Carving Graves: A Dark Mafia Romance (The KORT Series Book 2)

CHAPTER NINE

CELESTE

Dustin Barclay is a world-class asshole. I’m just about to tell him as much when a blur whizzes into my field of vision. Liam is beelining toward our table, his long strides eating up the space with a fervor. Like last time he was manic, my mind jumps to Ivy with a panicked concern until I catch the murderous glint in his dark hazel eyes. His intentions are evidently of a more nefarious nature.

Fuck.

When I saw him gaping at me back at the house, I knew this was a bad idea. He had a possessive slant to him, something that told me this could all go sideways. But I wanted him with me, so I kept my mouth shut.

His flutter-inducing compliment actually choked me up because I wished more than anything it was him taking me out tonight. But the butterflies and heat and exhilarating sparring will quickly serve to derail me. Liam is only interested in fucking me, and while I’m not at all opposed to that idea, I feel a churning of devastation brewing should I venture on that path. I need to remember my rules and, more importantly, my role. A responsibility my mother hammered home on the ride here.

Liam glides into the booth in a fluid sweep, his arm perched behind me and his sexy dimple making a rare appearance. He kisses my temple. “Hi, baby. Sorry I’m late.”

What in the ever-loving hell is he doing? Baby?

Before I can ask, he reaches his arm out across the table to Dustin. “Liam Graves.”

“Hello,” Dustin says, utterly bemused as he shakes Liam’s hand. “Dustin Barclay. Why is it that you’re here?”

“Yes,” I hiss, crossing my arms. “Please share.”

Liam winks at me, dapper in his black suit. Although I love the hint of ink on his biceps that peeks out of his sleeves when he wears a T-shirt. Really, he kills it in anything. And surely nothing. Most especially when he has that menacing glimmer in his gaze.

He turns back to my pathetic date. “Good question, Dusty.”

“Dustin,” an irritated Mr. Barclay corrects, and I center myself to swallow the laughter.

“Right.” Liam waves a doesn’t-matter hand, spreading out in the booth in that larger-than-life way of his, where he consumes the expanse of every available molecule. “As you can see, Celeste here is the full package—gorgeous, smart, passionate, funny. And clever. She’s far more clever than people realize. So, obviously, she requires the type of care and stimulation that”—he gestures to Dustin—“a man like you couldn’t possibly provide. And since I’ll be the one satisfying her, it seemed only fitting that I be part of the negotiations.” He scoops a fork into my barely eaten cheesecake, serving himself a bite with a contented moan.

I’m going to fucking kill him. Slow and painful.

Dustin’s brows scrunch together, soaking in the whole bizarre scene. “This is highly unusual. Certainly not something I’ve ever considered.”

“Not unusual,” Liam volleys. “I assure you, any woman you choose will have a sidepiece as a matter of survival. We’re just being up-front about it.” He sips my cabernet with a twinkle set on me, washing down his dessert.

This is like spotting a train car bent in half, gore and mayhem running wild in the woods. Bodies strewn all over the tracks. I’m aghast and speechless. Except for a squeak that leaps from my lungs.

Liam catches it and taps my nose with a ray of adoration.

Oddly, Dustin seems to be mulling this absurdity over, finally settling on me again. “If I permit this, will you be more amenable to the minority angle?”

Is this guy fucking serious?

My eyes bulge out of my skull. No sense in bothering with pretense at this point. “I’ll tell you exactly what I’m amenable to—”

“Actually, I’ll tell him, Ace.” Liam’s hand grips my leg, pinkie dusting my inner thigh under my skirt, securing the distracted nature from me he was aiming for. He seizes the opening. “Let me lay it out for you, Dusty. This is how it’s going to work, whether or not you fucking approve of this. Celeste is a brilliant prize that you will never ride the coattails of. You will never hold her. Touch her. Taste her. A tragedy of epic proportions for you.”

