The Reaper

by RuNyx

  Fuck, that felt good. The power she felt in that second, knowing who he was, seeing his control fray at the edges inside her mouth made her feel good.

  “Say my name,” Morana mumbled, sucking just his tip and flicking her tongue against the slit, not breaking their eye contact. Anyone could come out and see her on her knees, taking her man into her mouth, his fist wrapped around her hair, and it made her fucking wet.

  His thumb stroked over her cheek as his breathing labored. He didn’t say her name.

  Wrapping her fingers around his thick base and jerking him off, marveling at the fact that this huge thing had been inside her, Morana pulled back completely, her eyes watering and not just because of the pressure.

  “I don’t just burn with you, Tristan,” she said, her voice shaking. “I burn for you. And I don’t know what I have to do to prove it.”

  He groaned, his eyes closing. “Fuck, Morana.”

  Heart pounding, she took him in her mouth again and got back into sucking him off with vigor, feeling him slowly lose control as his hips started to jerk.

  “Pull back if you don’t want to swallow,” he warned. She didn’t. Her own breathing hastened with his, and then he exploded in her mouth with a low growl. Throat working, swallowing down every last drop of him, Morana mentally patted herself on the back for a blowjob well done. The gods of oral would be proud.

  Opening his fist, he let her hair go and tucked himself back in, pulling her up.

  Morana straightened, brushing off her stinging knees and ignored the wetness between her legs, looking at a spot on his chest, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed. But they had to talk about this.

  “I don’t like that feeling, Tristan,” she addressed him, not looking away from his chest. “I want to be able to walk into a room and know, without an iota of doubt, that the man I have claimed is only mine. I know that’s not how things work in this world. I know that men and women play around with others, that loyalty is a luxury not everyone can afford. I know. I just don’t like it.”

  Swallowing, she put her hands on his chest and slid her eyes up to his, to find them singularly focused on her, and felt a shiver go down her spine. Would she ever get used to his intensity, to the sheer magnetism of that attention?

  Inhaling deeply, she continued. “I just, I really like you Tristan Caine, as messed up as you are.”

  One of his hands settled on her hips, the other coming up to her neck. “My loyalty is not a luxury for you, Morana. It’s a gift and it’s yours. You never have to walk into a room and question that.”

  Morana felt her mouth quiver as she went on her toes, pressing her lips to her happy spot where his neck and shoulder met. “Thank you.”

  She felt him press his mouth against her hair. “I won’t test you like that again.”

  Morana felt her lips curve and pulled back to look at him. “So are you calling me by my name now or do I have to get on my knees to get that?”

  Before he could say a word, a huge explosion rocked the ground underneath her feet, knocking her into his chest. He immediately shielded her behind his body and Morana whirled to see huge flames lick up at the dark sky from the back of the club.

  In shock, seeing the gigantic blaze with wide eyes, Morana barely nodded as Tristan pulled out his gun and handed it to her.

  “Stay here!” he yelled at her and then he ran towards the fire, leaving her alone in the alley suddenly flooding with people escaping the club.

  It was chaos.

  Morana mingled with the crowd and ran to the parking lot at the front, to see people screaming and getting out and away from the burning building, unable to understand what had happened. Her eyes found Dante’s car and she jogged to wait there, hearing the sound of sirens in the distance closing in, shaking her head in disbelief as sounds of people talking and shouting filled space around her.

  A huge shiver wracked her body as she kept her eyes glued to the explosion site, no idea of how many people had been injured. The gun heavy in her hand, she cursed herself for not even having her phone, looking around to find a familiar face. She couldn’t. Everyone Outfit had run to the back to help out.

  “Did you see how the door exploded out?” one of the girls near her was talking excitedly with her friend. “It was mad!”

  “I know!” the other sounded shaky. “I hope no one got hurt though.”

  Morana hoped so too.

  After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, she finally saw Tristan heading back towards her, his face and clothes darkened in soot, his eyes cool, aloof.

  Morana took a step forward, the pit of unease in her stomach yawning wide as she looked behind him, her heart stuttering. She saw Vin and two other guys, in a similar state, head towards the car as well.

  “What happened?” she voiced as he came closer, trying to make out his expression.

  It was stone.

  Something was bad.

  She looked around for Dante.

  Looked back at Tristan.

  No.

  Fuck no.

  “Tristan,” she gripped his arm, shaking him, her eyes watering. “Where is Dante?”

  He shook his head.

  No.

  No.

  God, no!

  He just meant Dante was busy managing the fire and wouldn’t be coming with them. That’s what he meant.

  “Will he come later?” she asked, her voice breaking with hope.

  God, no. Please no.

  “We need to go,” he said, his own voice hard, closed-off.

  Morana looked at the flames lighting up the sky and started to walk towards it.

  A hand gripped her arm, turning her sideways.

  She looked up at him. He shook his head once.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks, a long, painful wail leaving her chest as she collapsed into his arms, sobbing for a brother she’d only had for a few days.

