12. Chapter 12
Kingsley
As the son of billionaires, I had grown up in one of the most luxurious mansions on Darkwater Refuge with over thirty staff, including a butler, a cook, and a masseuse.
The Marino estate made my childhood home look like a dollhouse.
And so far I’d only seen the garage. Floor and walls made of black marble, it boasted all sorts of sports cars, SUVs, and motorcycles illuminated like they were displayed at a motor show.
The way Harley took it all in, mouth hanging open, this was new territory for her as well.
Rome, still straddling his Yamaha, took off his helmet and ran a hand through his black hair, slicking the strands that had fallen into his eyes back. For a moment, he just sat there and stared into the void.
“Long day?” Harley asked as we approached him.
His gaze snapped back into focus, taking us in as if he’d forgotten we were here. “Long year.”
He got off his bike and led us to a side door with a fingerprint sensor.
A green light flashed when he held his thumb to it, and he pushed the door open.
More black marble awaited us. We followed the broad and well-lit hallway, ending up at the foot of a curved stair.
A massive glass chandelier hung from the soaring ceiling, a gallery running the length of the living room beyond the stairs.
“Brother Samuel!”
I turned to find a beaming girl standing at the top of the stairs. Giuliana. What in the world? She was Rome’s niece?
“What are you doing here?” She came flying down the steps and pretty much flung herself into my arms.
My gut churned when I hugged her. She was Mafia. No wonder her father was on death row. “We’re here to talk to your uncle.”
She let me go, the beautiful glow extinguished. “Oh.”
“Go to your room, Giuli.” Rome waved a tattooed arm at the stairs.
“But I want to—”
“ Subito! ”
She spat something in Italian, turned, and stomped up the steps. A beat later, a door slammed so hard the chandelier jingled.
Rome’s glare snapped to me. “I know she looks older, but she’s only fourteen.”
My brain—still trying to process that this sweet girl had to grow up surrounded by darkness and danger—needed a moment to process his words. Was he really getting at what I thought? “I’m a monk. All we do is play soccer together on Thursday evenings. In a group.”
Rome kept glowering. “I know all about you guys at Saint James.”
Yeah, he was probably referring to the abuse scandal that’d happened twenty-something years ago.
Saint James had run an orphanage, and some of the monks and priests had done the unthinkable to the boys.
People still liked to cast stones at us for it, even though none of the monks and priests who’d been involved were part of our monastic community anymore.
“Calm down, Rome.” Harley grinned at me. “She has an innocent crush on him. Look at him. Can you blame her?”
Rome’s hard gaze pinned me a while longer, then he gestured at the leather sofas in the spacious living room.
“Have a seat.” Harley and I followed his invitation and sat down next to each other, while he headed to the fully equipped bar under the gallery.
“You guys want a drink?” He held up a bottle of Lincoln Grady Family Reserve without turning to us.
“Yes, please,” Harley answered. “On the rocks.”
“I’m good.” I glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Olympic-size infinity pool glowing in the dark. Jungle canopy was visible beyond it, but since we were in a lit room and it was dark outside, I couldn’t see how far it stretched. Probably all the way down to the ocean.
“I wasn’t aware you’re into reading romance books.” Snickering, Harley picked up the novel lying on the coffee table. It had an illustrated cover. Lots of pink.
“That’s Giuli’s.” Ice cubes clinked against glass, and a moment later, Rome swaggered back to us with two tumblers and the Family Reserve.
He set them down on the coffee table between us—also made of black marble—and claimed the other sofa.
After filling both glasses with a finger of Family Reserve, he passed one to Harley.
The smell of single malt catapulted me back to my childhood and youth. Not a time I wanted to remember.
“Um . . .” Harley slowly set the paperback down. “These books aren’t suited for fourteen-year-olds.”
Leather squeaked when Rome leaned back and stretched his arms out along the backrest. “Don’t worry, it’s Young Adult. I checked.”
“Not all YA books are clean, Rome. I know this author. Her books literally contain porn in written form.”
Frowning, Rome leaned forward and picked up the paperback. Started flipping through the pages.
I glanced at Harley. Did she read those kinds of books or how did she know?
“What the—” Rome kept reading, his mood turning blacker by the passage. After scanning several pages, he punched to his feet and turned toward the stairs. “Giuliana Arianna Marino!”
Way too fast she appeared at the gallery over us, like she’d been listening in. “What?”
