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

CHAPTER THIRTY

LIAM

“She’s out,” I inform Gage right as Rex saunters toward us from the plane’s restroom.

“What the hell?” he gasps. “How long was I fucking in there?”

Yeah. That was to be expected. Celeste is out like a light, the limp and drooling kind. I wipe her chin with a cocktail napkin and ignore him for another beat. I’m not a fan of explaining myself, and I’m guessing he’s going to be hoping for a hefty explanation in the next few minutes.

Gage waves him off with a cursory, “She’s resting,” which surely won’t hold for more than a few seconds, but it affords us a breath.

We’re on our way to Colorado. Gage and Rex flew one of our jets from New Orleans to Ohio, and then from Ohio to Tennessee. Which is good because driving out west would’ve been a bitch.

We binge-watched Queen Charlotte, as promised—four episodes. It was better than expected, although still not really my thing. But my girl snuggled up to me for all of it, and I’d watch anything with her in my arms.

After dinner, we set out on our journey west. There’s a lot that could happen now that we’ve left the refuge of the safe house, so that’s what I’m attending to now. Celeste is none the wiser since I slipped a sedative into her champagne glass after we boarded. When Gage and I noticed her eyes getting heavy, we divided to conquer. He distracted Rex with some bullshit conversation until Rex eventually excused himself to the restroom.

But his gaping mouth and squinted eyes suggest he’s not buying the resting bit. “Someone had better start talking. What the hell is wrong with Cee?”

“Wrong isn’t the right word. She’s perfect. And I’m going to assure she always is.” I pin him with a stern glower as I sweep her hair over one shoulder. “Let’s not forget, you work for me. Since we both love this girl, I’ll ignore your curt tone. But I’m making decisions with her best interest at heart, and that’s all that matters. Understood?”

Gage arches a brow, arms crossed over his chest, eyes flitting between the two of us, clearly eager to see how this will play out.

Rex exhales, standing his ground. “When it comes to Cee, I won’t blindly follow orders. I didn’t do it with her father, and I won’t do it with you. If you want my cooperation, you’re gonna need to sell me on whatever the hell you’re doing.”

A dark chuckle falls from my lips as I straighten and grip Rex’s shoulder. “If anyone else had said that fucking shit to me, I’d probably have killed them. But I like how fierce you are for my girl, so I’ll go with it. Watch and see.”

I hold my hand out to Gage, who plops the tools I need into my palm—that was the gift he brought me, along with the books. After setting them on the seat beside her, I turn back to him. “Antiseptic and numbing cream?”

“Right here,” Gage says as he hands me the antiseptic wipe first.

Rex rubs his forehead with a huff. “Give me a damn explanation first.”

I compromise, cleansing an area on the back of Ace’s neck, just below her hairline, while answering. “She needs a tracker. I’m not asking her because I don’t have time to waste convincing her and I can’t risk her refusing one.” My eyes shoot to his as I drop the wipe on the armrest and hold my hand out to Gage for the numbing cream. “Whatever danger you’ve been protecting her from all these years just got exponentially worse. I need to know where she is at all times.”

He ambles away to his seat across the aisle while I massage the ointment into her skin. “You could’ve led with that. I just lost two men. I was terrified we might have lost her too. I’ve got no problem with you tracking her. In fact, I’d probably support locking her the fuck up.”

I like Rex more every day. He’s got his priorities straight.

Before I can respond, he adds, “You know what you’re doing though, right?”

That’s valid. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but Gage and I did some research, so I feel semi-confident.

I clear my throat, offering him a, “Sure,” to which Gage laughs and Rex starts sweating.

Lifting the tool to insert the tiny chip, I wink at him before I kneel over my girl and line it up. Her head is braced against the seat, and the plane is flying smoothly, so I swallow my nerves and utilize the same calm precision I exhibit in combat.

Pivot. Squeeze. Shoot.

It sinks into her skin with minimal bleeding, but Gage is right there with gauze anyway.

I dab the blood off, hold the gauze on it for a couple of seconds, and apply some wound sealant while Gage checks to see that the chip is connecting to our app. Once everything is in working order and the incision is barely detectable, I lift Celeste into my arms, tell the guys to wake us when we land or when the flight crew gets in a tizzy about us not being strapped down, and cart her off to the bedroom so she really can rest.