  There were always two types of destruction. Reading history, one could analyze the decimation of any empire and slot it in two. One type was like a house of cards – one piece went missing and the whole fucking thing crumbled to the ground instantly. The other type, the one harder to pin down and slower to take action, was like the dominoes - one only saw the final piece fall but not see the trail of pieces piling one after the other behind it.

  Watching the mansion driveway fill with cars from the window of the cottage, Morana couldn’t pin down which type this was.

  Grief overtaking her heart, she stood alone at the window because Tristan had more important matters at hand – like trying to find Dante’s body. Her heart might be filled with grief but her emotions had calmed down enough for her to pause and think. She needed to think because if there was even a sliver of hope, she was clinging to it.

  Morana replayed the entire scene in her head over and over again.

  She and Tristan had been in the alley when the fire had broken out, the cause for which was under investigation. Three bodies had been recovered from the back, burned beyond recognition, and Tristan had thought one of them was Dante. But was it?

  She looked down at her phone and mulled it over. Dante’s phone was disconnected and had been recovered at the site. A body with his clothes and watch had been recovered as well but it could be someone else. He had been acting oddly enough for her to question everything. It was entirely possible that she was clinging to false hope but she couldn’t, couldn’t, accept the fact that the man who had become her protector and family could suddenly be taken away from her. She wouldn’t accept that without concrete evidence.

  The mansion was ablaze with lights where Lorenzo Maroni had, it seemed, called the entire Outfit after getting the news about his oldest son. They all thought he was dead – Morana wasn’t sure. She hadn’t even been able to question Tristan before he had dropped her and taken off.

  Not knowing what she could do, Morana just observed as men got down from the cars and decided she needed to listen in on the meeting.

  Opening
up her laptop with purpose, she quickly found the microphone she’d installed surreptitiously in the study one morning and activated it, plugging in her earphones to listen better as she watched out the window.

  “They found his body,” a man spoke into the room and Morana gripped her laptop, her heart suddenly pounding. Maybe listening in wasn’t the best idea.

  “This is bullshit,” Lorenzo Maroni roared in Morana’s ears. “I don’t believe this.”

  There was silence for a beat before one brave man spoke, “It can be hard to accept, Lorenzo. It’s a shock to all of us. He was your heir. You’d groomed him all your life to take over. But it’s his body. I checked the proof myself.”

  Maroni huffed out a laugh. “That is exactly why I know it’s not him. He’s got all you morons fooled.”

  Another voice chimed in, “We need to have a funeral, Bloodhound. People are shaken. Our enemies have their eyes on us. His body is in the morgue. We have to keep up the appearance.”

  There was more silence before Maroni addressed someone. “Is it him?”

  Whiskey and sin confirmed her worst fear. “It is.”

  A loud sigh left someone and Morana shut down her laptop, her hands shaking. It was a fluke. For sure, it was a fluke. Because if Dante was dead, there was no way Tristan could be so calm. Or could he? He had seen so much death, killed so many people – he could stay calm in the face of death, even of a loved one.

  The sudden vibration of her phone made her jerk, her eyes widening as she saw the caller id.

  Amara.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  She shouldn’t answer. She really shouldn’t talk to Amara right now. But the other woman had told her so many truths; it was the least Morana could do.

  Fuck.

  She answered and stayed silent, not knowing how to even begin.

  Her friend stayed silent for a long minute before her soft, raspy voice asked quietly. “Is it true?”

  Morana swallowed, giving her the truth, her own voice shaky. “I don’t know.”

  She heard Amara inhale sharply on the other end. “What happened?”

  “There was a fire at the club,” Morana told her, gripping the phone tightly in her hand. “I don’t know what happened exactly but his phone was there and they found a body with his clothes and watch.”

  “But?” Amara urged, her breathy voice pained.

  “But I don’t know,” Morana confessed. “Until I can talk to Tristan myself, I don’t want to believe anyone.”

  “What’s the alternative?” Amara asked, her voice slowly calming down.

  “Maybe someone abducted him?” Morana suggested.

  Amara chuckled but the sound wasn’t amused. “You don’t just abduct Dante Maroni, Morana. He’s too smart and too skilled for that.”

  Morana looked out the window, letting the wheels in her brain turn. “So you mean to say that if he’s alive and missing-”

  “-then he’s done it deliberately,” Amara completed.

  “Well, shit,” Morana sat down on the couch, flummoxed. “But why would he?”

  Amara stayed silent for a long minute. “I’m done caring, Morana. You’ve been a good friend to me. Thank you.”

  The flat tone in her voice suddenly startled Morana’s heart with alarm. “Amara-”

  “Take care, Morana.”

  The line went dead.

  What the hell?

  Morana redialled the number, only to find it unavailable. Reasoning with herself, Morana tried to calm her heart down and allow Amara to have her space to process everything. She couldn’t even imagine what the other woman must be going through, and she needed to chill and not make it about her.

  Exhaling a long breath, Morana locked up and headed upstairs, thinking on what Amara had said. She stripped and stole a t-shirt from Tristan’s side of the closet, quickly washing her face and brushing her teeth. If Dante wasn’t dead than he had disappeared deliberately. Why? Why hide that from her and Tristan?

