Blood and Secrets 3 (The Calvetti Crime Family) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  GIVE ME FREE BOOKS

  COPYRIGHT

  SYNOPSIS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  THANK YOU

  PLAYLIST

  COMING SOON

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  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2018 by Rose Harper, All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations within critical reviews and otherwise as permitted by copyright law.

  NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real life is purely coincidental. All characters in this story are 18 or older.

  Copyright © 2018, Rose Harper Publishing. All rights reserved. www.authorroseharper.wixsite.com/books/

  Edited by Mitzi Pummer Carroll

  Mitzi Carroll: Editor

  Proofread by Marisa Nichols

  Marisa Nichols: Proofreader

  Cover Art by Mae’s Wicked Grafix

  Mae’s Wicked Grafix

  SYNOPSIS

  Wanna know a secret?

  Skeletons don’t like to stay buried.

  They wait; they watch; then they strike while you’re at your most vulnerable.

  As it turns out, my skeleton is the deadliest of them all, and they seriously pissed him off.

  For a little over thirteen years, I mourned the death of Luca.

  The only man I loved and trusted,

  But the one they forced me to kill.

  My brother.

  But if the man sitting in front of me now is right,

  He’s the skeleton in my closet I didn’t know I had,

  And he’s come with a few secrets of his own.

  Secrets that rival mine.

  I just hope he realizes what he walked into,

  Because I’m not the little girl he ambled out on years ago.

  Now, I’m the perfect weapon with only one mission in mind,

  And it’s not the contract resting over my head.

  No;

  My mission is to keep my King safe,

  while he unravels the mysteries looming over our heads.

  I’ll be damned if I fail this task.

  Be damned if I fail him.

  Mateo is the only one I care about right now,

  And if my brother makes one false move, I’ll kill him for real.

  Only this time … I’ll enjoy every second of it.

  Blood and Secrets:3

  The Calvetti Crime Family

  1

  CARINA

  Jerking awake, I’m confused, bewildered as I choke back a scream, furiously rubbing the goosebumps pebbling along the tops of my naked arms. Feeling the plush carpet beneath me, I push myself into a seated position, confused as to how I got onto the floor in the first place. A mixture of perspiration and desperation cling to every facet of my being as my eyes snap over toward the chair in the corner, expecting to see the menacing figure of my brother reclining in it.

  To see his eyes, stolen of any warmth. To see his smirk, deadly pegged as seductive when it’s anything but. To see that picture resting at his feet on the plush, velvety carpet.

  Only he’s not there. Even though it felt so real, he’s nowhere to be found.

  The only inhabitant is Mateo’s suit jacket he divested himself of earlier when we made our way in here. It’s haphazardly thrown over the back, the tail just skimming the floor, as if it’s fighting for purchase to keep from falling the rest of the way.

  My chest feels like a two-ton anvil is sitting right on top of it, causing my breathing to release in choppy, forceful increments. My mind is everywhere at this possible second, trying to separate reality from fantasy.

  Was that all just a dream? A figment of my overactive imagination? Did I finally pass over the threshold of crazy town, becoming one of its newest residents?

  The sights, sounds, aromas, and frostiness that caressed my body like a lover felt too real for it to be anything but. Yet, the longer my gaze stays steadfast on that lone, ornamental chair reclining in the corner—seemingly forgotten—the more something doesn’t sit right with me. I just don’t know what it is.

  After all this time, I dream about my brother. After years upon years of never thinking of him, one slip of the tongue and I have a dream that feels too real to be ignored. A man I had to kill with my own two hands to keep my father from lingering around to finish the job himself.

  Why?

  Why is my mind playing tricks on me when it knows I’m already so close to slipping into the vast nothingness I had to claw my way out of?

  It doesn’t make any sense. The dream. The realness of it bouncing around inside my head as if it was never a fictional reverie, but a prophesy of the future.

  “In the flesh, baby sis. Did you miss me?”

  If anything, it should be professed as a nightmare. And that nightmare felt like it was trying to tell me something I know can’t be true. There’s no way, because I made sure of that when I was a little girl. Even to this day, I can still feel the thick, warm, coppery sweetness of his blood as it slid down my fingers, ending its raining torment on the floor in a puddle at my feet.

  Ugh. I hate all this uncertainty. Hate the unknown. At least before coming to Mateo’s house I knew what my purpose was. I was trained to maim, torture, and kill. Now, I feel like I’m the little goddamn housewife who waits on her husband to get home from work. The one who makes brownies, cleans the home, and runs after their little children with glee.

  That’s not who I am; it’s never who I was made to become. The only way I would cook anything for anyone is if the recipe called for poison. The only thing I will clean is the blade of my knife after I take out a mark.

  The only children … I’ll never have any children. The agony of the past is too much to bear with the thought of children. Never again. Never will I yearn for something I don’t deserve.