My phone alarm went off about fifteen minutes ago. A knock will rap on the bedroom door any minute to let me know we’re landing soon. We’ll need to buckle in. I’ve been trying to nudge Celeste awake. The sedative should be working its way through her system by now, but it is the middle of the night. I’m sure she’s exhausted. Executing this under the cover of darkness is the best strategy though.

Those big brown beauties flutter open to me at last. “Hi,” she croaks in a sultry rasp.

Her morning voice gets my cock hard every time, but unfortunately, we’re in a bit of a rush.

Later.

I dust my thumb over her cheek. Fuck, she’s pretty. “Morning, baby girl. How ya feeling?”

“Hungover.” She strokes her head as her eyebrows pinch. “How much champagne did I drink?”

I drag her body closer to me, wrapping myself around her like a straitjacket. “Only a glass or two, but it had been an emotionally exhausting day. It probably just hit you.”

She nestles her head into the crook of my shoulder. “Maybe.” Wiggling her arm free, she coasts her hand up to the back of her neck, rubbing beneath her hair. “Did I hit my head? I feel a cut or something back here.”

“Let me see.” I brush her hair out of the way and roll her toward me, inspecting the wound. It’s already healing nicely, thanks to the sealant. “There’s a small scratch. Nothing to worry about.”

She glances down at her nails, noting a bit of dried blood on the inside of her manicured index finger. “Oh. I must have scratched myself when I was sleeping.”

It’s all about the details. I rubbed a bit of the blood from the gauze on her nail as I was putting her to bed. There are always less questions when people draw their own conclusions.

And, no, I don’t feel fucking guilty in the least.

Her safety is my top priority. If—when—she pieces things together, I’ll deal with her wrath. But honestly, how shocked could she be?

I’ve made her come in public multiple times. Threatened one of her dates and covered up the murder of another. Tied her up and railed her with her father on the goddamn phone. Fucked her with us both covered in blood and brains. And I’ve made it clear that every inch of her magnificent body belongs to me.

If she’s surprised or outraged, it’s because she’s neglected to pay attention and heed my warnings.

That’s not on me.

“We need to get up and get going,” I say, stringing my fingers through her hair. “Hopefully, we can get this done before daybreak.”

“Yeah. Quick. I’d like it if it was over quickly.” She glances up at me. Her face is all sleepy and groggy, eyes heavily lidded, mouth pouty. “What will we do if we find it?”

I cradle her head, pressing my lips to hers for a soft kiss before scooping her up and setting her on the edge of the bed so I can zip her up in one of my hoodies and put her shoes on. “We’re going to see your parents afterward.”

She freezes, her whole body instantly rigid, which I anticipated. “My parents. Why?”

Hmm. So many reasons. Which one should I share? Let’s go with the most honorable.

“You need to fix things with them,” I tell her as I finish tying her shoe and stand up, reaching for her. “I can’t have you grieving the family you love on top of everything else.”

Her breath hitches as she clutches my hand. “And you’re coming with me … you’re coming to help me smooth things over with them?”

“Yes, Ace. You and me—we’re a team now. Of course I’m coming.” With that, I tug the stunned, speechless beauty out to our seats and buckle her in.

She grabs her purse and freshens up while I settle in beside her.

Twenty minutes later, we’re touching down. We called ahead and ordered a car, so we head straight to the park behind the restaurant. It’s a little Italian eatery on the outskirts of Denver. Despite the city address, there’s a fair amount of trees in the quaint little park behind it. There’s even a small stream. The water doesn’t appear very deep, but it probably provides a charming aesthetic in the daylight.

Celeste is stuck, face smashed against the restaurant window, hand cupped above her eyes while the other shines a flashlight into the dining area. “Checkered tablecloths,” she mutters.

“What about them, baby?”

She answers, but won’t peel her gaze away from the tables she’s clearly fascinated by. “Ben.” A tear rolls down her cheek as she tries to explain. “He used to take me to this little Italian place after we hiked. My mother knows all the old Italian recipes, but she hates to cook and only frequents more upscale establishments now. When I was little, she’d make these fried dough rolls every Saturday night. Some had cheese inside. Some had peppers. Some were sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar—they were my favorite. But then she stopped and only made them at Christmas. So, Ben would take me to this little mom-and-pop restaurant that served rolls just like my mom made. Marinos—it had red-and-white checkered tablecloths and cheese and pepper flakes shakers on the table.”

She finally pulls herself away from the glass and points, her face soaked with her spilling grief. “Like that.”

Fuck, my girl’s a mess.

She rarely falls apart like this. So freely. Maybe that sedative is still working in her system and has her inhibitions low.