He brings his hand to his chest, the black diamond-encrusted ring on his index finger gleaming like a warning. “Me, on the other hand? I’m going to treat her like the queen she is. Starting tonight, when I whisk her away from here, shuttle her back to my place, and fuck her so thoroughly, she feels it for days, maybe weeks. And one day soon”—his fingers crawl further up my thigh, nearly caressing the promised land—“I’m going to bring her back to this very booth and make her come so hard that she forgets any recollection of this night, this god-awful date, and your boring-as-fuck face. In fact, I’ll have her seeing so many goddamn stars, she’ll forget any other men exist—especially narcissistic motherfuckers like you.”

My chest deflates with a whoosh as Dustin’s face pales and sweat beads on his upper lip. I suspect he’s realizing he’s in the presence of someone truly unhinged. It’s sobering, to say the least.

This is spiraling quickly. My grandfather is going to lose it. I need to intervene, but I’m somehow rooted to this seat, infuriated and captivated in one fell swoop. No idea what to do.

Liam twirls my fork like a composer and raids the dessert again, swallowing the cheesecake with another subsequent moan. “That really is good.”

“I’m going to murder you,” I whisper against his ear, clasping my hand over his wandering one.

He clutches my chin, silencing me with a quick cherry-cheese kiss that ends with a groaning nibble, showering tingles down my spine and arms and heaving chest. “Thanks, baby girl. That is an excellent point.”

The homicidal edge to Liam’s face as he turns back to Dustin is rendering me dizzy.

He stretches across the table so that he’s effectively devouring the space between my date and him, and my heart thrashes violently in my dry throat. “Here’s the really important part in this approach,” he grits out. “If you share one single detail regarding this evening, utter anything other than glowing praise about my girl, or come within one hundred miles of her, even on your campaign trail, I’ll cut out your bigoted tongue and shove it down your throat so you choke, vomit, and piss yourself through a slow bleed-out to your death.”

What. The. Fuck?

Dustin is frozen, whole body shuddering. If he was doubtful regarding the ferocious intent that the man across from him was conveying moments ago, it’s sinking in now.

Liam picks up my wine, swishing it around, so I rip it away from him and down the rest in a desperate attempt to quell my sizzling nerves.

He laughs. “I’ll get you more, Ace. Anything you want.” Angling his head to Dustin, who still hasn’t moved, Liam croons, “Better get going,” as he presses a timer on his watch. “I’ll give you two hours to adhere to the mileage restraint. Don’t let me catch you.”

Dustin rises on shaky legs, his button-up dress shirt positively sweat-soaked. He says nothing, but Liam holds up a hand, suspending him in place.

“One more thing, Dusty. When you report back to Mr. Carver, you’re to tell him that Celeste was perfect. The vision of sophistication and class. Far too good for you. So phenomenal that you’d feel like a worthless piece of shit on her arm. Got it?”

Dustin nods frantically.

“I’ll know,” Liam trills with a dismissing flick of his wrist, and Dustin runs.

Holy. Shit.

It takes me several long beats to find my bearings. Liam finishes off my dessert while I bask in the silence, my emotions steadily climbing to an alarming peak.

“What the hell was that?” I ask through clenched teeth.

The din of fellow patrons chattering, dishes clanking, fans buzzing, and my own blood pulsating against my eardrums whir around my head.

He scans me, a deep inspection of my facial features and body language, making me feel naked. “That was a very thorough covering of all our bases while handling a bigoted asshole, Carver.”

So many aspects of that statement jump out at me, as well as the various other things he said during that entire debacle.

Ourbases. Bigoted asshole. My girl. Make her come so hard.

Is he screwing with me?

My pupils are surely blown with fury. “Were you listening to my date?”

“I was here for security,” he replies plainly.

“That’s not an answer,” I snap. “And yet it is.” I push my chair back, gather my purse, and rise in the most inconspicuous way I can despite the steaming, white-hot rage inside me, itching to billow out and engulf this vastly occupied restaurant.

