Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Read online

  My attorney, Joe Kaiser, and I are waiting on Judge Lily Miller-Armstrong’s orders to deny bail, which she will because she’s on my payroll or at least the payroll of my paddle. Her high-powered position urges her desire to submit, as in on her knees with a collar and leash. Just so happens, Master Raniero is her pro-Dom. She is one of the few clients I continued to serve after meeting the cupcake of my dreams. Of course, I selected Lily on purpose, knowing how she could behoove my endeavors should I require assistance one day.

  We’ve been working with Lily for months. She took a position on the Juliet board, thanks to my attorney, Uncle Joe’s recommendation. Everyone believes she has great disdain for me as we’ve encouraged her rather rude letters and outspoken nature to work the—I cannot stand Sal Raniero—platform. We framed her into doing it because it’d be a pity for her loving husband and happy children to find out how she enjoys swallowing two loads of cum at once.

  I never said I was a nice guy.

  I said I got shit done.

  I was measured for my uniform. Except for the simple silver crucifix Amber gave me, all of my jewelry has been removed—including the magic cross in the pierced beast.

  In his uniform, Cameron stared at me like a piece of meat. Maybe I was. Maybe this is what I had become. Nothing more than an object for the masses to drool upon.

  “Did those hurt?” he asked, chewing his gum. “Cause they look painful as fuck.”

  “Nah, man,” I replied, dropping the pieces of me into a bag. “I did them myself.”

  “Crazy fucker.”

  You have no idea.

  I thought about asking if he wanted to touch the holes, just to see his shocked expression, but I’ll pocket those cards for another day. No need to give all of me away. I know they’ll take what they want in time.

  I checked in with two pairs of glasses because although I didn’t wear them all the time, I knew I was at risk of getting one pair broken. I had no medical prescriptions and brought a couple hundred in a money order to start my commissary account. Dom suggested more, but I said more would only bring trouble. Time to negotiate on the floor and see if I could hack it. I figured, if I couldn’t do this, I probably wasn’t prepared to go up against my father.

  Malcolm Martinez conducted my R&D interview. He knew the critical details. Like the five million on receiving and another five on discharge that would be deposited into the Cinco offshore bank account.

  Cameron and Lotus had a stake in my safety, too. They wanted a piece of the keep-Sal-safe-pie, but their piece wouldn’t come with dollar bills attached to them. I understood what Keishi Nakamura wanted—his granddaughter’s safety. I imagined he would also want access to the triggers when I found them. The cost of keeping my ass alive in prison wasn’t cheap, but The Unholy agreed I was safer in here than out there for the time being.

  Mierne promised to begin compiling Deacon’s file and working to secure his position at Juliet. I briefly considered asking Miemie about the bachelor party, but I just couldn’t. I had to maintain my focus on what I knew, what I could change, and the relationships I needed to build.

  No longer could I take care of everyone.

  I had to take care of myself.

  And truthfully, my sanity was part of the reason I came up with this ludicrous plan in the first place. I wanted away. I needed peace. Prison seemed as good of a place as any. I know, I could’ve run off to Italy in search of ancestors or sought refuge in an ashram or hell, found sanctuary in a tea house in Tokyo, but none of that could teach me what I needed to know—focusing on me.

  Did I go to prison for a vacation?

  Kind of—I won’t lie.

  That and on July 4, Delarte Cristos would be selling off ten percent of his new company to the highest bidder thanks to Nico’s encouragement and willingness to have a relationship with his Dad. Mind you, Delarte didn’t need the money. He was doing it for no other reason than to be a dick to my father. He’d nurtured my thriving business since I cared for his dying daughter. To say I had an in with Delarte Cristos was the understatement of the century.

  We negotiated the deal over cognac, cigars, and a weekend of his fun at a resort in Taos. Sure, Cristos could give me a rim job if it meant taking out my father. I’d even smile and pretend it was the greatest thing since double protein shakes in almond milk.

  Remember, I’m bad.

  Remember, I play.

