Erik: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Syndicate Book 3) Read online

  7

  Natasha

  Sitting on my bed, I could feel Carlyle entering my apartment like a thick, black cloud stretching out its tendrils to strangle me. If I was lucky, maybe that’s all that would happen, and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. Valerie would be fine! Everyone would be sad, but they’d get over it with time.

  It wasn’t like I was all that important, anyway.

  My eyes ached, my cheeks stinging, and my nose clogged, and I laid down on my side to curl up on Erik’s jacket. The door creaked when Carlyle put the slightest pressure on it, and my throat tightened as my heart struggled to beat. He must’ve had Jerry disable the microphone or something because he simply sat on the edge of my bed and started stroking my hair.

  “What now?” The croak pained my throat, and I tensed when Carlyle dug his fingers to knead my scalp. A hiccup of breath was all I could manage, and his gaze bored holes into my face before he inhaled steadily in preparation. Apprehension gripped me in a vice, and my lungs screamed for fresh air as their stale contents floated up to lighten my head.

  “Nothing. It’s not your fault, Natasha, and I don’t blame you. Jerry caught it quick, and he’s revising security. I had him turn it off for now. No one else needs to hear what I’m going to say.” He spoke so calmly, and tears leaked from my swollen lids as shivers raced up and down my spine. “I’m sure it hurts far more than you deserve. I apologize.”

  “Am all I’m good for is being used?” Sniffing harshly, I struggled through another shallow breath, and a hard-throbbing beat against my eyeballs as my voice bounced around in my skull. “Everything . . . everything I did . . . everything I did . . . why . . . why d—”

  “I don’t know why, Natasha. I do know one thing, though.” He thumbed the corner of my eye, and I clenched my jaw hard against the tenderness in his tone. Carlyle’s eyes were so, so, so grateful, and he palmed my face to lean down and kiss my forehead. “You’re a wonderful sister, and no matter what happens, no one can get between you and Valerie. Even if it seems like you’re far apart right now, you’ll be together again.”

  “I’m tired. I’m so tired . . . ” My voice cracked pathetically, and Carlyle actually winced in the gloom high above my head. “She’s my life, my whole life, an-and I-I can’t e—”

  Sputtering hoarsely, I couldn’t hold back my sobs anymore, and I buried my face in this cursed jacket. Carlyle was somber, quiet, his hand threading through my hair as I cried, and powerful contractions assaulted my abdomen. Shivering fiercely under the crushing weight of my loss, my muffled wails filled the otherwise silent room. My brain crawled to a stop as my heart squeezed painfully, and I gasped and wheezed as my episode reached its peak.

  “I know that nothing I say can help what you feel, Natasha, but you can always steal her back. Just like I told Valerie, I will never, ever try to get between you. That being said . . . this is your only freebie, Natasha. I don’t give second chances.” And he left with that as silently as he’d arrived, standing by the door to gaze at me in pity and, hopefully, some guilt. Sniffling hard, I pulled my comforter over my shivering body to mourn in loneliness. This was what I’d been reduced to, and there was no way to put my pieces back together— no glue strong enough. Curling up tighter, I rubbed my face into the blanket under me as my throat closed completely.

  Erik . . . this was his fault. The working part of my brain knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he was the straw that broke my back. He, a complete stranger, did something so atrocious, so unfathomably disgusting, and it didn’t have to be me. It shouldn’t have been me. I was a pawn to people I didn’t even know— for Carlyle, for my mom. I wasn’t Valerie’s knight in shining armor anymore. I couldn’t take her pain to fuel my determination because she didn’t have any more pain.

  “Just for tonight . . . I’ll be really pathetic.” My voice scratched my raw throat, barely squeezing through, and I pushed myself up onto weak elbows to sniffled hard. Pain riddled up my nose and into my brain, and my body moved sluggishly to throw my legs over the side of the bed.

  Shuffling out of my room and down the hall, I shivered when my toes touched the cold tiles on the kitchen floor. Leaving the light off, I barely lifted my feet as I trudged to the oven, and the much duller overhead pierced my eyes. Wincing slightly, my shoulders curled in as I ducked my head, and I ground my teeth hard.

  Throwing open the refrigerator, a cold sweat broke out on my skin as I pulled everything off the shelves and set it on the table. There wasn’t enough room, so I used the counter— and when that space was gone, I used the chairs. The food in the refrigerator was all fresh, and I panted by the time I got it all out and displayed in front of me.

  I could make anything I wanted— chicken, steak, and seafood sat on the table, and I glanced between them warily. Rocking back on my heels, I rubbed my face absently as a huge, tired sigh built up against my ribs.

  “I’ll just make everything.” My mumble was loud in the empty kitchen, and it bounced off the hard surfaces to follow me on my way to the small pantry. Snatching the onions, potatoes, and breadcrumbs, I left the collapsing door open as I set my armfuls on the stovetop. Reaching into the lower cabinet, I pulled out all the bowls and the cake pans— just because I could. Moving automatically, I had no plan on what I wanted to make. I just . . . needed to stave off this hopelessness and hurt.