  Her hand paused with her brush in her mouth, her bright hazel eyes slightly red-rimmed and wide behind her glasses as she considered that. Could Tristan actually be in on the plan? He had been acting a little the past few days, and his reaction at the club had been stony. But why hide all of that from her?

  She spit out and smacked her hand to her forehead as it clicked.

  Maroni and the entire household had seen her get out of the car. She had been distraught and crying and holding on to Tristan’s arm as he’d walked her to the house. It had been genuine pain because she had believed that Dante had gone.

  Done with her routine, Morana flew down the stairs barefoot and rushed to her laptop, her brain churning and settling pieces together. She might have been entirely wrong but it was highly unlikely. If Dante was alive, as she believed he was, he had disappeared for a reason and she bet her entire savings that Tristan knew about it, and they hadn’t told her simply because her reaction had to be genuine for the onlookers.

  Hoping against hope to be right, Morana opened her systems, shadowed her address, and dived into the darknet. Typing in ‘tenebrae outfit + fire’, she pressed enter and got hit with the news.

  Clicking on the first link, she scanned the article.

  The heir to Maroni empire dead in fire

  In a turn of events that has left the underworld in shock, Dante Maroni, the oldest son of Bloodhound Maroni, has died in a freak fire accident at one of the Outfit clubs in the Warehouse District area...

  Going back to the results, Morana scanned the other links of news, finding the same story over and over again, until a link at the bottom got her attention.

  My mobsters, did this end the Alliance? Give me your thoughts.

  It was a recent blog post, more of a conspiracy theory kind, and Morana clicked on the link, her heart pounding.

  My father was a soldier in the Tenebrae Outfit for many years before he passed away. As you know, my interest in the mob came from him. Though I never followed in his footsteps and because I’m a nerd, I’ve always been curious about the Alliance and its demise.

  Riddle me this - if there are three partners of an equal team and two are kings then who’s the third?

  We theorize that the Alliance existed for so many years between Tenebrae and Shadow Port. But my father told me there was a third partner in the deal. Could it be that the Alliance ended because he got out of the equation? If he was so important, then who was he? Another king from another mob family?

  I’ll tell you what my father told me – the man took care of both the kings and buried their secrets. That’s why they protected who he was.

  What do you think? Is it plausible? Leave your thoughts in the comments.

  Morana stared at the post, her heart drumming in her chest.

  Three partners.

  If there were three partners – one Lorenzo Maroni, one her father, then who was the third?

  She was close. She knew she was close to the answer, she could feel it in her gut.

  It was all connected somehow – the codes, the missing girls, the Alliance.

  And the third man was the key.

  She was lying in bed in his t-shirt and panties, staring up at the ceiling in the lamplight, when the door opened and Tristan came in. His face – exhausted, covered in soot – made her heart stop.

  His eyes came to her, saw her awake, and he tilted his head to the bathroom.

  Morana frowned, getting up. “I need to-”

  He put his finger to his lips, pointing to the bathroom, taking off his clothes, throwing them in the hamper in the corner. Not that she minded him naked, but she didn’t feel like right now was the time for it.

  “I can’t talk right now,” he stated. His voice was flat as he headed to the bathroom and indicated for her to follow. Without another word, she quickly walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind her, seeing him standing under the spray. He looked at her standing near the sink and motioned her closer with his finger.r />
  Confused as hell and not understanding anything, Morana took off her clothes and stepped under the warm spray in front of him, trying to read his blue eyes. He leaned forward, lining his mouth next to her ear, and spoke quietly.

  “They’ve bugged the house.”

  Eyes widening, Morana gripped his slippery biceps. “What do you mean?”

  “I just found out,” he told her. “I’ll need to check for bugs in the bedroom but until then, I didn’t want to risk talking there.”

  Morana quietly took a dollop of his shampoo in her palm and rubbed them together, lathering them as she waited for him to continue. He sat down on the marble bench in the shower so she wouldn’t have to tiptoe too much, his head the height of her neck. Massaging the shampoo in his scalp, she wondered if he’d ever had anyone care for him like this.

  His eyes closed as her fingers dug into his scalp, his breath leaving him. “Dante isn’t dead.”

  “I know.”

  Blue focused on her. Morana smiled. “Once I calmed down, it was pretty easy to figure out. You guys had been off for a few days. And I get why you didn’t tell me, as much as it sucked. You needed my response to be authentic.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable. “Fuck.”

  Morana stroked his head, running her nails over his scalp. “I know my smartness turns you on.”

  “It does.”

  “Tell me next time though,” she told him seriously. “I’ll give an academy-award worthy performance but don’t pull this shit next time.”

  He simply nodded. “It wasn’t my idea. Dante wanted to do it this way.”

  Well, that definitely did make her feel better. Tristan stood up silently, washing off the shampoo, the suds running over his back.

  Morana, finally, saw his tattoo properly. On the left blade of his shoulder, a tribal tattoo of a wolf howled at a full moon, the detailing of each stroke of black amazing. Tracing her finger over the tattoo, her heart clenched as she realized what it represented.