The Syndicates: A Dark Mafia Romance Collection

by Raven Scott

  “You didn’t show us the upstairs, the basement, or the garage, and we haven’t talked price, but you’re trying to shoo us out?” I had decided last night that even if this house wasn’t perfect, which it was, frankly, I would consider it my top option. Crossing my arms when the realtor frowned at me, I rocked back on my heels to arch a brow in question. “Why are you trying to rush us out and lose yourself a sale?”

  “Because I have other buyers that are ready to bid on the house.” Barking a harsh laugh, I reached to swipe my jaw roughly, and she looked down her nose at me across the bedroom. “No offense, but—”

  “No offense, but? Please.” I fished my phone out of my pocket to call my last outgoing, which happened to be her office. Lucy wandered out of the bathroom, and I clenched and released my jaw as I strode out of the bedroom with her. The line rang once, twice, before being answered, and the hairs on my neck bristled at her withering glare as I turned to face her. “Yes, hello. I’m with one of your agents right now, and I was wondering, if I paid full in cash, can I deal with someone else?”

  26

  Lucy

  “She looked so panicked when you said, ‘full in cash’. Oh, man.” I chuckled a little as we entered the hotel Mateo was staying at, but he was still obviously upset about the whole ordeal. His gloominess tugged at me, and I squeezed his hand as we headed for the elevator. “It’s okay. You’re going to buy the house, and she won’t get commission. Win-win, right?”

  “I honestly don’t understand what she was thinking?” His confusion was adorable, and I punched the button as he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet with his free hand. “I’m pretty damn sure people don’t go house browsing and then get lied to about the availability of the house. What the fuck?”

  “She probably thought we weren’t serious, or we’d have a hard time with the down payment, which she wouldn’t get much commission off of.” That only prompted another question— who the heck looks at houses for fun? Mateo grumbled to himself. “That senior agent was really nice, though.”

  “Yeah, at least that went well. I really like that house.” Mateo cast me a tender glance, and I smiled as heat slithered up my neck. “I hope we don’t break up over curtain rods.”

  “I think we can handle it.” We stepped into the elevator, and he thumbed his floor button before pulling his key card out of his wallet. Today was a good day despite all the drama that happened the night before; it felt like a long, long time ago, and that was a good thing, I thought. “My granddad bought my house when my mom got divorced. I guess he just knew I’d be his only grandkid. He worked on it until I turned sixteen- we worked on it together, sorta. I was living there when I was fifteen because my mom was starting to get insufferable. The day I turned sixteen, I started at the grocery store, and I worked there until I quit right after I got back. When I went to get my final check, they threw me a little party. It was really nice.”

  “You have an associate business degree, don’t you?” Nodding firmly as the elevator jostled upwards, I stuck my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. “I went to school for music. I have two bachelors. I worked on them simultaneously. My dad was really supportive, and Oran and Carlyle were already out of college and working for him.”

  “Have you done anything musically since . . . ” Trailing off uncertainly, I couldn’t help but frown when Mateo shook his head. “Why not?”

  “It’s kinda trivial, but even though I’ve always had genuine talent for it, and I love it, I was a spoiled rich kid that didn’t appreciate anything or anyone. Everyone was beneath me, except Carlyle, and he thought I wasn’t anything more than a cockroach that needed to be squished. It wasn’t until that week that I realized there’s more people’s opinions than just his that matter. I’ve gone into shops and stuff, but I never bought anything.” He frowned under brows furrowed by troubling thoughts, and I almost winced at the thick shame that lilted his tone. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I never invested in my music because I was so miserable about problems, I created for myself. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.” The elevator jolted to a stop, and Mateo gestured me out first before leading me down the ritzy hallway. “Every economic class has their own set of problems. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to try with Carlyle, Mateo.”