Liam tosses several bills on the table, grabs my wineglass and my hand, and stands to cement me in place as he gestures with the glass to the waiter. “What is your concern, Ace? That I heard that revolting conversation and reacted?”

“Your gratuitous violation of my privacy is just the tip of the damn iceberg, Liam, but I’m not discussing this in a room full of people.”

I strut toward Rex, but Liam jerks me back, swinging me in another direction. His arm curls around my waist, guiding me in silence into a deserted section, empty tables sitting lonely in the dark. The golden cast of the mood chandeliers trickles in from the inhabited area we vacated. Ambient light distorting everything.

“Give it to me,” he says, perching his shoulder against the wall in a calm-and-collected no-worries lean, like he didn’t just threaten to cut out my detestable date’s tongue.

My hand comes up to my forehead as I gesture with the other to the location of the chilling browbeating. “I was handling myself fine. And what you did … that was not okay, so far from the land of what normal people deem okay.”

He tilts his head, studying me again while his hand scratches at his golden stubble. “Would you have preferred I killed him? That was plan A. I went with plan B because I thought you’d be pissed, and it would’ve taken up a lot more of our night.”

Oh my God. I don’t think he’s joking.

This is the shit that Ivy alludes to with her black-market men. It’s wholly different to witness the wickedness for myself. My game strategy doesn’t seem to apply here.

Never let them see.I’m way beyond that.

Always keep them guessing.Hands down, he stole the show in that arena tonight.

Play their game.I have no idea what an appropriate follow-up move is to a confession that he didn’t kill my date as a favor to me.

“Who do think you are?” I mutter.

“I’m that guy.” He throws a thumb back toward our abandoned table. “And the one in front of you. And the one you nearly fucked behind the barn. I know exactly who I am. You know why that is, Carver? Because I’m always me. Unlike you, who has a different persona for every fucking person in your life. You’re like a goddamn chameleon. Any idea what your real color is, Ace?”

That stings because it’s partly true. I’m rarely myself, which makes the real me an apparition I can barely make out. But it hurts mostly because those words had a punch to them. He still despises me. After he told me he saw me, I thought maybe there was something more happening. Although, he did screw with me after that—getting me heated enough to show how much I wanted him, only to mock me. I twisted it to be playful jabbing, bridging our animosity to … dammit. I knew my heart was getting involved.

“I can’t do this with you,” I whisper.

He barks a strained chuckle, arms spread wide to bracket me. “Really? What exactly are we doing? Why don’t you explain it, so I know what you can’t do?”

My hand flies up to my chest, trying to slow my racing heart and the avalanche of thoughts that are about to plummet out of my mouth to a rocky demise. “I don’t know. I’m such an idiot.” In an effort to release some of this pent-up energy, I start pacing in front of him, arms flailing everywhere. “I was drawn to you. God only knows why because you decided who I was before we ever spoke—through no justification, I might add. Maybe that’s what you’re trained to do—view people’s worth by a flimsy paper description. Like a life’s value can be captured in a résumé. In fact, that makes you no different than these plastic guys who want me for votes.”

I plant my feet, glancing up at his astonished gaze. Maybe freaking out is keeping him guessing. Great, not all is lost. “Except at least they’re up-front about why they want me. You just want to mess with my head.”

And my heart.

“Carver.”

He’s staring at me as though I’m deranged, which is hilarious on so many levels since I’m fairly certain the man has ripped out his fair share of tongues and other organs. But, yeah, I’m totally unhinged.

The waiter appears with a fresh glass of wine—that must have been what Liam was signaling to him back at the table. I snatch it from him, hold up my index finger for him to wait, chug the contents, and hand the empty back. He’s about my age, and pity lines his features as he rolls his lips in before scurrying away.

I’m falling apart.

My pacing resumes. Looking into Liam’s muddy-green hazels is too painful, but I need to lay this all out so we can be done. “You told me I made the wrong move, stepping away from you in that elevator, and I was worried I had. Actually, no. I hoped I had. I wanted so badly to be wrong. Even though this can never happen.”

