The Reaper

by RuNyx

  She felt something unfamiliar lodge itself in her chest. Except for the fact that this time, the unfamiliar wasn’t an ugly monster that left her cold.

  No.

  This time, it was beautiful, almost tentative, and it warmed her down to her bones.

  She didn’t know what it was. But watching this man with the horrific past, scarred present and unknown future work his way quietly, comfortably around the kitchen after bringing her back from the edge - twice - within minutes, knowing how important the implication of this small moment was, Morana peeled away the wrapper of the chocolate with trembling fingers, quickly hiding it inside her pocket to treasure, and took a small bite.

  The sweetness melted on her tongue, going down her throat, warming her even more.

  She felt like herself, only better.

  Safe.

  In a complete turnabout from the past minutes.

  Taking another bite, she watched his back.

  “Thank you,” she spoke quietly into the space between them, the words wrenched from deep inside her.

  Apart from a minuscule faltering in his rhythm of beating those eggs, there was no response from him to acknowledge her words. But she knew he had heard. And if they warmed him even a degree on the inside to how much he’d warmed her, it was enough.

  For now, it was more than enough.

  With that thought, she went silent, focusing on the heavenly chocolate and the sinful view.

  Morana had only traveled first class all her life - some trips during college, two journeys to symposiums and that one impromptu journey to Tenebrae weeks ago that had changed the course of her life. First-class was pretty normal to her.

  Which was why she’d been surprised out of her mind when Dante had told them, over a scrumptious breakfast of buttered toast and eggs, that the jet had been ready and waiting for them. She’d assumed, simply because that’s how she’d always traveled, that all mobsters had traveled that way as well. Dante had cracked a little smile at that one, telling her the Outfit chartered planes whenever they needed - and they needed, a lot.

  Which meant that either her father didn’t know the Outfit had private jets (which meant his spies weren’t that good), or that he was poorer than they were. Both options gave her a wicked sort of internal glee, for some twisted reason. She liked the fact that her father didn’t have all the toys in the playground. She liked it because, to her father, these were the things that mattered.

  And he was lacking. That gave her joy.

  So, after quickly freshening up and composing herself, knowing she couldn’t afford to lose it again once they landed in the danger zone, Morana had packed her meager collection of borrowed clothes, which had reminded her that she’d needed to buy some pronto. She’d also dropped Amara a text informing her of the newest development, promising to herself that she would keep in touch with the other woman. They both needed a friend and they couldn’t let other people dictate their lives to such an extent again.

  ‘Don’t let them control you.’

  He’d been right. She couldn’t. Not anymore.

  Tucking in her precious laptop and other equipment, that chocolate wrapper pressed safely between the pages of her planner, she was done in fifteen minutes. The first thing, as a matter of priority, she needed to do when she got settled was to shop. She was living on Amara’s borrowed clothes that didn’t fit her right and it made her realize how dire her situation was.

  Going out to the living room, Morana looked at the windows and the view beyond, saying her private goodbye to them. She didn’t know when and if she would ever return to that view, and bidding adieu to the place was making her lock the cherished memories, the cherished emotions it had inspired in her. She tucked it safely inside her – the memory of that rainy night, one of the most special ones in her heart, directly related to the windows.

  Slightly emotional, she turned towards the elevator, only to find Tristan Caine leaning against that wall in a suit sans the jacket, watching her quietly.

  Something passed between them in that instant – the shared memory of a simple, treasured night.

  And that was that.

  He walked away as Dante joined them; she followed and within minutes, she was ensconced in the back of Dante’s car, heading to the airport, both men taking the front as two other cars followed behind them.

  Now, sitting at the almost empty airport lounge as their plane got prepped, Morana watched through the glass doors as both men spoke privately outside the small white plane, a man in the pilot’s uniform with them, two of the security detail in the lounge with her.

  “Don’t react,” a heavy voice with a slight accent came from a few feet behind her, pulling her attention.

  She almost turned but stopped herself, curious. “Excuse me?”

  The owner of the heavy voice continued. “You’ve changed the game, Ms. Vitalio.”

  “Who are you?” Morana asked, her attention on the man sitting behind her, even as her eyes stayed glued to the Outfit men still outside.

  The man ignored her question. “I’m not your enemy but I know the people who are. And I have an offer for you.”

  Morana’s entire attention snapped to the man. “What do you mean?”

  “You find out something for me, I’ll give you the information you need.”

  Morana stayed silent.

  “Remember me,” the man spoke. “We’ll talk later.”

  Morana looked up and found her eyes snared in the gaze of a predator.

  He stood near the door instead of where she’d seen him moments ago beside the plane, his blue eyes inflamed as they caught hers, held hers. In a split second, he took her apart and put her back together with that focused gaze. In a split second, her blood throbbed everywhere in her body, just by the touch of that gaze.

  He held her eyes captive for a long second before glancing at the seat behind her. Morana turned, only to find it vacant.