  And now, thanks to all this crap, my body is fighting with my mind. It’s conjuring up shit that can’t possibly be real. No matter how much I will it with every bone in my body to be otherwise, my brother is dead and he’s never coming back.

  The faint rays of impending sunlight stream through the half open blinds. I feel its warm caress surrounding me, trying its best to settle me. I’m too unstable for shit like this to continue—too fucked up to allow my thoughts and feelings of the past to rule me.

  Inhaling a shuddering breath, I rise from my seated position. Grabbing the robe off the decorative bench at the foot of the bed, I wrap it around my body and cinch the tie at my waist. The warmth and silkiness o
f the wrap does nothing to relax me, make me feel calm and collected. If anything, the plush richness of the housecoat puts me more on edge the longer I’m awake.

  No matter how hard it’s going to be, I need to get that dream out of my mind. It’s simply that. A dream. There are no ghosts from my past about to walk through the door, and no skeletons about to fall from my makeshift closet.

  Instead, I need to focus on the here and now. Focus on finding out who thought they could attack this home and get away with it, leaving Vinny cold and lifeless before all of us. They may think they got away with it now, but they’re in for a rude awakening when I get through with them.

  The hell has only just begun, and I’m going to be the devil who plucks at their dancing strings.

  A quick glance over my shoulder shows me Mateo still sleeping off our night together, and I don’t know why, but the sight brings a smile to my weary face. Just knowing he isn’t rising with the sun—that because of me he’s in a deep, restful sleep—makes me feel all warm and toasty inside.

  I didn’t know what to expect when we first came up here after he sent his father away. Sure, sex had crossed my mind. But I didn’t expect both of our obscure, desolate souls to connect the way they had. It felt extremely different than it ever had with Rossi. More raw, primal—earth-shattering. It’s everything consensual sex is supposed to feel like, yet the term still pales in comparison.

  Silence settles in the air as I make my way to the bathroom to relieve myself after hours of being unable to. Softly closing the door behind me, a sudden stillness sifts through the air as I press my lean, exhausted body against the door. The only thing that can be heard is my fragile flesh slapping against the dense wood as I tunnel my fingers into my hair, resting my head back against the door.

  I thought I could push that nightmare from my thoughts, but I can’t. It’s still there, nagging at the back of my mind for attention. Usually, I’m good at pushing things from my mind when they’re not important enough to the here and now. The dream I had of Rossi a few days ago I easily pushed from my thoughts without a bat of my eyelashes. But this? It’s like a disease wriggling itself just beneath the surface of my skin.

  I’ve gone years without dreaming of him. Years drifting from one mark to another, never once allowing my nonexistent emotions to get in the way. But now, since I’m here, everything is rushing to the forefront. It’s demanding its payment after so long of being left in the shadows, to be lost but never forgotten.

  Inhaling shakily, I step over to the shower and turn it on. Maybe a shower will help in washing away the last remnants of that dream. Steam floats from the raining water as I rest my hands on the sink, peering into the mirror at my reflection. The girl staring back at me is so familiar, yet so different it’s almost unbelievable.

  Wide set, whimsical hazel eyes with flecks of gold sporadically placed in my irises, stare back at me through a surrounding of thick, dark lashes. Tangled, unbrushed raven-colored locks fall down my back in heavy waves.

  Large, dark circles rest heavily just under my bloodshot eyes; eyes with a hint of crazy swirling within their depths. Hollow cheeks make me look more like a skeleton, rather than a healthy, young woman in her prime.

  I look like me. Raising my hands, I run them along the contours of my mellifluous, smooth flesh, feeling the absence of blemishes as the tips of my fingers caress the side of my face. I feel like me.

  Heaving a sigh, I continue to stare at my reflection as the bathroom continues to fill up with steam. A thin layer of mist coats the mirror, distorting my face until the only thing I see is a blurry image of myself staring back at me. Gathering myself, I untie the rope around my waist, allowing the silkiness to slip off my shoulders to land in a heap at my feet.

  Everything I see is me, yet it feels and looks like that of a stranger.

  Opening the door to the shower, I step inside, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. My eyes close in bliss as the hot water starts pelting my tired, sore, overworked muscles. It releases the tension in every part of my body as I lean forward and rest my forearms against the smooth, marble tiling, allowing the water to work its miracle in making me feel as close to human as possible.

  With the steady tap, tap, tap of the water falling off me in waves, my mind can’t help but to wander back to the nightmare I just woke up from.

  “Hmm, and this is what all the fuss is about.”

  “No. It’s not possible.” Shaking my head, my entire body vibrates with disbelief.

  “Oh, it’s possible. Of all the people in the world to fall for, I didn’t expect you—the great Reap—to fall for a mark.”

  “Luca?” I gasp.