I twist to look at him now because I need to be transparent—for both our sakes. “You can’t be my endgame, and I’m done with one-night trysts with cocky fuckboys.” The words, the truth, stab me in the gut, tears pricking the back of my eyes. “This was such a waste of time. God, what is wrong with me?”

“Come here, Ace.” He grips my elbow, pulling me flush against him, his other arm fastening around my lower back. “I’m sorry. That guy was such a dick. I was pissed and … jealous. So fucking jealous. Let’s start over.” His knuckles graze the column of my throat, so gingerly that my body trembles in his embrace. “Don’t be mad.”

It’s a plea and a demand in one. A dagger.

“I’m not mad.” I don’t think there’s a word for what I am.

“No?” He smiles so big that his dimple heckles me as he glides his hand to the nape of my neck and presses his lips to my forehead. “Your eyes look cold as fuck, baby.”

Still calling me baby, even here. Alone in the shadows.

Even through the shock and anger, my heart is still cracking because I can’t have him.

Maybe I am the insane one.

Or I’m just confused, regretful about my path. Liam was a way out, and I foolishly believed maybe there’d be a chance for something real for me here. I romanticized Ivy’s life—those four complicated men as her family, all fierce and doting on her. And getting Liam’s attention was hard-earned, a challenge. I love challenges. That’s all this was—a Hail Mary pass out of my responsibilities. But he fumbled it. And I can see more clearly now. Playing with him will only lead to unfathomable heartbreak.

“No.” I shake my head and untangle myself from him, inwardly reeling from the loss of his warmth. “I’m indifferent and apologetic. This is on me. I asked you to prove it when there was nothing that you could have done to change the trajectory of my future. Dustin Barclay wouldn’t have been it, no matter what, so we’ll let the mess of this evening go. But one of them will be.”

He drags a hand down his face with a huff, glaring at me as though I’d kicked a puppy. “Why? Why sell yourself to one of those jackasses?” His voice sharpens into a searing bite. “Please, Celeste, explain it to me.”

Because Ben’s gone. This is all he wanted, and he didn’t get any of it. So much died with him. This is all everyone I love is asking of me. It keeps him alive somehow. So, I have to.

I don’t want to share any of that though, so I nail the coffin on this colossal mistake with the one response I’m certain will do it. “It’s the same as the answer to the question you’re always asking me. This is who I am. And that’s the life I want.”

His eyes glue to mine, so much flickering inside them. The color is so intricate and fascinating; it would take a lifetime to pick it apart. Darker rims, a brown starburst in one and some gold flecks in the other, glistering like sea glass. Obscured in a simple glance because that moldavite green reigns supreme at a distance. There’s so much more to him up close.

But it’s the somber disappointment reflected in them that’s eroding me, stripping my bones of the pride I grasp for. The reality I just revealed, lie or not, is both a disillusionment to his hopes and a vindication of his prejudice. His reckoning is as eviscerating as when my family judges me harshly.

No. For some reason, it’s worse.

A disarming decimation.

His phone starts beeping incessantly, breaking this trance that’s holding us both captive. A puff of angst and regret tumbles out of me as he checks the source.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. In a blink, he scoops me up like a toddler and bolts toward the door Rex is guarding. My heart sinks into my stomach, but the distress melts when he bellows, “Baby’s coming. Ivy’s water broke.”

He glances up at me and beams a thousand pinpricks of veneration and awe for the family he claims, and my throat constricts at the sight.

It’s such dramatic whiplash that my body sinks into his with a strange blanket of exhaustion, comprising both excitement and dejection.

Loss and gain.

“Why are you carrying me?” I ask as my security team rushes alongside us, Dante chuckling at me being carted out.

“No time to risk you digging your heels in, Ace,” Liam quips. Moments later, he stuffs me into the front seat of the G-Wagon, next to Arnold.