  Dear old Dad believed he had the deal cinched tight, but The Unholy planned to double. A high-class call girl named Firecracker would be delivering a gold envelope to Cesario with the announcement scrolled in my handwriting.

  “FUCK YOU!”

  Deacon and Nico would assure our win. The purchase would take a good portion of the money I received from Dale Archer. Any remaining funds in I.S. Ventures would be exchanged to cryptocurrency (harder to track) for Iris to keep moving.

  I knew what we stood to earn with a man like Delarte Cristos. He wasn’t dealing in peanuts. His new real estate—lavish vacation resorts, hotels, and casinos—would pay out in millions, giving The Unholy a constant source of income as opposed to Archer’s money just sitting in safe investment funds. If there was one thing Delarte Cristos knew how to do and do well, it was throwing a party.

  And my father would come after me.

  Therefore, removing the target from Iris and onto me.

  I’m a nice guy for one.

  If he caught me, I’d be a dead man, but I’d do it with my middle fingers up, and a menacing grin splashed on my ugly mug. Nico maintained I wouldn’t be dying to my father or his goons, but I wasn’t nearly as confident.

  A cellblock vacation looked pretty fucking awesome.

  We focused on late-July, not June, for my incarceration. We planned on implementing Cinco and Brethren with all the benefits they could bring. As it stood, I had two—Martinez and Cameron—and they were both wearing blue. I needed a khaki team on the inside of the cage more than those boys in blue because in the middle of the night it wouldn’t be Team Blue protecting my ass.

  “I want you to make sure she doesn’t find out her mother is gone,” I urge Dom from Deacon’s phone. “I need you to promise me, man. I don’t care what I have to endure in here or who I have to bargain with. All I care about is saving Iris. If she finds out Lydia is dead, it’s going to reverberate through every course of action we have planned.”

  I hear Iris yelling in the background and cringe. I close my eyes. I’m not prepared to talk to her, knowing how difficult it will be.

  Foolish perhaps.

  My biggest mistake absolutely.

  “You know this isn’t going to be easy on any of us,” Dom replies, but it doesn’t help to steady the instability rocking my soul like a battered ship at sea. “You’re in love with the enemy.”

  “So are you,” I point out the obvious. Dom held Iris when she was a baby and watched her grow up from afar under his father’s care. “She isn’t a Gennaro.”

  “No,” he clearly states. “Iris is a Nakamura.”

  The earnest whisper from his voice says more than the words. If I stay on the trajectory towards Iris, then it will be a magnificent tarnish on my father’s reputation. The familial name will forever be stained because the only Raniero son chose a Nakamura.

  How dare I, right?

  Keishi Nakamura had been the leader of Lotus since Old Poppa—Luca Raniero—constructed our outfit disguised as the Raniero Fisheries. Keishi was an old man now and refused to become a part of The Four Horsemen. Just as Juarez “Muerte” Herrera of Immortal laughed in their faces. There were other Kings, too, who wanted no part of their team—The Preacher and his Brethren, Allegiance, and La Morte. The list went on and on of those who went against The Four Horsemen and their arrangement.

  I wasn’t alone in believing they were fucking monsters.

  Despite being offered to become a part of their conspiracy, they maintained their entities and decried any involvement with the association. Henceforth, I was a threat to T
he Four Horsemen, and I was aiming to marry the granddaughter of the Lotus chairman.

  What kind of idiot am I?

  One in absolute crazy love.

  “You forget how insane I am.”

  “No,” Dom cackles as Iris mutters something indistinguishable in the background. “Your insanity is the only thing that matters. Don’t hold back in there, Nero. Do whatever you have to do to stay breathing. And I’m going to do what I need to do, including removing Jaid from your team.”

  “I have no plans of doing anything else.”

  Wait. What?

  “Why are you moving Jaid?” I yell, feeling things slipping out of control. “We never agreed to that.”

  “I think it’s for the best,” he calmly states. “She requested the move, Sal. Not me.”

  It hurts bad. And as much as I want to press my hand to the wound, I know it’s best to let it bleed. I never planned on losing my partner – the other half of me – because she decided to walk away.

