. She saw Mr. Maroni’s brother – or was he the cousin? – come into view, his back to Amara’s vantage.

  “I think we should talk to them ourselves, Lorenzo,” he spoke in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver down Amara’s spine. “The Syndicate won’t care if this cunt goes missing, not if they get their delivery on time.”

  “I want in, Leo,” Lorenzo Maroni said. “It’s been years since they stopped us. X says we can try again and I want it to be a powerful message. Would he deliver that message alive or dead?”

  “I think you should talk to X,” Leo suggested.

  The man in the chair cried out. “You know that’s not how they do things. After what happened with your first shipment, they won’t let you. You messed up and now rumors say your son…”

  “…is out of the picture,” Lorenzo Maroni stated with finality. “Dante can never know about this.”

  Know what?

  His cousin spoke again. “The shipment will go out in three days from the old warehouse, with or without him. We don’t need this guy.”

  There was silence in the room. Amara barely dared to breathe, her hands gripping the side of the doorframe so she didn’t lose her balance. She should go. She really should. But her feet stayed glued to the spot, her one eye looking into the room.