  “I mean, it’s not entirely his fault. I was a piece of shit of a human being, but there’s definitely things that we both could’ve done even if it was just ignoring each other. Carlyle kept trying to get me out of the way, but that also meant him forcing me to go places and do shit that I didn’t want to participate in. Maybe, if he accepted that trying to force it would only make it worse, and I accepted that he couldn’t do anything without forcing it. Honestly, who knows. I sure don’t.” Sliding the card in a door, Mateo popped open the barrier, and I followed him in as he continued. His hotel room was sparse, just his bag and his dogs, and he only paused talking to grab it before glancing at me. “If I didn’t decide to leave the hotel rather than jump off the roof, Carlyle wouldn’t bat an eyelash. And that is not someone I think deserves my consideration.”

  I badly hid my grimace, and Mateo whistled to his dogs before we left the room just as quickly. My chest tightened, my throat closing at the idea that we could’ve never met. If he’d killed himself, I would’ve never known what it was like to love someone so passionately. Seth and I probably would be married right now, and I’d be miserable.

  Because let’s face it, I was totally, unequivocally, desperately head over heels for Mateo, even if neither of us wanted to admit it out loud in as many words.

  “I’ve never thought about killing myself. Running away, yeah. A few times, I considered selling my house and hiding.” The strangest sense of guilt washed over me, and I crossed my arms under my best on the way back to the elevator. Mateo lived a horrific life, but because he had money, no one would pity him. How terrible. “Once I moved into my house, my mom would come over three or four times a week and come in and rearrange all my stuff and take down my cringy band posters and all that kind of stuff. I changed the locks and never gave her a key again.”

  “You had to deal with Meredith all the time?” Scrunching up my nose in distaste, I ducked my head in a nod, and Mateo shouldered his backpack as I pressed the elevator button. “How’d you do that for so long? Was she always so overbearing?”

  “No. She didn’t get bad until after she found out about breaking up when we were in college. I don’t get why. Shouldn’t she be doing the opposite and telling him he could get better or whatever?” Shrugging lightly, I huffed at my own question, and Mateo nodded quietly as he reached to scratch Ketchup’s head. “I mean, there was nothing special about me, and Seth and I didn’t want to be together anymore, so . . . ”

  “Maybe, she thought you looked perfect together.” Arching a brow quizzically, I pursed my lips at that, but Mateo’s expression didn’t change even as his eyes narrowed on me. “Appearances count for a lot for some people, and you and Seth did look good together. You’re beautiful, and she could go around telling anyone anything she wanted, and those people would probably never get within ten feet of you. Maybe, it was simple vanity and narcissism— look at my successful lawyer son and his gorgeous wife.”

  “Wow, I never thought of it that way, but maybe you’re right.” Was Meredith so concerned with looks that actual happiness didn’t matter? “Considering she made herself look better than me at my wedding to her son, you probably are right, Mateo. That’s probably exactly it.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll never let anyone know you said that.” Smiling at the jibe, I chuffed lightly, and Mateo stuffed his wallet back in his back pocket to wrap his arm around me.

  In a flash, we were back in the Lyft he’d ordered, and we left the hotel behind with all of us crammed in the back seat. The driver pulled off the curb, and Sriracha sat on Mateo’s lap while Ketchup took over mine. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I enjoyed the almost catatonic happiness
that flooded every cell in my body.

  And, hopefully, it’d be this way all the time from now on. Surely, we’d have to deal with the fallout once Meredith gets released, if she hasn’t been already. Seth had mentioned something before leaving about going home and sleeping, and then heading to the police station to bail his mother out.

  “I really should buy a car- maybe an SUV, so I can fit all the dogs in it. Once the check clears and I get the house transferred, we’ll do that.” Humming softly in acknowledgment, my mind went to earlier at the real estate office. The senior guy that Mateo had talked to on the phone practically fell over himself with apologies and gave us the lowest the owners were willing to go. He had to call them and get them down here to do the transfer once the check cleared, but all the paperwork had been done. By Monday, Mateo would own the house across the street from me.

  The notion was strange, like my house was a she-shed or something stupid by comparison. Not big enough for everyone, my home was just going to be my space, and Mateo would have his space, and we would have our space. We didn’t talk about it, but I knew that’s what he thought the moment I bought it up. There were other houses in the area, but that one . . . I knew he really liked it.