  His voice causes my heart to jumpstart. “Have you been to the block?”

  “No, I’ve been in holding under strict surveillance while they try and find me a spot.”

  “… A spot?”

  “In solitary,” I answer, clutching Deacon’s phone. “I don’t think it would be safe to put me in general; I could turn into a madman and lash out.”

  “For you?”

  “For them,” I snicker, cracking my knuckles against the cement wall. “I’m kinda pissed off, ya know?”

  He laughs. “You mean you’re a fucking hotheaded Italian mafia son.”

  “Ya, something like that.”

  He takes a deep breath and asks, “You want to talk to her or is that a stupid question?”

  “I dunno to be honest,” I answer, leaning back. “How is she?”

  “About as good as you could expect.”

  “Give her to me,” I request, lifting my knee and propping my foot up. “Can we have a few minutes alone?”

  “Sure thing,” Dom acquiesces. “Don’t be too long.”

  I mumble out the impossible, “Ya.”

  “Here she is,” he says as the rustling of fetish gear clanks in my ear. “I love you, Boston. Keep your shit together. I got you.”

  The sniffling on the other end of the phone sends a massive quake through my spine. I’m not ready for this. In the last week, I’ve had moments of pure regret. We could’ve tried harder. We could’ve done more. Done better. And fought for what we believed in—our love.

  “… Hello?” she barely whispers. “Nero?”

  “Say it again,” I demand as my eyes fill with tears. “Don’t stop talking.”

  “Sal, we cannot do this.”

  “We don’t have a choice now, Angel. We’re strapped into the ride, and there is no getting off. If I thought there was any possible way around this, we would’ve taken it.”

  Her trembling voice says, “Do you remember when we first met at Juliet? You took my hand, leading me through the darkness. You told me I was awful trusting to go with a guy I barely knew.”

  God, I’m not ready for this.

  Pull out.

  Pull out—now!

  Running my fingers through my hair, I chuckle once before the warm tears trickle over my cheeks. “I do.”

  “You promised I would be okay. You told me to trust you. And I did,” she mutters with sadness. “I trusted you with everything that I had.”

  “Dom purchased your services,” I interject, not liking where we are headed. “You should do what he expects.”

  “Bullshit!”

  Bending over, I take a breath, knowing we both have our doubts concerning Dom’s loyalty. “I cannot change anything now, baby.”

  “You could’ve changed it at any point!” she screams as the hurt in her heart becomes so transparent that I ache with her pain. “You could’ve kept driving two nights ago! You didn’t have to ship us down the river to an unknown destination. I’m not fucking cargo!”

  “Stop!” I counter, refusing to hear anymore. “That is where you are wrong. I know exactly where we are headed and what we are doing. You are being moved about from one point to the next until I can figure this out.”

  “That is where you fucked up!” Iris screams. “Right there!”

  I drop my foot and pace in a small circle. “What do you mean?”

  “We should’ve figured this out together. You played the absolute worst card you could’ve,” she angrily scolds like a seasoned fetish player. I snicker under my breath. “There is no one…no one…that can protect me like you. Somewhere in that thick daego brain of yours, you know that, but you are too fucking scared of losing again. You’d rather check out than risk me dying, but what you fail to see is that without you here—I’m in more danger than I’ve ever been. It isn’t my fault Kaci did what she did to you or me.”

  “I didn’t plan on the arrest happening in June.” Praying to hit blood, I bite, “You put a fuckin’ gun to my temple, so don’t be acting like you’re the only one getting screwed over!”

  Get her angry. Make her fight. Get her head out of the game.

  She hisses, “You weren’t real friendly on your goodbye.”

  “Why would I be?”

  “You shipped me off to Dominic Gennaro! You know if he weren’t about to marry Jaid, I’d beg him to marry me. And do you know what, Sal? He fucking would. He would because he’s a stand-up guy. He would because he understands how much safer I would be with him than without him, which is a concept you clearly failed.”

  Ouch. Fuck. Owala.