“Get down here!” She took her sweet time, and when she was downstairs, Rome barked something in Italian as he held up the paperback.
Giuliana rolled her eyes. “Calm down. It’s just a book.”
“Just a book,” Rome muttered, the first time his Italian accent bled through. He pressed a fist to his mouth, then released it. “Do I need to read out loud so we can all decide if this is just a book ?”
“No!” Wide amber eyes came to me.
“I second that no,” I cut in blatantly. For one to support Giuliana, for another to avoid putting images in my head that would most definitely make me stumble. I was already close to the abyss with the dreams I’d had lately.
“Why do you read this kind of stuff, huh?” The paperback crumpled in Rome’s grip. “This is porn. Stuff like that rots your brain and gives you wrong ideas. Not to mention how unrealistic it is what this author wrote.”
“Most of these books are unrealistic,” Harley said.
Giuliana had her eyes cast to the floor, chin tucked. I felt sorry for her, but it was an important lesson.
“Go to your room.” Rome gestured upstairs.
“We’ll talk about this later.” After Giuliana had made herself scarce, he stalked to the fireplace, tossed the book inside, and returned to his spot on the sofa.
Scraped a hand over his face. “Why on this rotten planet would an adult author write stuff like that for teens?” he muttered. “And that cover looks so innocent.”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Harley took a sip of her Family Reserve. “If you want I can give you a list of safe authors. There are plenty of amazing clean and closed-door books available.”
He nodded, then leaned back, tumbler in hand. His eyes drifted shut, then he opened them again. “How can I help you guys?”
I glanced over at Harley, but she’d gone mute. “Does the Mafia have contacts in the DRPD?” I asked.
Taking a swig from his Family Reserve, Rome glanced over the glass at me. “Why?”
“I’m hiding from Craig because he caught me watching him kill two guys in cold blood,” Harley said. “There were two men with him who looked like your people.”
“What gives you that idea?”
“They looked Italian. Black clothes”—she gestured at his black button-down and slacks—“and . . . I don’t know. The typical Italian style.”
Rome leaned in and rested his elbows on his thighs. “You need to stay out of this, Harley.”
She downed her Family Reserve in one go. Made a face. “I can’t. Those men are hiding something. They had weapons or a bomb or a nuke or something. They are a danger to the island.”
“They’re gonna be much more to you if you meddle in their affairs.” His tone was low now, almost threatening.
“Please, Rome. This is important to me.”
Muttering a curse in Italian, he raked a hand through his hair. “I know of nothing but will keep my eyes and ears open.” His amber eyes darkened. “And I’ll take care of Craig Fuller.”
“No!” Harley shook her head, her red hair flying. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”
“Already told you I can’t make that promise.”
She huffed, her shoulders slouching. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“He would’ve told me.” Smirking, Rome jutted his chin at me.
Yes, I would have. Her ex was incalculable, and I wouldn’t take any chances. Not when it came to Harley’s safety.
Rome downed the rest of his Family Reserve and set the glass down on the coffee table. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” Harley skirted me a glance, and I shook my head.
I rose, hand extended toward Rome. “Thank you for your time and for looking into things.”
His grip was firm as he, too, stood. “My pleasure.”
Back in the garage, I once again grimaced at the sight of the damage that had been done to the F-150. Saint James didn’t have the cash to fix it.
“Thank you for everything.” Harley looped her arms around Rome’s neck.
I had to look away when he brought an inked arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head.
Rule sixty-six of the instruments of the spiritual art said not to be jealous or entertain envy.
Yet here I was, doing exactly that. Then again, I had already broken half those rules. What did one more matter?
My own thoughts were like a punch to my gut. When had I become so indifferent? I needed to stop this. I needed to stop thinking about Harley and entertaining thoughts of us together. I needed to stop her from invading my dreams.
Those dreams . . . I’d almost told her what they had been about. How I’d stood there, hands cuffed behind my back while being searched. But it hadn’t been Officer Moore’s hand patting me down. It had been the hand of a woman with fiery-red hair, freckles, and full lips.
And I had indulged in every second of it. Harley, too. She’d had that same look in her eyes when she’d seen me in a T-shirt instead of a habit—curious, maybe even hungry.
“Hey.”
Rome’s gruff voice ripped me out of my fantasy. Heat crawled up my neck.
“Can I still count on you?” he asked, an eyebrow cocked.