The Reaper (Dark Verse 2)

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.

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.

Luna.

She walked around to stand in front of him, the wall at her back, and let her eyes trace the rest of his scars and tattoos. A bullet marked his right bicep, hitting a skull in the middle. A phrase went down his left side, right beside his abs.

And so the night will end.

Morana traced the phrase, her fingers lingering on the slashed scar underneath the hard muscle. Moving up to his left pec, right above his heart, there was a symbol she didn’t know the meaning of. She touched it with her fingers, looking up at him in question.

“One day,” he whispered quietly between them, the two words filled with so much her heart squeezed.

Morana swallowed, asking a question she dreaded. “What if the day never comes?”

He shook his head, sending water spraying out. “It will. Whatever the answer is, I will find it.”

Morana didn’t know how to tread through this conversation so she tabled it for the moment. She wanted to find answers too, for him and for herself. But what if the answer wasn’t what he’d hoped for? Would he be able to cope? Would he be able to survive?

Her chest ached wondering about it.

“I can see the questions in your eyes,” he said softly. “But I know, I know, she’s alive.”

Morana felt a tear go down her cheek, mixing with the water. “Then, we will find her.”

He looked at her for a long minute before slowly pressing his lips to hers. It was soft, simple, but it made her heart clench.

Pulling back, he pressed his forehead against hers, his mouth slightly trembling. He gritted his jaw to tighten it and Morana saw, pressing her hands to his face, holding him. They stood there like that for long minutes, before he suddenly pulled away, shutting the water off and handing her a towel.

Morana inhaled deeply and dried herself while he did the same, then followed him naked into the bedroom. He handed her a fresh t-shirt without a word that she quickly donned, and put on a pair of boxers before pulling open a drawer and bringing out a scanner.

Getting into bed, Morana saw as he ran the scanner through every inch of the room, finding only one bug near the door. Opening the window, he threw it out into the lake before closing it again and sliding into bed beside her.

Morana followed, settling against him, her breasts squashed against his chest, her legs twined with his.

“Who bugged the house?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’ll have to find the rest tomorrow.”

Morana looked up at him, her brain working. “Could it be Maroni?”

He shrugged. “He’s never done it before.”

“You’ve never lived with anyone before,” she pointed out.

“That’s true,” he squeezed her around the waist, pressing a small kiss to her ear lobe. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

There was silence for a few minutes before she asked him, “Why did Dante do this?”

His chest moved as he inhaled deeply before responding, “He’s had to go underground.”

“But why? He’s Dante Maroni.”

“Precisely,” he muttered, his finger drawing some pattern on her shoulder. “He’s an excellent extractor of information but there’s some information he can get better without his name.”

Morana’s heart stopped and she leaned up on an elbow, looking down in his blue eyes, her hair falling over them. “Is this about the Syndicate? Is that the information he’s gone to get?”

She saw his lips twitch slightly as he pushed a lock of wet hair behind her ear, the gentle gesture surprising her.

“Yes,” he confirmed her suspicions. “He’s going to infiltrate the Syndicate.”

Morana felt her jaw drop. “Are you serious? How the hell will he even do that? Will he be safe? How will we know anything?”

“He’ll be fine,” Tristan pulled her down back to his chest. “And we have a signal to get in touch. But nobody can know. It is important that everyone, especially Maroni, believe that he’s dead. Or he could be in danger.”

Morana nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Shouldn’t we tell Amara though?” She’d have wanted to know in her friend’s shoes.

Tristan shook his head. “Dante told me not to. She will have eyes on her, especially now. Nobody can suspect anything.”

As much as it pained her, Morana understood that. She just hoped her friend forgave her when things settled down again.

The dark room, his warm scent, his steady heartbeat slowly soothed her heart. The weight she’d been feeling the entire evening gradually dispersed from her chest as she snuggled deeper into the crook of his neck and shoulder, finding her happy spot. He pressed a kiss to the top of her lobe, squeezing her.

Long minutes passed and Morana was almost on the verge of drifting off when his voice broke through the hush.

“I was given this cottage since Maroni took me under his wing,” he began quietly and Morana got to attention, listening as he shared something so close to his chest with her. “When I was young, I used to lie here some nights after a training session, and I wanted to die.”

Morana felt her breathing stutter, her arms get tight around him but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare do anything to break the moment.

He continued, his finger drawing loops on her back. “There was always a gun in the drawer, and I almost ended it some days. You know what stopped me every time?”

Morana shook her head.

“Thinking my sister would always wonder why her brother didn’t love her enough to live for her. I couldn’t leave her with that.”

She felt her eyes burn, her heart hurting for the ache she heard in his voice.

“But that day seemed so far away and I was so powerless. Every day felt like too much,” he spoke softly into the dark, his voice barely audible. “So, you know what I wondered about?”

Morana shook her head again, her throat tight, her chest heavy.

“You.”

Her heart stopped.

“Some days, I thought about how I would find you when I grew up and kill you, different ways I would kill you,” he went on, baring his mind to her, chuckling darkly. “Some days, I imagined someone else getting to you and how I would kill them. Oh, how I killed them. And some days, when it got really fucking sad and I wallowed in self-pity, I thought of how you’d smiled at me and I wondered if you’d smile at me like that after seeing the monster I was becoming.”

Morana pulled back and put her hand to his jaw, her eyes locking with his in the little light from outside.

“Do you still think about killing me?” she asked point-blank, ready if he did.

He stayed silent for a beat. “No,” he shook his head once.

Morana breathed. “Do you still imagine someone getting to me and killing them?”

“No,” he repeated, his voice sure.

“Do you still think about my smile?”

He watched her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on her mouth, before pushing his face closer to hers, his hand coming around to her neck in a hold her skin knew intimately now.

“I think about a lot of different things now but don’t mistake me for someone soft, Morana. Whispered words in the shadows aren’t who I am. I’m still a monster.”

Morana searched his eyes, feeling his palm resting against her steady pulse, suddenly realizing that was why he always held her neck – to feel her heartbeat under his hands. A slow smile curled her lips, her palms cupping his jaw, stroking it, his scruff scraping over her skin.

“When I was young and alone in my room at night, with a father who didn’t like my existence and no mother and no friends, just my overactive imagination and my brain, you know what I used to think about?” she murmured, never breaking their locked gaze. “When one of my father’s guards sneaked into my room and I had to fight him off -” his hand tightened on her neck in reaction but she continued, “-wallowing in my loneliness and sel-piy, you know what I would dream about?”

He waited for her answer, never moving those intense blue eyes from hers.

“A monster,” she whispered between their lips. “My monster. One who could keep me safe and kill the other monsters who wanted to hurt me.”

By the last word, his mouth slammed into hers as he turned her under him.

“You always fucking had him, wildcat.”

And then he ravaged her like the monster he claimed to be.