30. Carmela
Carmela
F renzied is the best word to describe the absolute chaos that erupts with the news of Mick’s resignation and his impending divorce. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and multiple news sources are already citing fake statements about an affair with anyone from a woman who worked on his last campaign to his male assistant.
Oh, and let’s not forget me .
Over the years, I’ve been photographed with Mick multiple times. Sometimes with Kate and sometimes without, usually at a high-society event. ‘ An ever-present temptation. Who is Carmela Lane? ’ one of the headlines reads.
Who the fuck, indeed.
Carmelita Cabrera is not a woman who takes a man’s shit. She’s not weak, inferior, or a fucking doormat to wipe the shit off shiny, new Oxfords. Except, that is exactly who Carmela Lane has been for the last fourteen years.
And I’m sick of being stepped on. Of being treated like an option only when it’s clear my body is no longer available whenever Mick wants it. Of letting him dictate what I do with my daughter.
So why the fuck am I sitting here with Mick while he licks his proverbial wounds and drowns himself in an expensive bottle of whiskey?
I have a man who adores me—well, at least, I think he still does. I tap my phone’s screen to see that Anders still hasn’t reached out. There are still messages sitting in the text box on my end.
Where did you go?
Are you coming back?
I’m sorry.
Messages I never sent, of course, because I’m done letting men treat me like shit, and last night, Anders was way out of line.
Then again, so was I.
I don’t care if I’m being stubborn. I’m so over males. Anders, unfortunately, received the culmination of many years of being treated like I’m less than. Like I’m not good enough to start a business on my own. Like I need the support of a man to run a club that the likes of America has never seen .
A club I dreamed up.
It was my vision.
And it became so successful.
A success that the leading male in my life largely accepted as his own.
“You can’t hide out here forever, Mick. Désirer was not the destination I meant when I told you to hide.” I slide the bottle over the bar top and pour myself a shot.
“I just wanted to be somewhere familiar, Mellie, with someone I care about,” he murmurs, spinning his glass between his fingers. The condensation from the ice in the tumbler drips onto the polished surface.
“If you cared about me, you would have told me my parents reached out to you. You wouldn’t have kept them from me.” My tone is laced with anger but lacks the bite needed for this conversation. I’m tired.
“I already told you, I did it for your own good. They would have demanded you go home and they would have locked you away. Would you have rathered that, Mellie? To have them dictate your life?”
“Like you have?” I bite back.
He rolls his eyes and continues spinning his tumbler. “I knew if you spoke to your parents, I’d lose you for good.”
“Well that wasn’t your decision to make!”
As angry as I am, suggesting that Mick is the one behind the murders and the letters is absurd. Isn’t it? I study the man I loved for nearly half my life. He may have kept my parents from me, but is he truly capable of murdering someone? Of ordering someone to be so grotesquely slaughtered, like the man on Halloween night?
Is he capable of harming me?
Hurting, yes. Mick is skilled at hurting me. But physically harming me? I can’t even imagine it.
“So, when this all blows over, what do you want to do?” he asks, changing the topic before draining his glass and waving his fingers, a signal to slide the bottle back.
“What do you mean?” I think of Maya. About California and Greta and Roe. My parents.
Everything Anders said last night runs on repeat. Why am I so quick to believe everything Mick says when he’s let me down over and over again? Why do I run back to him even after the way he’s treated me all these years? Is Anders right? Am I just comfortable with my lifestyle? Afraid Mick will take it all away if I dare defy him?
He shrugs. “I thought maybe we could take Maya on a vacation. Get away for a few weeks. Go somewhere warm, like New Zealand or Thailand.”
Oh, hell no. I imagine the words flying from Anders’ lips so vividly I can hear them.
“No one was asking you, Brooks,” Mick seethes through clenched teeth, glaring at the spot over my shoulder .
I blink.
Anders .
He’s here. He did say the words out loud.
Gracefully, I slide off my stool, even though I want to run across the room and jump into his arms. I turn to see him walking toward us and force myself to practice restraint so that I don’t look like a fool if he’s here to say goodbye.
“I don’t care if you asked me or not, Mick. The answer is still hell no.” Anders reaches my side and pulls me into him to kiss my temple. Relief rushes through me, and I wrap my arms around him, squeezing tight before he leads me away from the bar to one of the small settees.