After I validate her observation with a careful once-over, I sweep her into my arms as Gage and Rex look on in concern. “Confirmation we’re in the right place, Ace.” My lips move against her hair, cashmere, wildflowers, and honeysuckle instantly curling around me. “I know this is hard. I’ve got you. But we need to work quickly to get through it before sunup, okay?”

She nods through a muffled sob, and I can feel her chin quivering against my chest. But my strong girl inhales a deep breath of courage and rolls her shoulders back. Ordinarily, I’d be pissed that she’s putting her mask on, but at present, it’s probably the best way to sail through this.

There are a good twenty-five or thirty stepping stones across the narrow stream, and they aren’t exactly in a straight line. Celeste surmised it would be the third, but that’s not an abundantly clear choice.

“Which fucking side do we count from?” Gage barks, scanning the area with his headlamp.

“My thought too—”

“Over there,” Celeste directs, cutting me off. Her face is all game-on now; she’s in the zone.

“How do you know for sure, Cee?” Rex asks, gun out and already crossing the water to get to the area she designated.

“Three reasons,” she says. “We always went to eat afterward, so Ben wouldn’t have had me counting from the restaurant; he would’ve had me counting toward it. The third rock over here is in the water. You can’t bury things in wet ground. The last several stones across the way are on dry ground. And that first big rock over there by the gazebo is spray-painted white.”

I had my concerns about the water when I saw the satellite image but hoped there’d be a clarifying detail when we arrived. Looks like she unveiled it easily. Watching her work through this is fascinating. It makes me wonder what thought process her mind filtered through when she electrocuted the Filmore bastard in the bathroom. She may have been raised to clutch her pearls, but the woman thinks like she’s gripping a knife. So calculated.

“Why the fuck does it matter if it’s white?” Gage asks the question I was wondering with more curiosity than irritation. He’s really gone soft for her.

Ivy worked her magic, and now, the Big Guy is putty in the hands of my three favorite girls—Felicity’s may be tiny, but I think hers are the mightiest.

Celeste hops across the stones, gracefully scaling each one with dainty steps. “White always goes first.” When we don’t respond, she steps onto the mounded ground on the other side and turns to face us. “Chess. Carvers always strategize life like a chess game.”

Interesting. That certainly explains a lot.

I bob my head as I join her on the grassy bank. “You might be a chess pro, but I’m still sticking with Ace for your nickname.”

She smiles at that, although it’s fleeting. Something has her entire body breaking into a shiver, and it doesn’t appear to be the chilly air. “It’s a little like a graveyard out here, don’t you think? The dark. The way the rocks look like gravestones with the moonlight bouncing off them. The eerie sound of the water cutting through the silence. I mean, there are city sounds in the background, but it’s more like an echo.” Her arms cross over her chest. “A haunting. I know we’re about to dig up a book, but it feels like I’m unearthing my brother … and someone doesn’t want us to.”

Her smooth voice throwing that out into the stillness is twisted and creepy as fuck, but I brush it off. We already know several someones don’t want us to unearth this, and we’re on top of it. Her mental state, on the other hand, is a far bigger concern.

My life has been full of eerie moments, so I suppose I take for granted how sheltered she’s been—or was before the last couple of months—even though that was a source of my hang-up for so long. She may have known pain, but until she killed Filmore, she didn’t know that desperate chill that burrows into your bones from never-turning-back moments. The kind of decisions that chip away at your soul. The kind of lies you live simply for self-preservation. She will—far beyond her brief introduction to taking a life. Her connection to Ivy might have been enough to clinch that. But now that she’s mine—and thus KORT’s—that shiver will always be a heartbeat away.

I could hate myself for claiming her and stealing her peace and freedom, but my girl was part of this world whether she realized it or not and facing a far greater prison in the one she was being pushed toward. This night and the life she took are proof of that—all stemming from political bullshit.

At least with me, she’ll be protected. Captive to this life and its risks. But sometimes, boundaries are the reason we’re free. I’ll light a ring of fire around her, let her shine within the flames, and burn any motherfucker who tries to cross it.

Gage drops our duffel of supplies with a thud. “Don’t be scared, Celeste. We’re heavily armed, and I got no qualms about terminating a fucking ghost.” He crouches down, unzips the bag, and tosses the tools we’ll need onto the ground. “And don’t think of it as morbid. Think of it as a gift. You get another moment with your brother. Most people would do anything for that.”

