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

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CELESTE

My stomach has leaped into my throat, my old familiar mantra of never let them see berating me. Because I’m untethered. I have been, in one way or another, for a while now. And I seem to be failing miserably at concealing it.

I think I’ve done a pretty good job of rolling with the punches—attacked and kidnapped and targeted. Family rifts and the loss of men I cherish. I’ve kept it together, considering. Not like a master chess player because God knows I’m running low on tactical moves. But keeping myself from crumpling to a heap on the floor. Check.

Like a damn ballerina twirling in an earthquake.

But this … we all have our breaking point. And this is …

“Why the fuck would he have left this for you instead of your dad?” Gage barks, interrupting my downward spiral.

There’s a mixture of bewilderment and possession swirling inside his inquiry, and my heart swells with the realization that Gage feels protective—not merely over my physical safety. This is about my mental well-being too.

But it’s evident by that snarled criticism that he thinks Ben handled this wrong, put me in danger by giving me this information. It does essentially make me a guilty party in my father’s dealings—now that I’m fully aware of his nefarious conduct and sitting on the information. And Ben couldn’t have known that I’d be protected by men who could obliterate any monsters who pursued me.

I suppose the suspicion is valid, although still wrong. Ben’s thought process is as clear to me as my own.

“He was protecting me.” My fingers brush against the page. Ben’s probably did the same. “He saw our father named, and instead of keeping his head down and staying on the straight and narrow so he could chase his aspirations and rule the country, he risked his life for our family.”

And lost it.

“Ben’s mindset was always several moves ahead,” I explain. “If he’d have given this information to my father, my dad may have destroyed it to save himself, but no one would have trusted that it was destroyed, so the search for it wouldn’t have ceased and my family would’ve still been in danger. Frank Carver is known as ruthless in the seedy underworld—that much I became aware of in my snooping last summer. I guess I understand why now.”

I press my hand into my pounding head, thumb and index hooking on to my temples, like I’m trying to squeeze all these revelations away. “Anyway, no one would have believed he had the book and didn’t dangle it as blackmail over every deviant cited, wielding it for his own advantage. So, if he didn’t have it to use, he would be safe. And I was so young, Ben surely assumed that no one would suspect me—other than Easton, whom he trusted. Although Ben obviously didn’t trust him with this, so me having it is simply speculation on Easton’s part.”

“That motherfucker—”

“And in case someone did suspect me,” I break through the rant Liam’s beginning, not wanting to talk about that lowlife, especially with him, “Ben preserved the information, so I could protect myself. He could have ripped out this entry about my father, but I’m guessing he thought it was important that I knew what my dad was involved with. It’s completely my brother—well planned but edgy. Maybe it’s not perfect. But he accomplished a lot with little time.”

My defensiveness quiets them, or maybe it’s the gravity of my loss bleeding through those words because I am all too aware of the sacrifice my brother made and the evil bastards who stole him from me. Either way, the halt in conversation illuminates the fact that no one has mentioned the tidbit about Eleanor Healy. It makes my insides recoil. And I was already so nauseated. Maybe it was motion sickness. I’ve been queasy since I woke up in Colorado.

Did my dad put two and two together last year when he discovered who Ivy was? Is that one of the reasons he’s been so weird about me being with them? Is it the danger that surrounds them or his secret?

Maybe both.

“Ivy?” It’s all I manage to utter, but all that’s needed. Liam knows exactly what I’m asking.

“There’s no way to keep it from her.” He rubs my arm, soothing, but I don’t feel soothed. I feel hot. And trapped. And cornered.

“We could … not give her the book,” I suggest. I’m not sure that’s even what I want to do. I’ve never kept anything from Ivy. That’s not who we are. But everything is moving so fast, and I need to slow it down.

“Not an option, Ace.”

One sentence. Four words.

And that heated cage I was in quakes and bursts, bathing me in a venomous fury. How dare he.

“Actually, it is,” I bite out. “That’s my book. From my brother. I get to decide how to handle it.”

“Wrong again,” Gage snipes.

These motherfuckers. This is my family—my father’s life. I need to figure this out. I need time to process. What I do not need is their my-way-or-the-highway domineering bullshit.

My head whips toward them both, eyes glaring every bit of pent-up rage for the fucked-up fate I seem to be twisted inside.

Before I can respond to Gage, Liam clasps my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Don’t go getting riled up, Carver. I see you. That fierce loyalty I love so much is ready to erupt all over us. But we’re in this together, remember? You’re one of us, so the book belongs to our family. We’ll all decide together what that means. A family meeting—that’s how we do things. You know that. You’ve been there.”

His thumb sweeps back and forth over my skin while his face has an earnestness that tells me he is every bit aware of how cornered, explosive, and wounded I feel. He’s handling me. “The information will be used for the business you want to be a part of. We’ll sort out the issues regarding Ivy’s birth mom. She won’t freak out or blame your father—that’s not her. She loves you too much to blow this open. And she knows what goes on, knows what your father does. This isn’t a big deal.”