  27

  Lucy

  “I don’t know, Mickey. This seems like overkill.” Mikayla stuck a box of condoms into my cart with a soft hmpf, and I frowned as I snatched it and put it back on the shelf. “Seriously, stop. I’m not gonna guess his size and risk getting it wrong, okay? What makes you think we’re gonna have sex, anyway?”

  “You’re sleeping over— of course, you’re going to bang. Okay, it’s been a week since he got his own place, and you two don’t have any more excuses not to.” Rolling my eyes, I trudged my butt toward the tampons as my best friend trailed along after me, dragging her feet dramatically. “Lucy-y-y, come on. It’s almost like you two aren’t physically attracted to each other. You just are, like, soul mates in the head or whatever.”

  “That makes no sense.” If I can make it to shampoo and deodorant, we can leave. “Is it so impossible that sex isn’t the main pillar of our relationship?”

  “Yes!” Wincing as she hissed in my ear like a snake, I shook my head roughly, and Mikayla flounced around my cart as we turned into the mouthwash aisle. “It is! I know that you two have been through some stuff, okay, but honestly, the guy’s hotter than hot, and you haven’t even kissed him.”

  “I did so!” We were trying to keep it down, but the store was absolutely dead at this time of morning; no one was around but employees, and they didn’t care at all. “God, Mickey, you’re making it like we’re sixteen again.”

  “Your physical contact with him makes you seem like you’re sixteen again. It’s like you’re . . . ” She finally shut up, and Mikayla’s face twisted into cautious concern, but I ignored it to grab a bottle off the shelf. “Are you afraid, Lucy?”

  “What?” I dropped the blue bottle as surprise jolted through my veins, but the thick plastic stopped it from exploding when it landed right smack on the floor. My head whipped up, and Mikayla frowned as she licked her lips heavily. “Why would I be afraid?”

  “Because, you know, his back. I know that you feel guilty about it, and that you haven’t seen it, yet. It’s not easy to look at, Lucy.” My eyes widened, and Mikayla’s tone lowered as she shuffled along the length of my half-full cart. She was right— Mikayla did see Mateo’s back, and I hadn’t. I wasn’t afraid to see it, and I was not guilty, and I bent down slowly to grab the bottle of mouthwash and toss it in the cart.

  “You’re looking too deep into it, Mikayla. Mateo and I haven’t screwed around yet because, hello, there are more important things than sex, damnit! And you’re right- there’s no excuses because they weren’t excuses in the first place. Believe it or not, but I’m more than capable of managing my relationship without my sex life being micromanaged!” I trembled with anger as my voice rose higher and louder, and Mikayla stepped back as I smacked the handlebar of the cart. “And for the record, I know what Mateo’s back looks like. I was there when it got like that! I don’t need you to try to tell me it’s ‘not easy to look at’ now! Fuck!”

  Blurting out the slur, I stormed down the aisle and left Mikayla at the other end, and my face burned. What the Hell was wrong with her? Did she forget that I was literally inches away from that whip every time it flayed open Mateo’s skin? What did she think I did when he was passed out for hours at a time? Turning my cart with a wretched screech, I snatched a three-pack bars of soap off the shelf and kept on stomping to the shampoo aisle.

  Mikayla had no right to be judgmental about Mateo and I being a little less than frisky. That went without saying. She didn’t understand what we’d been through, so who was she to comment on Mateo’s back.

  Really, the shame here was that Mikayla was my ride home, and we were communal shopping— or, at least, we were supposed to be. All she could talk about was Mateo inviting me over tonight, and that in itself wasn’t the issue. The problem was she didn’t stop when I asked her to, and then she really, truly, asked me if I was afraid of because Mateo’s back was all mangled.

  I knew what it looked like. More importantly, I knew that it was supposed to be on me, not him.

  I turned into the shampoo aisle and kept turning my cart until it slammed into the rack, and my lungs screamed for air. When was the last time I breathed? I didn’t know, and the whole shelf tipped dangerously back and forth with an ominous clatter. Bottles fell off shelves and exploded, and black spots assaulted my vision as my knees gave out from beneath me.