“Ivy’s in labor,” I explain as he stares back at me in bewilderment, which is only exacerbated when Liam swings open the driver’s door and drags Arnold out like he’s a crash-test dummy.

“I’m driving,” he announces to both Arnold and my bodyguards. Some objections from Rex ensue, but Liam bulldozes those. “I don’t give a fuck if you come, follow, or throw a goddamn party. I’m taking Celeste with me to see my family. Now.”

Rex climbs in the back seat while the other three tail us in my SUV. Liam drives like a Grand Prix professional on crack. It’s just the dose of adrenaline I need to keep the creeping numbness at bay.

When we barrel into the maternity hospital, it’s organized chaos at its finest, which is hilarious because Ivy is the only patient in this wing. Wells has the place locked down and under his command, a staff of ten nurses and doctors all dedicated to his Little Storm.

An uncanny dissociation washes over me as I watch all the guys bustle around her, pampering, spoiling, cherishing. I’ve never felt so happy for someone else and so wrecked at once. It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing I’m sixth or seventh on Ivy’s most cherished list. And I might never experience a fraction of the adoration encircling her every moment.

I’m not typically so self-absorbed, so I abhor myself for even allowing those thoughts to hatch. It must be the result of being depleted from a day ripe with sheer pandemonium. That’s all. Everything is as it should be.

Natasha joins me on the love seat in Ivy’s room, slipping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close in that motherly way. I love my parents. Before the harshness of loss cloaked them, their warmth was lavish and plentiful. It’s still there, only caged in an invisible box—that not even they can see—that keeps it from flowing freely. But Tom and Natasha have always been the steaming hot chocolate and fluffy down blanket that subdued the chill.

“They’re really something, aren’t they?” she says, admiring the scene unfolding before us.

“It’s baffling.” I laugh, ignoring the lump in my throat. “Transfixing. I can’t seem to look away.”

She nods, squeezing my shoulder. “Truly. Tom wished for his little girl to be loved beyond all comprehension, and somehow, it took flight and manifested in those four men.”

Her finger dabs at the corner of her eye. Natasha has shown more emotion in this past year than in all the time I’ve known her. Grief has a way of upending a soul.

“Tom always knew what was best,” I agree, the lump slowly inflating into a boulder. “When I hugged Ivy, she seemed in good spirits. Has she struggled at all?”

“She cried in the car, but the guys were able to calm her down.” She drops a jagged breath, calming her own anguish before she continues, “Wells becomes nearly as distraught about Tom, especially when Ivy breaks, so Ty and Gage took over. And now that Liam’s here, I think she’ll be okay. Wells is her rock, but she relies on them all.”

“They really do take care of her,” I say with a quaver.

Natasha’s hand comes up to my hair, smoothing it over the slicked strands. “So do you, Celeste. She needs you, too, just as much as she always has.”

I suck in a breath to steady myself, realizing how much of my identity, my self-worth, has rested on that very belief—that I’m someone Ivy needs, just as I am. “I know that.”

“It’s lonely for me too,” she confesses, her hands toiling, as they tend to do when she thinks of Tom. “Nursing your own grief or heartache doesn’t negate the joy you feel for another’s blessings. You can love Ivy, miss your brother, and struggle with the particulars of your situation, all at the same time.”

That simple sentiment frees the tears I’ve been caging for what feels like a lifetime, the boulder finally swelling to a mountain that refuses to be ignored.

I pull out my updo and dip my head so my hair curtains my sorrow-streaked face. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Of course,” she says. “Let’s go.” Keeping an arm braced around my shoulders, she ushers me out into the hall to another room. “Lie down in here, honey. Wells had all of these made up in case we should need to rest. It’s late, and these things take time.”

I don’t say anything, but simply unbuckle my heels and let Natasha tuck me into bed, like she did so many times years ago when mine felt anything but warm.

A hand strokes my hair, fingertips grazing my forehead. “Hey, Lettie. Wake up.”

