Chapter 17 – Elias
T he drive to Queens takes longer than expected because of New Year’s Eve traffic. Everyone is on the road, likely heading to their party destinations.
My driver pulls through the black iron gates of St. Orion’s Cemetery in Fresh Meadows, past the brick arch that’s covered in graffiti.
Most of the headstones are barely readable and covered in dirt, bird shit, moss, or mildew.
Lance has been working with the city to buy the land and take over maintenance.
The place has been neglected for years because of the lack of funding.
My mother was one of the last people buried here.
Her grave sits at the back in a corner; the last remaining plot of land before St. Orion’s was declared at capacity.
My brother keeps the grass around her grave cut and the gray marble tombstone clean, and there’s always a fresh bouquet in the memorial vase next to her headstone because Lance comes here to visit more often than I do .
Because I’m a shit son.
I add my bouquet of white carnations, purple amaryllises, and pink peonies, complemented by a colorful butterfly decoration to the memorial vase.
My mother loved butterflies. She used to spend hours at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, sitting on a bench, letting the bugs land on her.
When I was young, and before my father made me abandon my childhood to shadow him, I’d go with her.
The butterflies never liked me. They were drawn to my mother, though.
She believed a butterfly landing on you represented joy or change.
I place my hand on the curved top of the headstone.
“Hey, Ma,” I say, barely able to push my voice past the ache in my throat. “Sorry I don’t come around much.”
I could list all the reasons why, but there’s no excuse.
It took me years to build the courage to visit. I was too overcome with my grief and guilt about her death to allow myself to mourn her. Lance was forced to end her life, yet he manages to come here at least once a week, sometimes more.
I meant to come by on Christmas Eve this year, on the anniversary of her death. Yet again, I failed.
It’s just... every time I’m here, when I see her name and the year of her death, I’m taken back to that night twenty years ago, holding her in my arms, blood covering her front side .
Seeing her corpse haunts my nightmares, and I couldn’t let it bleed into my waking hours.
Meeting Sage has changed my perspective. Seeing her sacrifice herself to protect her parents from Chase made me realize I’m a fucking asshole. I wasted years not honoring my mother by refusing to visit her final resting place.
She deserves better than that.
“We’re close, Ma. I can feel it. We’re so fucking close to nailing your murder—all the mafia wives’ murders—on Lenetti.”
I crouch and trace the letters of her name.
Imogen Carter
A Loving Mother & Wife
“I met someone... her name is Sage. She’s a firecracker. You would have loved her. She keeps me on my toes and doesn’t take any of my bullshit. She reminds me of you in a way. She’s brave, defiant. She hasn’t let me, or this life, scare her away.”
Yet.
The word sits on the tip of my tongue because it’s only a matter of time before Sage sees too much and leaves me.
They always do.
She’s different, though .
I let the thought give me hope because if Sage wants no part of this life, my life, then that means having no part of Noah’s life too.
Would she abandon her best friend just to run away from me?
Maybe she’s tired of running.
I now know a big part of her fear is Chase.
I wipe my palm down my face.
“You might think I’m crazy, Ma, but I might just love this woman. I mean, we haven’t known each other very long. Well, that’s mostly because she kept running from me, but now that I have her... I don’t think I can let her go.”
I stand and palm the headstone one last time.
“I should get back to her. I’d love to bring her to meet you next time. I know this was a short visit, but I promise I’m working on that. I just want you to know that I think about you all the time.”
I turn to leave and wipe my damp eyes with the back of my hand.
When I get to the SUV parked on the small roadway that winds through the cemetery, I turn back to the corner where her grave sits.
A chill washes over me and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I let my eyes scan the cemetery, but despite the feeling of being watched, I see no one .
Maybe it was Ma letting me know that she’s always watching over me.
A fter leaving the cemetery, I check in with my uncle.
We still have a couple of Chase’s men locked in the basement of Underground Park Slope. I’ve been torturing them for information, but they’re useless. Either Chase told them the bare minimum, or he’s been one step ahead. Every lead we follow has led to a dead end.
Lance knows I’ve been trying to destroy this asshole human trafficker, but I haven’t told him that it’s Sage’s ex. Though after Sage and Noah’s boozy brunch, I’m sure he’ll find out soon. If Sage told Noah, surely she’ll go blab it to my brother.