  A soft knock on the front door barely entered my attention, and I clapped my palms against my cheeks. Sniffling hard, I glanced at myself in the mirror between the hallway and the kitchen, and I rushed my fingers through my hair a few times. Cracking open the door, relief sloshed in my chest when Illya stood on the other side, and she held up a bottle of tequila to shake it enticingly.

  “Wanna get wrecked?” Ducking my head in a nod, I stepped to the side, and Illya smiled as she passed. “How are you doin’, Natasha?”

  “You know how to cook?” Her slender face scrunched up in uncertainty, and I shut the door behind us before shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter. You can cut stuff up pretty even, right?”

  “Uh, yeah?” That was good enough for me, and I gestured her to follow me around the corner into the kitchen. Illya paused in surprise, and I grabbed the bag of potatoes to set it on the edge of the table. “What are we making?”

  “I dunno, what do you want to eat? Where’s Theo? He can eat a lot, right?” She nodded dumbly, and I hauled all the chicken to the stove as my mind started puttering into action. “I’ll text Fred and Marshal, too.”

  “Okay. Why not make chicken parm? Or chicken and potatoes?” I had legs, wings, two packages of breasts, and two-quarter pieces, and I nodded dumbly as Illya spewed out options. “Wings, fried chicken, chicken, and swiss casserole . . . ”

  “Let’s make it all. I know how to do all that.” When I glanced over, Illya’s brows were high, and I frowned as mine drew together. “What? All you have to do is chop stuff up. It won’t be too hard.”

  “Nothing— nothing. Just give me a knife and tell me how big you want these pieces.” Gathering up her long, orange hair, Illya nodded with determination, and a slick smile stretched her face wide. “I should probably cut up everything before I start drinking, though.”

  “You really don’t know how to cook?” She shrugged as I sauntered over to tear the tape off the cap of the tequila, and my frown deepened. “Why not? Everyone should know how to at least make mac ‘n’ cheese or eggs.”

  “I can’t get close to heat. It irritates my chest.” My lips formed an ‘o,’ and discomfort wiggled deep into my chest as I took a huge swig of burning alcohol. The warmth surged down my throat, and I hoovered up a shallow breath as I shook my head viciously. Illya’s chest wasn’t something I’d make the mistake of asking about again, and I set the bottle on the table as she ripped open the bag of potatoes. “I like helping, so it’ll be fine.”

  8

  Erik

  “Morning, Captain.” I could hear in my own voice how tired I was, and Donald cast me an u
nreadable glance as I sat down across his desk. “Let me guess, this is about Carlyle Santino?”

  “Of course, it is. You had orders to be discreet, at the very least, about investigating the bombing. What the Hell happened, Erik?” My brows rose in surprise, and I scowled darkly as understanding flickered across my superior’s face. Propping his stubbled chin on laced fingers, Donald shot me a hard glance as this wild goose chase suddenly wasn’t so damn wild anymore. “Remmy tried to overshoot, didn’t he? I thought I warned you about his conspiracy theories and obsession with the Syndicate.”

  “Obviously, I didn’t listen hard enough.” Grumbling my reply, I knew it wouldn’t fly, but it was all I had. No wonder that old bastard’s story didn’t exactly line up. Rubbing my jaw and neck, I sat back a little as I caught my commander’s gaze. “What’s his whole deal, anyway? Why does he think Carlyle Santino is connected to the Syndicate?”

  “He was involved in a case some twenty years ago with George Santino, Carlyle’s father, but couldn’t get enough evidence to convict. Ever since then, he’s been convinced that they’re evil. I’m sure it doesn’t help that they make hefty donations to local businesses and the city, so they pretty much run the place. The point is, Erik, why did you go along with something so stupid as to try to bug the guy’s girlfriend’s sister? That’s a huge stretch, even for Remmy.”

  “The bomb was sent to their shared apartment, Cap. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I found out through public records that the girls’ mom was heavily involved in Baron Ninety-Nine. Don’t you think it’s weird how they all started dropping like flies right after this girlfriend almost gets blown up?” Donald frowned, his brows wiggling thoughtfully, and I rolled my eyes at how ‘coincidental’ it all sounded. “This all happened way too fast.”

  “Erik . . . Carlyle is off-limits. Unless you visibly witness him shooting someone and shoot the whole thing in Four-K HD, you don’t go near him.” I couldn’t do anything other than nod in agreement, and some of the tension eased in my gut. Donald’s grey hair flashed, and his wrinkles deepened as he frowned, his dull eyes narrowed on me. “I’m serious. Don’t make this worse, or you’ll lose your job over the guy, and he’s not worth it.”

  “I beg your pardon.“ Twisting to find the very man staring at me, I tensed as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. “I’m very much worth it, thank you.”

  “Mr. Santino, I wasn’t expecting you. I would’ve broken out the ‘okay’ coffee instead of the shit we normally serve.” Donald stood up, rounding his desk to shake Carlyle’s hand firmly, and I followed suit as my boss introduced us. “Erik Shaffer, Mr. Carlyle Santino.”