  “No, you fuckin’ wouldn’t!”

  “Are you so sure about that?”

  We have such a limited amount of time on the phone, and we’re fighting like damn children on the playground. I pull her hair, and she throws sand in my eyes. Maybe we weren’t meant to be. Maybe we’ve been fucked from the beginning.

  “Tell me one thing,” I snap, grinding my jaw. “Who is running La Morte?”

  “Why should I tell you anything? You are that Raniero boy. You can’t be trusted. I am who I am, don’t you remember?”

  “Who is running La Morte?” I ask again as my patience thins. “Baby…”

  “The Grand Dame of them all, Salvatore.”

  Anna…

  “No…you’re lying!” I stop breathing as everything we built comes crashing to the ground. “She can’t be…”

  “If you think I’m lying, why don’t you ask Mierne… Everyone you think is sitting on the fence is playing with La Morte, including her. But in all seriousness, I don’t know who is running La Morte.”

  “… Who are you playing with?” I ask, praying she takes the bait. “Say it.”

  I imagine the snarling look of disgust on her face as I insulted her character, her motivations, and her trust just to be a thorn. “If you don’t know who I’m playing for by now, you motherfucking asshole, I cannot be any clearer.”

  Got her.

  Sparring games—I win.

  Beneath the tears, a sly smile perks upon my lips. “I love it when you call me names.”

  “Prick. Asshole. Bastard. Fucker. Cocksucker,” she giggles like a schoolgirl. “You will be soon.”

  I shake my head. “Baby, if I got to swallow ten gallons a day to keep you whole, I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

  “That’s love, man.”

  “Damn straight,” I counter, knowing full well we were fucking with each other’s heads to get out of where we were at. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “To the end of eternity, Sir.”

  “And you need to remember that,” I remind, holding back the pain. “You must not forget me. You must not forget us. And whatever happens—one day—you and I…”

  “Are going to have demon spawns!” she teasingly banters as I crash and hit the ground. “You’ll be such a fucking awesome father.”

  “God stop…”

  Fuck. Pull out. Fuck. Abort the mission. FUCK.

  “And I’m goin
g to sleep on your arm, every night, for the rest of my life. But you have to be strong right now. You have to get up off the floor, Salvatore.”

  “How do you know I’m on the floor?”

  “Because this is killing you…”

  “You have no idea,” I confide, gripping my hair and pulling as I slowly rock. “You were sent to kill me by my father.”

  “Yeah, he’s probably a little pissed about you being in jail,” she proudly beams. “But I’ll be long gone.”

  “You absolutely will,” I agree, staring at the posters on the dividing wall. “How do you know about La Morte?”

  “Women keep secrets to protect men.”

  With a snarl, I ask, “You got more secrets?”

  “I’ve got a head full of them thanks to Kace,” she snickers. “I’d like you to remove them as soon as possible, please.”

  “I will, baby doll. I will.”

  “You’re going to find the keys to get this out of me?”

  “I’ll figure it out, I promise,” I reassure, not totally convinced I can. “Iris, listen to me—whatever happens, whatever you hear, do not come home.”

  With the sweetest sound, she dares to ask the question, “What are we doing?”

  “Staying together,” I answer, knowing how little sense it all makes. “I pulled out to save you.”

  “The pull-out method isn’t highly effective,” she jokes as I break into another smile. “But we can try.”

  Moving to sit against the wall, I tuck my feet up and drape my arm on my knee. “Do you have any idea how much I miss you?”

  “Yes,” she eagerly replies. “Do you know how much I miss your pierced beast?”

  “Do you know how much I miss my pierced beast?” Leaning my head back, I laugh. “You know, I’m not expecting you’ll be faithful for the next little bit.”

  “… The next little bit as in three years?” Before I can answer, she quickly follows, “I know damn well you won’t be.”

  “Probably not, but I’m giving up coffee.”

  Silence fills the line as her wheels spin with an epic comeback. “You just admitted you wouldn’t be faithful, but you’re giving up caffeine.”