Mick’s dark chuckles follow us. “Say your goodbyes, Brooks.”
“Why are you here with him?” Anders demands under his breath.
I don’t answer him because I don’t want to say the words that come to mind. He called, I came, and you weren’t there.
“Carmela…” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Where did you go last night?” I ask.
“A hotel. Do I need to ask again why you’re here with him?” Anders asks with exasperation. Hazel meets black, searching for the truth in the depths of my orbs.
Did I choose Mick? Is that why I’m here ?
He looks uneasy—nervous as he waits for my explanation.
It occurs to me that Anders needs just as much assurance as I do. Taking his hand in mine, I rub my thumb over his. “It isn’t…easy…saying no, okay? Sometimes, I get confused by my feelings for him. I think that…that part of what you said last night is true.”
“Which part?” he asks, voice rough yet hoarse simultaneously. He doesn’t look at me, focusing instead on a spot on the wall in front of us. Bracing himself, I think, for me to tell him I chose Mick.
“I do take whatever Mick gives me. And I’ve let him keep me on a leash for all these years, but…I’m ready to move on, Anders.” His eyes snap to mine. “I don’t think there’s any substance to your theory that he’s behind the murders. But I do think that it’s time for us all to move forward.”
“And what does that look like for us, Cara?” he asks, angling his body toward me to cup my face. His thumb sweeps along my cheekbone, featherlight and strikingly soft. “Where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “But I want to find out.” My hands wrap around his wrists as he raises the other hand to cradle the back of my neck. “We’ll just have to find a way to make it work,” I whisper as his lips descend upon mine.
His kiss is temperate, gently parting my lips with his tongue, taking his time like he’s savoring the taste of me. Like he’s gradually fusing our souls through our kiss. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to mine. “Should I stay for now, then?”
I nod before kissing him once more. “Let me go get my things, and we’ll go back to the apartment.”
Anders lets me go, following me back to the bar so I can grab my phone. “We’re leaving,” I inform Mick. “Don’t sleep here. Go back to your hotel.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarls, knocking his stool over as he stands abruptly. The sudden aggression as he draws near makes my skin prickle. I’ve seen Mick angry, and he’s even gotten angry with me over the years, but he’s never looked this pissed off.
Anders steps between us as I swipe my phone from the bar top and retreat a few steps. “You lost, Mick. Take it like a man and walk away,” Anders says.
I ignore being talked about like I’m property. “I’m going to get my things.”
“I’ll be right here when you get back. Mick and I are gonna have a little chat.” Anders drops his voice, murmuring words I can’t decipher as I walk out of the Grand Room and toward my office.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look at the screen to see that Maya is calling. “Hello, mijita.”
“Can I come home soon? I miss my bed. And the pool,” Maya grumbles without so much as a greeting.
With a laugh, I switch the phone to my other ear. “ Don’t you mean you miss me? Or is it the Jackson Tailor wall you miss?” I joke. “In all seriousness, though, I hope you can come home by next weekend.”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Anyway, there was actually a reason I called. I know this is super random, and I don’t know why it hit me suddenly, but I remembered something about the night that man picked me up from school.”
My feet falter, and I stop just outside my office. “What do you remember, Maya?”
“Well,” she draws out the word, “I think I overheard him take a phone call. And for some reason, if I remember correctly, I’m linking his name to ice cream. Rocky Road?”
“Rocky? Okay, I’m grabbing my things. Anders and I will call you back when we get home, okay? Love you.”
“Okay, love you too.”
The line goes dead as I reach for the door, searching my brain for why that name sounds familiar, and then it hits me just as I twist the knob.
“Rocky, move it. Let the lady sit down.”
“Rocky, have a car take the lady wherever she needs to go.”
Vinny Morroni’s henchman’s name is Rocky.
Luca’s father had my daughter kidnapped.
I’m about to turn and yell for Anders, but movement on the far side of the room grabs my attention, causing my voice to die in my throat before it’s gathered enough to carry down the hall.
A light clicks on from the lamp in the corner, and I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When they do, they widen in surprise at who is standing in the room. My heart hammers in my chest, adrenaline spiking as my thoughts become muddled.
“Wait… you ?”