“Wisdom from the Big Guy.” I chuckle, stooping beside him, digging through the bag, and passing Celeste some gloves. “He’s right though, baby girl. Ben could’ve put this book anywhere. A safe-deposit box would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. This is all for you.”

Rex slips his arm around her shoulders while still scanning the area. He’s our lookout. “Ben did always go to a lot of trouble for you.”

“You’re right,” she utters, resigned with a sharpness to her tone. “So, let’s play. Maybe this is the move when I get promoted to queen.”

That statement seems like it holds a deeper meaning. I’m assuming it’s about the chess stratagem her family holds. But she’s heading toward one of the stepping stones, so I’ll revisit that later. She struts right up to the one she deems the third. They’re bunched together, leading to both a small gazebo and some benches in a different direction, so the order wouldn’t have been clear-cut without that white spray paint.

The guys and I wordlessly move into action. The stones are large, awkward, and heavy, so naturally, Gage tosses that motherfucker like it’s a sack of potatoes. Once it’s out of the way, my shovel sinks into the soft ground with ease. We work in silence. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m with Celeste on the unearthing-her-brother feeling. This park gives the illusion of phantom spirits lurking.

The quiet has my thoughts spinning round and round about how valid this corruption will be after nearly eight fucking years, until my shovel jolts to a stop and a tinny ping blares out into the night. “I’ve got something.”

Rex continues keeping watch, but Gage kneels on all fours, his light streaming into the hole as his hands swipe the dirt away. And Celeste is squatted right there with him, eager as hell to get her fingers on whatever treasure her big brother left her.

It takes a few more minutes of wiggling the rectangular metal case out, but Gage finally emerges with it, passing it directly to Celeste.

She falls back on her luscious ass, straightens her legs out, and dusts her palms over the box, like it’s something precious. I drop down beside her but let her have her moment. The night is cloaking her face so I can’t read her expression. I hate not knowing where her head is at.

The latch unclasps easily, a small creak hushing us as she lifts the hinged lid. There’s a folded paper on top—sealed inside a clear bag—that she selects first. I steady my light on it so she can use both hands to pull it out and hold it.

And I read over her shoulder.

You did it, squirt. I knew you would, but that also means you may be in trouble. I had truly hoped that this would never touch you, which is why I didn’t spell it out for you—plausible deniability. But here you are. Regardless of what you’ve encountered and with whom, there’s enough ammo inside to protect yourself. But guard it too. Remember, overly aggressive moves can always backfire. This is the time for Ruy Lopez.

I’m short on time, so I can’t offer much more. I’m so sorry things turned out this way. I did the best I could to protect you from all of this, but I trust you’ll know best how to handle it.

Without question, you’re my favorite girl. Love you always.

Oh, and every cache has a prize. You do you.

I might not be able to see her face, but her trembling shoulders, the letter shaking in her grip, and her quiet sobs are enough.

Pulling her closer to me, I probe because some of that letter is fucking confusing. “Ruy Lopez?”

“It’s a chess opening.” She sniffs and swipes at her cheeks, collecting her tears with her gloves. “Aggressive, but not overly risky. It controls the center of the board and sets you up to attack. He’s telling me to be strategic, to take my time and put all the pieces in place before I use the information. Or maybe decide not to.”

He might not have been able to save himself, but he did one hell of a job in carefully setting Celeste up—her name isn’t on anything, and while the chess reference could be decoded, he essentially gave her instructions in shorthand.

After she folds the letter and slides it into her bra, she plucks out a chess piece, her thumb grazing over the intricacies. “A queen.” She giggles under her breath, uncurling a note tied to it.

You were always meant to be queen, squirt. Don’t let anyone treat you as their pawn.

“Your brother was a smart man,” I observe.

“He was the best,” she whispers, tucking the queen into her pocket before removing the black book and immediately flipping through it.

There’s a lot of information; it’s thick, and from what I can tell, every page is filled. As much as I want to scour every fucking name and violation within it, we don’t have time for that.

I kiss her temple and take the book from her, enclosing it in the metal box again. “You did so good, baby girl. Let’s look at this on the plane though. We have to get out of here.”

Gage inspected the hole and began refilling it while Celeste and I were exploring the contents of the box, so I place the box inside the duffel and move to help him.

We all work quickly to pack up and get going, like thieves in the night who were never detected. But that book feels like a ticking bomb, so before the wheels are even up on the plane, Celeste, Gage, and I are all gathered around it.