  Wordlessly, without looking at her again, he turned around and strode towards the waiting jet with long steps, and Morana followed, a confused frown on her face.

  They covered the distance in seconds, reaching the stairs.

  And then he did the craziest thing.

  He took her hand and helped her up the first set of stairs. As though she was some medieval damsel in distress needing assistance to climb high stairs with a gazillion skirts and not a twenty-first-century woman wearing comfortable jeans and comfortable shoes, being very capable of climbing the low steps on her own.

  Morana felt her eyebrows hit her hairline.

  Tristan Caine did not open doors or help ladies up the stairs.

  At least, he never had until then.

  His hand - exactly as she’d known it would be, rough, big, consuming - held hers, as though replacing any other touch.

  Just for a second. The gesture was just a split second long before he snatched his hand back, shoving it into his trouser pockets.

  Morana didn’t say a word, just bit her lip and silently, quickly climbed up, finally entering the jet.

  A thrill went through her.

  She felt him hop on behind her, his presence huge right against her back as she moved forward, taking in the plush interior. This was her first time inside a private plane and she didn’t want to miss a second of it.

  The area beyond the door opened up into a small but well-planned sitting space, with two couches nailed to the floor and two armchairs, surrounding a glass table in the center on three sides. There was a minibar behind one of the couches and a TV glued to the right wall, the entire interior in brown and cream overtones. Beyond the sitting area was a small door that was closed at the moment.

  Spotting Dante on a couch, his tie loose and a tumbler of whiskey on the table, Morana made her way to the chair before his, placing her laptop on the table, aware the entire time of Tristan Caine ducking his head and moving behind her, his breath on her head due to the closed proximity of the narrow corridor.

  “Get comfortable, Moran
a,” Dante invited. “It’s a long journey.”

  Morana slipped off her shoes and sank into the plush armchair, tucking her legs under her.

  “No air hostesses?” she asked, confused. Didn’t men like pretty women catering to them on these private planes?

  Dante shook his head as Tristan Caine walked over to the closed door and disappeared behind it.

  A frown furrowed her brow.

  “He likes to nap on the plane,” Dante explained.

  Hence, no outsiders except the pilots.

  “He trusts you,” Morana commented.

  Dante chuckled. “As much as he can, I guess.”

  The captain called out then, letting them know they were going to take off. Morana closed her eyes as the plane rumbled under her, her nerves getting shot as they always did that first moment of take-off.

  This was it.

  There was no turning back now.

  Her presence on this flight would definitely set off a chain of events, most of which she wouldn’t even be aware of until it was too late. She knew that.

  The runway became a blur.

  Morana glanced out the window, taking in the city that had been her home her whole life, a finality settling upon her. She was leaving behind so many memories, mostly ones not worth keeping – her father, his house, her dead car, her spot in the cemetery, the penthouse… some dear, some not. And though she’d only known her only for a few days, leaving Amara behind left a bad taste in her mouth.

  And then, they were in the air - one man off to sleep, the other still there.

  Looking towards Dante, she found him considering her with his dark eyes.

  “I have to admit, you surprised me, Morana,” he stated casually, inspecting her.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I did?”

  He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey, offering her a glass. She declined.

  He explained. “As much as I don’t approve of how you discovered the truth, I’m surprised. I had expected a lot of things when I thought about this scenario over the years… never this, though.”

  “By ‘this’, you mean me tagging along to Tenebrae?”

  Dante shook his head. “I mean you staying. Any other woman would have been running for the hills by now. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done had you run. Because he would have chased you, you know.”

  Morana closed her eyes for a second, her heart beating strong. “I know.”

  “What are you doing, Morana?” Dante asked softly, the concern in his voice making her eyes flutter open. “As much as I love Tristan, better than my blood, I would never want him with my sister if I had one. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried - for both of you. There’s something very broken in him and if you’re here because you think you can fix it, I’m telling you right now, you cannot.”

  Morana regarded Dante quietly, a tiny ball of anger coiling in her belly. “I’ll be honest with you, Dante. I like you. You and Amara have been incredibly kind to me, at a time when I needed it the most. And that is something I’ll always admire you for. But,” she leaned forward, flames licking her blood, “what’s between him and me is between him and me. As you told Amara last night, if he wants to tell you, he will. You won’t hear anything from me.”

  She took in a deep breath, calming her temper down, reminding herself he wasn’t her enemy.

  “But because your heart is in the right place,” she uttered quietly, “I will tell you this - I don’t want to fix him. I want to fix me. And he’s the only thing that seems to be working.”

  “So,” Dante asked, his voice controlled, hand clenching around the glass, “you’re just using him then?”

  Morana smiled. “And is he not using me? To fight whatever demons live inside him?”

  Dante remained silent. They both knew the answer to that one.

  Morana stared at a spot on the table, her voice going soft, her heart drumming softly inside her chest.

  “His demons dance with mine,” she murmured softly, the truth of that statement seeping into her pores. “That’s all I can give you.”

  She found the other man regarding her with a heavy gaze.