Maybe it’s not a big deal, but it feels like it is. And even if it isn’t to Ivy, it is to her birth father and the family she runs. What if O’Reilly wants vengeance?

Gage’s gruff tenor booms around us, lacking the same suave handling Liam proffered. “People are trying to fucking kill you for this book, Celeste. Do you get that?” He huffs, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “I swear to Christ, you girls think you’re invincible. We have to announce that we have it—to KORT, to everyone who’s after it—so you aren’t the target. Liam’s right about the family meeting. We’ll discuss what that looks like. But the logistics are the only goddamn discussion.”

While I know that comes from a place of love and his reasoning makes sense, it still isn’t cut and dry for me. Letting that book out of my sight is a precarious choice—a choice I make against my father. When I’ve already felt like I’ve failed my parents over and over the past few months. And now, it’s worse. It’s Ben. I can’t let him down. He died to cover up my father’s transgressions.

How the hell did that even become my father’s career? I know none of the positions are what one would consider honorable, but this? Tom was The Order’s ticket to medicine. To extending lives. Maybe they were the lives of people who had done despicable things, but he was saving someone all the same.

My father is the mortician.

He might not be the Grim Reaper himself, but he’s his right-hand man.

Does my mother know? Really know?

Whether she does or doesn’t is irrelevant. No matter how I feel about my father’s profession, I won’t let anything happen to my parents. Maybe I could simply destroy that part of the book. We can tell Ivy. I’ll deal with whatever repercussions come with that. But I can’t allow that evidence to get out.

I don’t have the energy to argue about any of this though, so I’ll bide my time until I’m clear on what I want to do.

After excusing myself to the plane’s en suite, I wash up and change—so I don’t look like I’ve been on a midnight heist when my parents see me—and return to my seat. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes to all of it, listening to the soothing rhythm of Liam snicking his Zippo open and shut over and over again.

I meant what I said to him the other day. I love him. So much. And I want the big family of misfits living in that grand French chateau together. I want it all—the chaos and the laughter. All of us raising kids together. Family meetings and game nights and meals with nonstop banter. It’s worth the risks.

My head is still a mess of indecision though. I want to be good to all the people I love. That’s what Ben would want. It’s what I’ve always strived to do. But I’ve never felt a greater weight.

The weight of it all doesn’t lessen when the plane touches down. Or when we climb into the car. Or when Liam force-feeds me lunch. And certainly not when he opens the door, guides me out onto the brick driveway, and tugs me up the walkway to my front porch.

And certainly not when my mother answers instead of our housekeeper.

She’s stunning, as always.

Her dark hair falls around her heart-shaped face in large, soft curls. Her olive skin shines, untouched by time. And her chocolate eyes shimmer, like they hold secrets that she’s confident everyone wishes they knew.

There’s a reason Ava Fiore crawled out from nothing and landed Frank Carver—the son of a beloved senator, brother of a war hero, millionaire home-developer mogul. Or cemetery designer. Depending on how you look at it.

She’s smart. Confident. Cunning. About as pretty as they come.

And I’ve never seen her answer her own door.

She lurches for me in an uncharacteristic, dramatic move, tugging me into her embrace as she boldly instructs the men, “Go on inside, gentlemen.”

Rex and Gage do, but Liam remains stubbornly by my side. My mother stiffens when she realizes, no doubt irritated that Liam deems himself above her order.

This should be fun. Smooth.

In truth, him remaining by my side makes me feel proud. And I think if my mother thought about it, she’d feel the same. Maybe it isn’t the path she hoped I’d take, but how could anyone not celebrate the fact that I have a man who wants nothing more than for me to be me and refuses to leave my side? And not because it’s an expectation he needs to fulfill, but because he loves me too much to walk away.

Regardless of the shitstorm that is my current situation, I can’t be mad at that. In fact, I’m downright giddy at the sight, giggling to myself—which is admittedly an odd reaction, but I’m spent. Liam catches my gaze and winks. He gets me. I’m not sure my mother appreciates the beauty of the moment like we do though.

When she pulls back, her eyes are glistening, roving all over my face and body, hand caressing my cheek, like she needs to verify that I’m in one piece. “You look tired. A little thin too, but not hurt. I’ve been worried sick, Cee.”

My shoulders roll back, chin held high as she releases me. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Rex and Gage told me they assured you I was fine. I am tired. Jet-lagged. But I’ve been working out with Gage, so I’m actually stronger.”

She hums lightly, dismissing my rebuttal for whatever reason and turning toward the door as Liam wisely opens it for us. I can’t breathe. But her scrutiny is nothing compared to the stony glare of my father, who is waiting in the foyer. He sweeps me into a hug, swallowing me inside his sturdy arms.

