Chapter 15
Aron
Let’s see where I’m at on the sin meter. I married my half-sister, fornicated with her, fathered a child with her, and now I’ve murdered her. I’m minutes away from ordering the mass murder of an entire organization. Am I missing anything?
Oh, yes. The sodomy. I’d like to think that God is progressive enough to forgive that one since I love Matt, but the rest?
There aren’t enough Our Fathers and Hail Marys in the world to atone for what I’ve done.
“Does this mean it’s over?” Percy trembles from shock as Matt tends to the cut on his back. His Syndicate tattoo is going to have a deep scar straight across the middle, but he should be fine. Matt assures us that nothing vital was cut when Emily sliced him.
I meet Matt’s concerned gaze over Percy’s shoulder. “I’m afraid not, Percy. We can’t let the Empire continue to exist. Eventually, they’ll find another leader, or worse they’ll splinter into more groups, dividing our forces. We have to wipe them out now, before they can regroup.”
Percy gives a solemn nod of understanding, the winces as Matt starts stitching the wound.
“We can’t allow any of them to survive. Mercy is weakness, Percy.” Matt’s eyes never leave his work, but his expression is pained as he talks. “Remember that.”
It must be tough parroting Tito’s words.
With everything that’s gone on, Matt hasn’t had time to really process and grieve.
There wasn’t even a proper funeral. Tito was buried next to Lucinda’s original grave without pomp or circumstance, just me, Matt, and a handful of top Syndicate officers in attendance.
Seemingly undeterred by Matt’s somber words, Percy nods sagely. “Of course, Don Matteo.”
While Matt and Percy are occupied, I get to work dealing with Emily’s body and those of her victims. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she killed a dozen guards on the way in, so it’s a lot of bodies to take care of.
Emily gets carted out by two surviving guards, who bury her next to Lucinda somewhere on the estate grounds.
Once the guards’ bodies are collected and sent to the local morgue, I start the grim task of notifying any families they might have had.
Guards in the Syndicate don’t typically earn family status until they’ve been serving for at least a decade, but that doesn’t negate the families they had prior to joining.
The visits to heartbroken mothers and enraged fathers are exhausting, and I return to the mansion drained of all energy.
I just want to lie down and sleep for a solid week, but that won’t be possible.
It’s time.
Matt meets me in our bedroom suite since the office is still covered in Emily’s blood and brain matter. Even for Syndicate cleaners, it takes time to erase all evidence of a baker’s dozen worth of bodies, and I insisted that the guards’ blood be cleaned first.
“Are we ready for this?” Matt asks as I close the door behind me.
I take a seat next to him on the bed and turn to the wall of screens we had installed to monitor the attacks. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”
Our phones vibrate in unison. We share a glance before checking them.
Are you ready, Dons?
The text from Holly is short and succinct. Everything hinges on our signal.
We press Send simultaneously and watch as the slaughter begins.
Explosions rip through downtown. People run and scream. Muzzle flashes flare in dark alleys as Empire members fall dead in the streets. Our hidden cameras across the city document it all for us.
The news outlets pick up on what’s happening about twenty minutes after the first responders start to arrive.
What few Empire survivors there are get taken away in ambulances driven by disguised Syndicate men, heading for hidden garages where they’ll be executed, and incompetent policemen try in vain to catch our assassins, who have already fled the scenes, heading for temporary safehouses.
Once the coast is clear, we’ll start bringing them home and getting things settled.
It’ll take some time to verify that we got them all, but our assassins will be ready to hunt down an annihilate any survivors that were taken to real hospitals.
No loose strings. No survivors. And to be certain of this, we watch as the Empire’s hidden ranch where I learned Emily’s true origins burns to the fucking ground.
Eventually the hour grows late, and the media are just regurgitating the same footage from earlier.
There’s nothing new to see.
Matt shuts off the monitors with a sigh. He scrubs his face with his hands, then leans back against the headboard, staring blankly at the ceiling. He fumbles for my hand, gripping it tight.
“I think I’m done,” he whispers.
I squeeze his hand and join him in leaning back. I don’t comment on his statement, but I know he doesn’t mean he’s done with tonight’s raid.
Matt’s done with the Syndicate.
“I was almost blown up last night … for the third time in less than two months. That’s a pretty bad bomb over time ratio.”
I nod silently. He doesn’t need words right now. He needs support.
“I’ve seen way too many of these mass attacks over the years. There was always some new gang trying to overthrow Dad and the Royal Syndicate. It was never as personal as this, never such a fucking soap opera, but there was always someone.
“I’m tired, Aron. Tired of the scheming and the fighting, tired of the weight on my shoulders. I want out, Aron, and I want you to come with me.”
I thread my fingers through his and rub his hand with my thumb. These are heavy thoughts and even heavier words, with extreme consequences in our world.
“You know Tito’s opinion on leaving the Syndicate,” I say cautiously. “He always said, ‘There’s only one way out.’ Is that what you want?”
Matt barks out a dry, humorless laugh. “Tito was an idiot.”
My brows rise in shock. Aside from taking me on as his co-don and lover, Matt’s been following Tito’s teachings like they were sent from God … at least where the Syndicate is concerned.
“That’s a minority opinion among our colleagues, Matt. Do you think any of them are just going to accept your retirement?”
“Oh, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. There will be pushback for sure. Maybe even a price on our heads.”
“That price will be high …”
He nods. “Definitely. High enough that anyone hoping to climb the ranks will be gunning for us. It’ll be a fast track to the inner circle.”
“And you want this? Even if we make it past the front gate, it’ll mean a life on the run. We won’t ever be able to come back to this city. I doubt we’d be safe on this continent.”