  “And if your demons take you like they did this morning?” he asked quietly.

  Morana swallowed. “Let’s hope his find mine, then.”

  Dante nodded, exhaling loudly, raising the glass to her in a toast. “In that case, I wish you good luck. You’re certainly going to need it with him.”

  A grin tugged at Morana’s lips. “That’s how you got him into your corner? Good luck?”

  Dante huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, his handsome face coming alive. “Sheer, stubborn luck. I was very wilful back then.”

  “Back then?” Morana prompted.

  His smile dimmed and Amara’s parting words to him came back to her. She’d called him a coward. Was he? From what Morana had heard and seen of him, it didn’t seem to be the case.

  His voice broke through her thoughts, his hand swirling the amber liquid inside the glass.

  “I cornered Tristan into accepting my partnership over the years. Wore him down.” He looked at her. “He’s a lot more stubborn, Morana.”

  “So am I.”

  Dante smirked, sipping the whiskey. “This will be fun.”

  Morana let that slide, looking out the window into the castles of clouds, the silence between them companionable as he began working on his phone and sipped that one glass of whiskey. Morana gazed out at the puffs of white, wondering what it would have been like to have a Dante in her corner when she’d been young, looking out for her, watching her back. Would she have slept better at night knowing he existed? He’d almost called her his sister. Would his friendship, his brotherly aura have somehow made everything else easier?

  She truly didn’t know. Finding herself suddenly surrounded by people who inspired such thoughts in her, who made her wonder about the what-ifs, Morana both cherished and feared it, like a little colt taking its tentative steps for the first time on shaking legs.

  And the fact that these two were now in her corner because of the man they were loyal to wasn’t lost on her, even though his motives were still lost to her.

  He wanted her alive. He wanted her with him. He wanted her. Period. But beyond that? Could twenty years of intense hatred, twenty years of focus on one singular reason of survival, twenty years of telling himself “one day”, really be wiped away in a few days? She didn’t believe so. No matter how strong he was, how stubborn, how wilful, she did not think it was possible.

  And yet, there she sat, alive. Contrary to her thoughts, he had made a choice last night, a choice antithetical to the last twenty years of his life. There she sat, after being brought back from the edge by him, twice. There she sat, after eating a bar of chocolate he’d silently given her after her panic attack. He watched her like a hawk, claimed her flesh for his own - even with the smallest gestures - and yet he kept a chunk of himself aloof from her, while she kept exposing vulnerability after vulnerability.

  Morana truly did not understand him in that moment.

  But, to be honest, she doubted he understood himself in that moment.

  Taking a deep breath, she strengthened her resolve, promising herself to play it by the ear and trust her instincts. No amount of planning would work with a man as unpredictable as he was. What she’d told Dante had been true. Her demons danced with his. She’d let his lead and follow accordingly.

  Blowing out a breath, she unlocked her phone and started checking on her ongoing programs, immersing herself in the place that had always brought her peace, always made sense when the rest of the crazy world didn’t - her codes.

  Hours flew by, both Dante and she immersed in their works, changing positions, eating snacks, drinking water or whiskey, stretching, and enjoying the joys of being on a private jet.

  After a while, when she changed her position and curled her legs under her the other way, Dante’s voice interrupted her.

  “Before I forget,
” he said, making her glance up at him. “I need to warn you about some stuff that I’m pretty sure Tristan is not going to think to mention.”

  Morana put her phone down, her curiosity piqued. “Do tell,” she muttered, locking her phone, focusing on the man before her.

  He scratched the side of his neck absently and started speaking. “About Tenebrae… well, we have a big property by the lake-”

  Morana remembered the beast of the property but she hadn’t seen the lake the last time she’d been there, distracted by the potential murder she’d been trying to commit. God, it felt like a lifetime ago.

  “-it’s almost like a compound of sorts,” she brought her attention back to Dante as he went on. “There are a total of five wings on the property, including the main house, all unconnected from each other. The only way to get from one to the next is by going through the grounds, and the entire compound is on one of the hills outside the main city.”

  Morana leaned forward, completely fascinated, trying to picture it all in her head.

  “One of the wings is where all the staff lives with their families - the housekeeper and her assistants, the gardeners, as such.” Amara’s family. “It’s a huge one.”

  Morana indicated for him to go on when he paused.

  He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “The second wing is the training center.”

  Morana remembered what Amara had told her about the young boy secluded in the training area, kept away from everyone else. Bile rose in her throat just at the thought of the way he had been alienated and she pushed it down, gritting her teeth.

  Dante’s somber voice broke through her thoughts. “You are never, under no circumstances, to enter that wing. Nobody who’s not a trainer or a trainee is allowed there. You never, ever go there. Not by mistake, not by accident. Is that clear?”

  The severity in his voice was effective – it made a knot in her stomach, delivering exactly how serious this was. She nodded her understanding.

  “Good,” he continued, satisfied. “The other two wings are much smaller in comparison and a little farther from the main house. The third one is mine.”