My eyes spring open to see Ty staring down at me with the tenderest expression. “Hi.” I pop up, wiping the sleep from my lids. “Ivy?”

“Yeah.” A smile blasts across his face, brown eyes creasing. Unadulterated joy. “There’s a new little girl you need to meet.”

“It’s a girl.” My hand shoots up to my mouth as I choke back the tremulous emotion. “Shit. I should’ve had Rex take me to get my camera.”

He chuckles with a gratified, “Got it,” as he lifts my camera bag from the floor.

I jump off the bed and throw my arms around his neck. “You really are the best, Ty. Thank you.”

He squeezes me back. “You make it easy.” Releasing me with a peck on my temple, he adds, “Go ahead. Go see your girls.”

Your girls. That’s what makes Ty so special. He sees the brokenness others miss and knows exactly how to mend it. In the simplest of gestures.

I sprint, with my camera in tow, to reach Ivy. She’s propped up between Wells’s legs in the bed, both embracing the angel in their arms. As much as I want to climb in there with them, I resist and instead capture a few shots. It’s too perfect to pass up—illuminated with heart and wholeness. An all-consuming intimacy.

After a few minutes, Ivy calls me over, impatient, a maternal glow radiating off her. “Felicity,” she says, her bottom lip quivering as she stares, awestruck, at her daughter and passes me the cooing bundle. “Meet your Aunt Lettie.”

I brush my finger over the baby’s teeny palm, so she coils her hand around it. I’ll be forever in the palm of her hand. She’s pink like Ivy but has darker blue eyes and a full head of Wells’s raven-black hair.

“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I avow.

Wells kisses Ivy’s mussed tresses, wrapping himself around her tighter. “Thanks to her mama.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “Felicity is the perfect name.”

“You think?” Ivy asks, tears brimming in her big cerulean eyes. “It’s Felicity Kingston Wells. She can add Cabrini or O’Reilly if she chooses to head one of the families.”

“Strong and feminine. Brilliant. And your dad would have loved the forethought,” I say, laughing. “Preparing for her takeover from day one.”

She giggles as the tears drip. “That’s what Wells said.”

Her hands wipe at her face in a frenzy. That’s one thing we have in common. Neither of us likes to cry in front of others.

“Lettie,” she whispers. “It’s Ben’s day.”

I know exactly where she’s going, and I can’t allow it. “Don’t you do that—make this about me or Ben. This is Felicity’s day. It belongs to her, to you, and your family.” I swallow and set a broad smile on her. “You know Ben would’ve taken this as a sign that you worshipped him anyway.”

She nods, a wistful grin tipping her lips. “I had that same thought. I just … I know today is hard.”

“Hard?” I kiss Felicity’s precious head, handing her back to Ivy and kissing her forehead too. “You’ve just transformed one of the hardest days into my favorite day ever, like only you can, bestie. Now, let me get some pictures of your beautiful family.”

Ty snaps a few with me and the new trio before I take some of Natasha with Felicity, and Natasha with Ivy, Wells, and the baby. Then, it’s on to the guys. The shoot turns into a full-blown ordeal because the new uncles argue over who gets to hold the baby, Wells hissing, “Jesus Christ,” and a slew of other expletives while Liam taunts him about language through it all.

After months in Europe, documenting The Many Faces of Affliction, which left me parched for hope and connection, this is a quenching. So much love and devotion in one frame—the brightest endearment I’ve ever had on the other end of my lens. Incongruous, considering the murky corruption all five rule over.

It brings to mind what Ivy said my first night here. She’s always been the wise one.

“I’d rather have a black-market king, who loves me with the untamable fury of Hell, than a devil who dresses in white, regards me below his career, and flashes his bewitching smile to hide his blackened soul.”

My gaze swings to Liam, doting over the priceless treasure of new life in his arms, twelve hours after he threatened to end one.

Black-market king or golden god. Either way, my only thought is, Me too.