“Fuck this city, and fuck this continent. I hear Europe is great this time of year. Sandy beaches, fruity drinks, fancy villas …”
“Who would take over in your place? Yancy?”
Matt pauses for a second. “Most likely.”
“He’s a pretty staunch supporter of the Tito Method. He might even execute us himself.” I remember the meeting where Creed tried to challenge Matt. “Are you sure you want him in charge of our fates?”
Matt shrugs. “Our fate will be what it is. If we die on the way out the door or fifty years down the line in Rome, we’re dead either way.”
The corner of my mouth turns up in a wry grin. He’s thought about this.
“Rome, huh? I suppose we’ll get hired on as security for the Vatican? Maybe the Pope’s personal guard?”
“I thought I’d work for a hospital. I think I’d make a decent EMT.”
From taking lives to saving them … Quite the career shift. “You don’t speak a word of Italian.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matt sporting an impish grin.
“Buongiorno! Fettucine Alfredo. Grazie. Prego.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, two or three of those words might be useful as an EMT.”
He turns that smiling face to me. “I can use the other two to order you a fancy dinner somewhere. Someplace nice, quiet, with a corner booth, so we can ignore the rest of the world.”
“While simultaneously watching the room for Syndicate assassins?”
He shoves my shoulder, which starts an impromptu wrestling match. By the end of it, we’re tangled in the sheets, and I’ve pinned Matt down. I gaze at him, lost in those sapphire eyes.
“Don’t get me wrong, Matt. I’m with you no matter what you do.” I release one of his arms to gently stroke his cheek. “I just want to be sure this is what you really want. Once we leave the Syndicate—if we even survive leaving—there’s no coming back.”
He turns his head to kiss my palm. “Good.”
“When did you want to retire? Tomorrow? Next week?” I sit back on my heels, straddling his hips. “Should I start packing a bag?”
His smile fades. “You know we can’t take anything with us.”
“True. Anything purchased with Syndicate coin will have to stay.”
Matt yanks my arm and bucks his hips. A moment later, our positions are reversed.
“Tito paid you with Syndicate coin,” he says as he kisses the side of my neck. “I paid you with Syndicate coin.” He kisses the other side. “Does that mean I can’t take you with me when I leave?”
His face hovers over mine, just out of reach. Rather than try to stretch to meet his lips, I pull back the arm he’s holding, forcing him down.
The kiss leaves me trembling with need. My cock presses into his stomach, and his pokes me from his position between my legs. It would be the perfect vantage point if not for the fact that we’re both wearing sweats.
It could be less convenient. If we’d watched the attacks from our office, we’d be in full suits. Since we had to move to the bedroom, we opted for more comfortable attire.
Matt snakes his hand between us and grabs my shaft. “Syndicate coin fed this cock for decades. Are you saying I can’t take it with me?”
“My cock will follow you anywhere.”
“Mm …”
The next kiss ignites something deeper, more passionate. Within seconds, we’re scrambling to remove as much clothing as possible.
As soon as he yanks my pants off, Matt crawls forward, spreading and bending my legs, positioning me for his entry. He grabs the lube almost as an afterthought in his haste, smearing it on with a few rushed pumps of his hand. My cock throbs at the sight of him feverishly rubbing his veined shaft.
If this is our last night alive—and it may well be—it’s going to be amazing.
Matt sighs contentedly as he eases his cock into my ass. Each slow, sensual thrust shoves him farther inside, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me. I cry out, arching my back and clenching around him.
“Fuck, Aron! Your ass is so fucking tight …”
I’d have a witty response, but he twists his hips as he bottoms out inside me, and I forget all language. All I have left are grunts and groans and sighs as he pumps in an easy rhythm.
Despite his haste to begin, Matt seems content to fuck me slowly, gently, exploring with his mouth and hands all the while. It’s almost too much stimulation, almost too perfect. He savors my nipples, my neck, my earlobes, teasing while he moves closer to my mouth.
Unable to wait any longer, I grab a handful of Matt’s thick, dark hair and pull his mouth to mine.
“Stop sampling your meal,” I say before crashing my lips into his, “and devour me.”
No kiss before has been like this, and I’m not sure any kiss after could compare.
Our tongues tangle, mixing the subtle tastes of our last meal and combining them with his natural flavor.
A tear slips from my eye as he places his hand over my heart and somehow manages to deepen the already dizzying kiss.
His thumb traces the line of an old scar from a bullet that almost did me in, and a tear of his own falls to join mine.
“How many times have you almost died because of me?” he mutters against my lips.
“Technically only one,” I reply, cupping his cheeks in my hands, “because aside from the one time you shot me, it’s always been someone else’s fault.” It’s my intent to comfort him, but Matt’s hips stutter for a second before regaining their rhythm.
“It’s okay, Matt. We were on opposite sides then, which was entirely my fault. I don’t blame you.”
“I do.”
For a moment, it seems like this might be the end of it. Matt halts in his tracks, then backs away. My hands shoot out, grabbing his hips and pulling him back into me.
“Uh-uh. Finish what you started.”
Matt’s pupils dilate, and he licks his lips. “Are you sure?”
I grind my hips against his in response. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. Now move.”
And move he does. He humps and thrusts and grinds and twists and bites my lip, all while I whimper and moan as my orgasm rushes to the surface. I come all over my chest and stomach, and Matt smears the mess even more when he leans close to kiss me.
With one final thrust so rough my head collides with the headboard, Matt comes inside me and sighs.
He pulls out and rolls over, panting.
“Shower?” I ask, rolling the other way to get up.
“Maybe later,” he says, opting instead to clean himself with some tissues from the nightstand. “I’ll change the sheets while you’re in there.”
We don’t really discuss it further for the rest of the night, but from our shared sleeplessness, I suspect we’re retiring first thing in the morning.