Page 93 of Souls and Sorrows

Vitus wasn’t kidding about that much.

With the exception of a small branch out in Maine that still bears the official company as some sort of parent brand, distantly removed, it’s as if Rafael Ricci’s empire never existed in the first place. His own criminal record was expunged, and his time in the correctional facility outside the city is linked to some misdemeanor drug possession rather than what he wound up being convicted and sentenced for.

But now, Vitus is gone, too, and I’m starting to find the woman I share a bed with at night a little suspicious.

Granted, I’ve always been wary about her because of the treasure trove of secrets I’m certain she possesses, but still.

She all but admitted outright to being involved in the Tallerico murders, but that’s the only thing she’s been fully forthcoming with. Everything else is information I have to drag from her, usually by fucking it out of her.

Which I don’t mind doing. Ariana becomes very, very pliant after sex, and I’m starting to regret not succumbing to my physical attraction sooner. Perhaps if she’d been more palatable from the start, some of the confusion and mystery could’ve been avoided.

I’m not naive in thinking sex is some sort of cure for the hurt she’s experienced in her life, but it is some sort of balm. She climbs on me each night and sheathes my cock inside her snug heat, riding me until we’re both a panting, exhausted mess of bodily fluid and limbs.

Then, I flip her over and start anew, unable to keep myself from learning new ways to make her toes curl and moan so loud that the neighbors three floors down complain.

We do it all again in the morning. And at lunch, either on my desk or against the mirrored wall in her studio with her little leotard pulled to the side and her fingers wrapped tight around my throat.

I’ve spent so much time inside of her after our tryst in my office that I don’t go running for a week, and the next time I slip out of bed at three in the morning, my body screams its protest.

There’s a sluggishness living in my veins that I’ve never felt before, and it’s tempting to give in and let it take over. Every atom of mine would be happy to stay put, tucked around Ariana in bed, where I can be certain she’s safe and not getting into trouble.

But thinking that way does her a disservice and threatens any progress we’ve made in our relationship. I don’t want to be like the other people in her life, who make her question their intentions and do whatever they can to temper her personality.

I happen to like her personality the way it is.

My sister meets me at a short bridge midway through my run. She’s bundled up in a pink puffer jacket with a white knit cap pulled over her head while her fiancé stands slightly behind her with his hands tucked into his leather jacket.

Coming to a stop, I frown at her. “Thought you were coming alone.”

Lenny rolls her green eyes, punching my bicep. “You didn’t think I was going to get you a meeting with Kal Anderson, did you? He and Jonas gowayback, and he’s far more likely to agree to sit down this way. Trust me, I’ve barely spoken three words to the guy.”

“Don’t you and his wife have brunch every week?”

“Yeah, but since we added Cora into the mix, he doesn’t come around at all anymore. Personally, I think it’s the blue hair, but she refuses to change it.”

Jonas smirks, his violet eyes crinkling at the corners. “That is most certainly not the reason, love.”

I blink at her. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

She sighs, looping her arm through mine and starting down the road. “One day, I’ll catch you up. There are a lot of people you need to meet.”

Though Dr. Kal Anderson is at the top of my list.

We take the short ferry ride to Aplana Island, and Lenny ditches us at the marina for a blue-haired woman and her tall, onyx-haired companion, who stands back with a leash wrapped around his wrist, the end of which is attached to a little black dog. They take off toward downtown, and Jonas walks us to a matte-black Range Rover, gesturing for me to climb inside.

No words are spoken on the drive to this little Italian eatery, and I give him a look as he parks the vehicle.

“We’re meeting here?” I ask, taking in the pale pastel siding and the red and pink flowers lining the windows.

“Just trust me, all right? Anywhere else, he’s liable to just kill you for irritating him because most places in Aplana don’t have witnesses who will care. This is one of the few public venues that will because it’s owned by Ermes Barbieri’s grandmother, and she doesn’t put up with any bullshit.”

Even the mention of that fucker’s name causes irritation to flare in my gut.

Jonas and I exit the vehicle, and I try to push my animosity toward the Brit behind me.

In the time he’s been with my sister, I’ve known him to be primarily two things: the man who once tried—and failed—to kill my father and the one who would kill anyone who breathed wrong in Lenny’s presence.

Still, I’ve been holding on to some archaic notion of protection where my baby sister is concerned, and I’m afraid it’s bled over into the relationships she’s had. But it’s hard to stop coddling someone you’ve seen at their very worst and who desperately needed it at a time in their lives.

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