He seemed mad upon my first glimpse of him, but the hug feels pained, as does the stilted exhale that follows. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

I crane my neck to see regret washing over him. “For what?”

He shakes his head, refusing to answer, and gives me one last squeeze.

When he lets me go, Liam steps forward, one hand gliding over the small of my back as he sticks out the other to shake my father’s. “It’s nice to see you again, Frank.” After my father takes his hand, Liam glances at my mom, adding, “I appreciate you and Ava welcoming Gage and me into your home. There is no one more important to me than Celeste. I know Wells has conveyed this to you in the past, but it bears repeating. She’s incredibly important to all of us.”

That softens my mom a bit, maybe because of the starry look that is most definitely overtaking my eyes. Politeness isn’t exactly what comes to mind when I think of Liam. Nor is being a man who makes formal declarations to a parent.

“Well, we appreciate you bringing her home,” my father replies, releasing his hand and swinging his scrutinizing leer between the two of us.

Liam is trying, but the tension is still thick. Perhaps that’s why he throws caution to the wind and goes for it. “If you wouldn’t mind, Frank, I thought Celeste could catch up with her mom and you and I could speak privately.”

“Of course,” my father responds, intrigue written across his features, which probably mirrors mine. “We’ll go to my office and have a drink. Rex and Gage went to the parlor room. We’ll join them after.”

Liam kisses my temple with a whispered, “Deep breaths, Ace,” and disappears with my father.

Before I can fret about what that conversation may entail and intervene, my mother clasps my hand, towing me into the kitchen.

There are already snacks laid out in a pretty display on the island—veggies and dips, crackers and cheese, macaroni salad, and cookies and pastries—so she ushers me onto a stool and promptly makes me a plate.

“Talk to me,” she says, her tone desperate and urgent, her movements practically frantic. “Are you okay? He’s who you want? Liam? They gave you a choice? This isn’t just about Ivy or not wanting to be with a politician, is it? Because I didn’t—”

“Mom.” Reaching across the countertop to stop her hurried movements, I decide to slice through all the buildup and just lay it bare for her. “I’m in love with him.”

Her eyes teem with tears as she nods. “I know you are.”

“How?”

“I heard it in your voice when we spoke on the phone—that night you went out with Scott Filmore. And after. And just now. It’s all over your face.” Her hand trembles in mine.

Apart from the aftermath of Ben’s death, I’ve never seen her this frazzled. It’s not news that she was worried about the danger, but from what I know now, that’s been ever present my entire life.

I squeeze her hand while trying to get a read on what’s going on here. “I wish the revelation of me being in love made you happy.”

“It’s the who that has me upset, Celeste. You’re so young,” she whispers. “Do you understand what you’ve done? What you’ve signed your life away to? He won’t leave that world for you.”

She says that as though he’s choosing them over me, but even I understand that isn’t a choice. And life without Liam isn’t a choice for me. Nor is life without Ivy and Wells, Ty, and Gage. It’s done.

Before I answer, I volley my own inquiries. “When did you know what you’d signed up for? And would it have mattered? Would you have left Dad?”

“We can’t talk about this.” She looks around like we’re sharing classified information. “But it was after I said yes. And, no, I was so starstruck and in love that it wouldn’t have mattered because I didn’t understand. I got you and Ben, and I love your father, but …”

But she believes Ben died because of my father’s business. While that’s not the whole story because Easton and all the other people hunting down that book had motives apart from my father, my father’s dealings were the reason Ben allowed himself to be in that position. No wonder she’s frantic.

And here I am, in possession of the very same tinderbox.

“I’m aware of everything. If it makes you feel better, I knew quite a bit before I committed. And Liam is fiercely protective. They all are.”

I’m not sure my commitment mattered so much because Liam said he’d claimed me before I officially agreed to anything, but there’s no sense in sharing that. The only issue holding me back before that was the disapproval of my parents. It was never the danger.

She pats my hand as the column of her throat rolls and pulses. “Fine. What’s done is done. But no matter whose protection you’re under or how much they love you, the only way to survive in that world—whether it’s The Order or KORT—is to prove you can withstand the depths of Hell. If you waver, Celeste, they’ll bury you.”

Her words chill the very marrow of my bones, icy tendrils slinking down my spine. She knows exactly what my father does. And it seems she may have just divulged that Eleanor Healy isn’t the only defected woman six feet under the Carver Homes developments.

Rounding the island, my mother sings out in her syrupy hostess warble, “I’m going to check on Rex and Gage. Eat that plate of food. You’re withering away.” But as she passes me, she offers a brisk shoulder squeeze with a hushed reminder. “Never let them see, always keep them guessing, and play their game.”

It was never about chess for her or how to land a politician. She was extending her wisdom on how to stay alive.