Rex wisely excuses himself. This isn’t his clearance level, and the information would only serve to put his life at risk. He hasn’t been tried by KORT, so his mere presence on this venture could be contentious. But I don’t plan to share the details of our excavation, so he should be good.

“Fucking hell,” Gage gasps as we peruse name after name that we’re familiar with.

Some are, of course, indiscretions of politicians no longer in office or no longer alive, but some of this shit could be the damnation of those at the height of their careers. This corrupt judge clearly had his nose in everything and was meticulous about detailing any impropriety he could possibly use to his advantage.

“Ivy is going to fucking lose it.” I chuckle. “High Society will be bringing down the house.”

Celeste nods along and snickers at that but otherwise stays silent. I’m guessing she recognizes some of the names as associates her grandfather hobnobs with, perhaps her parents too. They might not hold much importance to her though.

I turn the page, tapping on an especially interesting tidbit. “Shit. Fucking Vargas.”

Gage bellows a laugh. Since Vargas is our primary FBI contact, we know he’s dirty. Hell, his relations with us alone could send him away for life. But there’s some hefty transgressions listed here. He should thank his lucky stars that he’s our guy because we could easily decimate him with this.

But he’s not the only agent from the bureau or the CIA listed here.

“This is like fucking gold,” Gage hisses, rattling off a handful of agents we’re familiar with for various reasons. “Armstrong, Glines, Mason, Stewart, and motherfucking Cole. That asshole. Racketeering, extortion, and he fucking framed his mistress’s husband. Christ.” He whoops, wiping giddy tears from his eyes, like he just set his sights on the mother lode. “Forget jail time. Doubtful Maryann knows about this shit. She’d fucking murder him.”

We make it our business to know those who could come after us and those who choose to aid us—whether it be for our erasing business or KORT affairs—inside and out. We have files on every-fucking-one. Their families, their hobbies, their health habits, their side deals.

Don’t buy into the saintly posturing most of those guys hold themselves with. It’s generally a cheap-ass veneer. People are rarely squeaky clean. The higher the classification, the larger the shadow to hide behind. And sordid things happen in the shadows. So, if there’s any chance they could turn on us, we gather all we can on them. But it’s rare to have things so damaging laid bare.

These aren’t bargaining chips. These are fucking death warrants.

For those we’re in bed with, they just won the damn lottery.

We keep flipping through, some pages more shocking than others—most especially one nailing Jensen, the politician Ivy hates, to the wall. She’ll be over the moon about that. It certainly explains why he hired the Skulls to hunt this down.

But none catches my attention like the one my finger is currently grazing. “The Noires. Jesus,” I breathe. “Axel.”

Gage drags a hand down his face, clearly as stunned as I am. “Holy shit. There’s no way he fucking knows that.”

The information continues on the following page. It’s all a confounding mess I can’t fully process.

“He alluded to some of this. I mean, we knew his parents died in a fire and about Balzano’s involvement with his mom, although not to this degree, not this shit—”

Celeste’s gasp cuts me short, followed up by a wounded bleat of, “Fuck me.”

We both turn to study her. The reaction seems too much, even considering what’s before us regarding the Noires. All the color has drained from her face as her nail pecks the bottom of the page.

“This is what Ben died for,” is all she manages, so I focus on what she’s reading.

During a water main breakage in Rosebud Township, Pennsylvania, a body was found in a Carver Homes development. Police Chief Gerald Hoagland contacted me to fulfill his debt on case 4295. After concluding that Frank Carver—in compliance with the secret society The Order—uses his construction sites for burial grounds, Hoagland performed a private DNA test to determine the victim’s identity.

It is suspected that the deceased is a missing member of the Chicago O’Reilly family, but as of this initial entry, the results are still pending. The involvement of the O’Reilly Mafia immediately catapults this into a grievous offense, one which carries the likelihood of war should this be revealed. There is also reason to believe this affects the newer underground organization, KORT, as Daniel O’Reilly is suspected to be one of the founding members. Investigations are ongoing to uncover details regarding the validity of KORT’s existence.

Celeste shakily turns the page to see if there’s more, alerting us there is when her hand slaps over her mouth, muffling a shriek.

Update: The victim’s identity was confirmed to be Eleanor Healy, the missing fiancée of Daniel O’Reilly.

There’s no way Frank or Ben or anyone else could have known, but it looks like Celeste’s dad covered up the murder of Ivy’s birth mom—Eleanor Healy.