  Leaning forward so his face is no longer shrouded in darkness, my heart nearly stops in my chest. He smirks, death swirling in his cold, dead eyes. “In the flesh, baby sis. Did you miss me?”

  Please, let that all just be a dream. They say that dreams always hold an ounce of truth. If that’s the case, please let this be the first time it’s wrong.

  2

  MATEO

  Feeling the bed dip, I open my sleepy eyes, inhaling as I stare back at the vision clad in leather with a sated smile tugging at the corner of my swollen lips. To be as reserved as she is when it comes to touching anyone, she sure rode me good last night. The memory of the way she lost all inhibition and allowed her body to guide her is hot as hell. I’ve never felt more rejuvenated after a long night of fucking than I do right now.

  “Hi,” she whispers, her smooth, angelic voice making a direct beeline for the thick cock resting heavily against my stomach. Hot, ready, and wanting to slip into her tight pussy once more.

  “Hey.” I smirk, loving the way my voice makes her breath catch in her throat. “Why don’t you come here and take care of a little something?”

  Her eyes shift to my lap, and I clench my muscles, making my cock jerk against the covers. A look of hunger passes over her eyes, heating them. That look is there mere seconds before it’s gone, replaced by something dark, guarded. Her eyes leave mine to stare down at the thick, black satiny duvet lying next to my body. Quirking a brow, I sit up, wondering what’s gotten into her. It’s a complete one-eighty from how she was acting before we fell asleep.

  “Something wrong?”

  “It could be nothing, but …” she trails of.

  “Spit it out,” I reply gruffly.

  Licking her lips, she takes the luscious bottom fold between her teeth, worrying it almost raw. “Seriously, what is it?” I ask.

  “I woke up from a dream a little bit ago,” she says hesitantly. “It was about my brother.”

  “And …?”

  Snapping her eyes to mine, she deadpans, “I was on the floor, Mateo.”

  “So …” I don’t really get where she’s going with this, but it seems to be messing with that newly-developed emotion she’s displaying.

  “That’s the thing; I don’t remember moving, and it didn’t feel like a dream at all.” She shakes her head, huffing. “Now that I think about it, there’s no way I could have last night.”

  Something in her voice has my hackles rising as I slowly sit up straight in bed, the sheet falling down to rest on my hips. If there’s one thing that I’m certain of, Carina has never second-guessed her actions, nor has she seemed hesitant about anything since her memory came back. So, whatever this is, it must be eating her up inside to get to her this much.

  “Why couldn’t you?” I ask.

  “You were wrapped around me so tight, I couldn’t move,” she explains with a solemn expression. “When I woke up, I was already cold and covered in goose bumps. Hell, I was freezing but had sweat covering every part of my body.”

  “Could be a coincidence.”

  Yeah, even I know that’s bullshit. Everything coming out of her mouth is the stone-cold truth. Glancing at the alarm clock on my bedside table, I see we’ve only managed to gather just a few hours of sleep. Not enough for deep REM to set in and for us to gravitate toward different
directions in our sleep.

  “I don’t think it was, Mateo. I-I think my brother was here.”

  Her expression mirrors the incredulity in her voice. She believes this man came into my house without my knowledge, when I know that’s a falsehood if I’ve ever heard of one. No one can get into my house without my knowing. This place is like a fortress. You would have to be the fucking secret service or someone just as stealthy to slip past my people.

  “That’s not possible. Besides, your brother is dead.”

  “But—”

  “No,” I fume, giving her a look of disbelief. “No.”

  Extracting myself from between the sheets, my entire body buzzes in equal parts awareness and anger. How dare she think she’s not safe here? Yes, Vinny got shot. But damn, before him, we didn’t have any altercations here. It’s been solid, impenetrable.

  All these years I’ve lived here, moving in after my grandfather passed away in old age, no one has been ignorant enough to approach us. All around the estate, there’s no coverage to speak of. A damn sniper, assassin or some shit had to travel almost a mile away before they could get a clear opening enough to take a shot.

  “Your brother is dead just like my brother is dead. Do you think Vinny is coming back any time soon? Huh?” I thunder.

  “No.”

  “That’s the same motherfucking thing with your brother. You slit his goddamn throat. There’s no way around that. You can plead your case all you want to, but it will always lead to the same thing: they are fucking dead.”

  “I know you think I’m crazy …”

  “You’re absolutely right, Carina. I think you’re fucking delusional. So, you had a dream? Big fucking whoop. People have them every day. The only difference between you and them is the fact they can differentiate what is and isn’t real, which is something you’re clearly lacking.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her cheeks stain crimson, obviously embarrassed by her slip of the tongue. Of course, I don’t fucking care about that. Before waking up to this shitstorm, I was tranquil, reinvigorated. I actually had that blessed control I pride myself on having. But now, it feels like I’m teetering on that edge once more, all relaxation completely wiped away as if it were never there to begin with.