He’s texted me a few times this past week, asking where I disappeared to. He’s worried I’m going to back out of this plan to take down the Lords. I keep assuring him I’ll be there, but I understand his lack of trust when it comes to me.
I don’t fault him for that.
When I walk into the penthouse, the scent of cookies hits my nose. I follow it, drooling, all the way to the kitchen where I find Sage bent over at the oven. She’s shaking her ass, mumbling unintelligible words.
Her phone sits on the counter with her music app pulled up.
Oh. She can’t hear me. She has earbuds in.
I slowly walk up behind her, grab her by the hips, and grind my cock into her ass.
She yelps and jerks, then screams.
“Goddamn it, Elias Carter.”
Oh, she pulled out the first and last name.
Sage closes the oven and takes out her ear buds with one hand while cradling the other to her chest.
Panic rolls through me. “What happened?”
“I burned my hand, asshole.”
Okay, I deserve that.
After setting the ear buds on the counter, she turns the faucet on and sticks her fingers and palm under the water.
“Do you need ice?”
She shakes her head. “Ice could make it worse.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to be cute.”
“No need to try, Elias. You’re already cute.”
“And sexy?”
She rolls her eyes, struggling to hold back her smile.
“Did you bake cookies?”
Her smile pushes through her anger, and her face lights up .
“I did. I started my period, and I desperately needed sweets. You didn’t have anything, so I ordered delivery to make some.
” She holds up a finger, anticipating my complaint.
“Don’t worry. I used the credit card you left me.
I’m broke, not stupid. And, yes, I sent one of your guards to get the groceries from the lobby. ”
She turns off the water and dries her hands with the towel hanging on the front of the stove.
Grabbing a cookie from the plate sitting on the counter, she holds it up to my mouth.
“Here, try.”
I take a big bite out of the sweet treat. It’s ooey, gooey, chocolatey, and...
Oh. Fuck.
“Sage,” I mumble. “Are there nuts in this?”
“Yep! Walnuts. My fav.”
I curse and spit the rest of my bite into the sink. Her eyes widen.
“Holy shit, Elias. Are you allergic to walnuts?”
“Walnuts, cashews, pecans... all tree nuts, but they’re not as bad as peanuts.”
The last two words sounded garbled as my tongue starts to swell.
I take off my suit jacket and toss it to the floor before reaching for my EpiPen and inhaler.
I keep them in a custom-made holster that sits under the shoulder holster for my guns.
I check my Benadryl bottle, which I also keep in the holster, and curse realizing I’m out of pills and forgot to refill it.
“Benadryl. Bathroom.”
She understands, despite my words being strained, and before leaving the kitchen, she tosses the whole plate of cookies into the trash.
While she’s gone, I stab myself in the thigh with the medicine and use my inhaler. Sage returns after a couple minutes wearing medical gloves. Fuck, I didn’t even think to tell her to wash her hands and put on gloves.
She hands me two pills, and I swallow them down without water.
“Should I call 911?”
I shake my head, already feeling the epinephrine working its way through my system.
I unarm myself and loosen the collar of my dress shirt to help me breathe better, then I fish my phone from my pants pocket and shoot a text to my doctor.
He lives in a condo a few streets away, so he’ll be here within five minutes.
I also text my cleaner who lives in the building. They’ll need to sanitize the kitchen and toss the contraband.
“What do you need, Elias? Let me help you.”
Sage’s concern nearly has me struggling to breathe for a different reason. I rarely have someone offer to take care of me.
“Oxygen tank,” I wheeze. “Bathroom closet. ”
She’s turning on her heel without a second thought and returns in record time. When I reach out to take the mask, she smacks my knuckles and puts the mask on me herself. She’s so careful and gentle, making sure the straps aren’t too tight.
“You have a lot of medical supplies in your closet. You really don’t want to go to a hospital, do you?”
I shake my head, unable to speak to tell her that hospitals complicate things.
They leave paper trails—well, I suppose it’s all digital now, which is even worse because Elias Carter, mafia Don, doesn’t do digital.
Even if most of New York City knows me as Johnny Goode, I’d rather not have my blood or fingerprints uploaded to a system that could be hacked or accessed by law enforcement officials who I don’t have on my payroll.
I close my eyes, letting the air flow through my constricted throat. Sage stands at my shoulder, one hand rubbing up and down my pec while the other combs through my hair.
I might intentionally have allergic reactions if this is the result.