  It was supposed to be me.

  Blinking hard, I wheezed pathetic, useless rasps, and my heart pounded dangerously as I struggled to get ahold of myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my chest to keep my heart from busting through my ribs and craned my neck in an effort to breathe. All I saw behind my eyes was Mateo’s back, his skin hanging off in strips, and the phantom scent of blood and concrete coated the inside of my nose.

  Why was everyone so judgmental? Even when everything was perfect, people still had terrible things to say? Mikayla wasn’t trying to be mean, but she didn’t just accept the fact that she couldn’t understand, either. Her opinions mattered to me, but there was a time when she needed to know not to voice them.

  Laying down on the floor, I gulped down the dense lump in my throat and gasped for breath, and shivers raked my spine violently. My mind didn’t slow down even as my heart stabilized, and I cracked my eyes open to find bleary figures standing over me. Somehow, I managed to push myself to my feet, and I ran my hands up my teary face and into my hair.

  “Get off me! Don’t touch me!” Snapping viciously at the multitude of people trying to grab at me, I stumbled a little at the force of my own voice. Heaving shallow breaths, I grabbed my cart as the employees held their hands up, all women, all worried but not pushing me. Two men stood at the lip of the aisle, and I shoved my cart down to start grabbing open bottles of shampoo and throwing them into the bed.

  I could feel Mikayla staring at me, and my lip curled in a snarl as I got down to scrape splattered shampoo off the linoleum. Goosebumps blanketed my arms and under my tank top, and my jeans felt too tight as my body gorged on a cacophony of raging emotions.

  Realization struck me— I didn’t have anywhere to put this goop, and I glanced around through wide, dazed eyes. I only had a wallet, not a purse, and my hands tingled as I started stuffing jean pockets with shampoo. There wasn’t a lot, only a few bottles burst, not even half a dozen, and the splattering hadn’t been too bad.

  God, there were a lot of quarter-sized pools of shampoo, and I had to lay down to reach under the shelves to get the dime-sized ones with my nails. Dirt and other crap that was swept under the rack clung to my fingernails and palms, and my stomach heaved threateningly.

  Once again, I hoisted myself up onto my feet, holding my hands out for balance so I didn’t accidentally touch my clothes or face. Shampoo seeped through my pockets and out th
e top, and I rubbed my hands viciously on my jeans. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the employees hovering, and she tensed when I turned to her.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” Rasping my question, I spread my fingers wide by my sides, and she just looked to this older woman near the lip of the aisle. She gestured me over with a small wave, and my body moved before my brain caught up with it. Everything spun around me, and I doubled over to gag viciously. My lunch came spewing out of my mouth, and horrified squeals droned in my ear as if they were coming through a tunnel.

  Gripping the shelf to my right, I arched sharply as my stomach turned inside out, and bile burned my throat. Weakness assaulted every muscle in my body, and my head became light as I spit on the floor. Groaning hoarsely, I blinked hard and stepped around my mess to trudge over to the lady.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll clean th-that.”

  28

  Mateo

  Sriracha huffed and puffed a few seconds before the doorbell sung, and I tore myself away from the stove to walk to the front door. Lucy was earlier than I expected, which was still an hour before the time we set- but I honestly didn’t mind. Cracking open the barrier, I smiled at her, and she grinned outright before stepping through the threshold.

  “It smells nice in here.” Affection bombarded my chest and crowded my heart at the excitement lightening Lucy’s tone. Shutting us inside my house, I wrapped my arms around her waist to draw her to me, and she sighed softly. “I know I’m super early. I had . . . I guess I had an . . . an episode . . . at the store.”

  “An episode? What happened?” At the sound of Lucy’s voice, Ketchup came bounding into the house from the open back door, but I barely noticed the flash of gray. She didn’t answer immediately, instead heading into the kitchen to sit on one of the stools she’d picked out at the island. Her hair was slightly darker, slightly damp, and my brows furrowed in concern when she rested her cheek on the tiled surface.