  “I know who he is. Three years in the Navy before applying for the SEALs and spending a decade there before voluntarily discharging after a mission gone bad in Syria. It’s impressive. You’d think you’d know better than to try to do something as stupid as bug a person who routinely sweeps for bugs.” Gazing at me even though he held Donald’s hand, Carlyle’s eyes narrowed into tight slits as discomfort slithered up and down my spine. “I wanted to see you for myself. More importantly, I’m here to accept your partner’s resignation.”

  Surprise struck my chest, but Carlyle didn’t bat an eyelash as he released Donald’s hand. His expression never wavered, and my boss sighed heavily.

  “Yeah, it was decided yesterday by the higher powers that sign our paychecks. I tried calling you, but you were on your little internet crusade about Baron Ninety-Nine.” Carlyle’s expression finally changed, and I bristled as his lip twitched up in the makings of a snarl. “He’s gonna get pushed into retirement a little earlier than planned, that’s all.”

  “You and I need to have a talk about boundaries, apparently, Erik. Let’s go outside.” His wasn’t a suggestion, and I frowned as I followed him out of Donald’s office and through the precinct. I felt like a kid following a teacher to the principal’s office, and the teacher was also the principal. That sensation was strange for a thirty-three-year-old, to say the least. Holding the door open for me, Carlyle gestured me out first, and he plucked a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket to spark one up. Leaning on the side of the building, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and huffed a white, crystalline breath as the cold stung my cheeks.

  “I’ve had scuffles with your partner before.” Mumbling around his cigarette, Carlyle glanced at me through slits, and I inhaled deeply under the weight of his gaze. No wonder Remmy got the jeebies from him— there was something about him that just rubbed the wrong way. There was something in his eyes that spoke of unfathomable violence, and he carried himself like a guy that killed without remorse. “I can only imagine what you hoped to achieve by doing this, but I can guarantee you that you didn’t get what you wanted. All you did was crack open a little, lonely girl with the world on her shoulders, and she’s in the middle of losing her reason for living. If Natasha kills herself, will you be the guilty one, Erik?”

  “Are you going to do anything to stop it?” Combatting his question with my own, I watched him take a deep drag of his cigarette and hold it. Smoke seeped out of Carlyle’s nose slowly, and he eventually shook his head.

  “You know, it’s not really my problem, is it? I mean, sure, Valerie will be devastated, but people adapt to catastrophic changes over time. It might be horrible in the beginning, but I’ve done what I can. I don’t care about Natasha’s wellbeing beyond that.” His face was stone cold, not a trace of anything, and I couldn’t detect the lilt of a lie in his voice as he exhaled the rest of his lungful. “I didn’t expect you to dig in on this rookie-follower routine. You’re not some twenty-year-old with no experience, Erik. I’ve read your files, all of them, and I’ve got to say that I’m disappointed.”

  Before I could even open my mouth, even form a question, Carlyle was talking again, and he sized me up standing just a few inches from me. Chest to chest, we were the same height, but he was a lot slenderer than I was.

  Not that it really mattered as those emotionless eyes dug into mine.

  “I’m taking your partner’s badge. I know that may not mean a lot to you because you’ve only been an officer for a few months but understand me perfectly clear. I’m not someone to mess with, and you made the mistake of attracting my attention. Your partner is an idiot with a glory complex, looking for things that aren’t there.” Carlyle’s tone could cut concrete, and I jerked my head in a curt nod before he stepped back. “By the way, Erik . . . did you ever consider that the bomb was meant for the person it was mailed to? From now on, do your own research. Don’t rely on word of mouth, and if you do, make sure to ask the right people.”

  “Why are you here if you don’t care about her?” Carlyle paused, casting a furious glance as I ground my molars.

  “This is my home, Erik. It might not be something you’re accustomed to, considering your background. I hate when people disrespect me in my home.” Tensing at the jibe, I couldn’t help but scowl when he scoffed at me with disdain blazing in his eyes. “Don’t follow your partner’s footsteps.”

  “Wait.” Why couldn’t I just keep my big-ass mouth shut? Pursing my lips thinly, I cleared my throat roughly as shame threatened to close it. Carlyle’s expression twisted in irritation, and he tapped his foot impatiently. “What happened between you and Remmy?”

  “Make sure you ask the right people the right questions.” He walked back inside, tossing his cigarette carelessly, and I exhaled a gust of a sigh that puffed out in front of me. Clutching my head between my arms, I silently cursed myself as the last few minutes raced through my head. This was exactly why I joined the Navy— I took orders much better than being left with my personal opinion.

  “Shit . . . shit . . . ” Scuffing my heel, I jerked open the door to stalk into the main room of the precinct, and my eyelid twitched when I heard Remmy screaming in Donald’s office. Carlyle sat on my desk, his legs hanging off the back, and I made a beeline for the front door because, well, fuck all this drama.

  I wasn’t going to sti
ck around for a new partner.

  “I should’ve known being a cop wasn’t for me.” I came from the SEALs, damnit, and being a cop was so . . . so objective. Good didn’t mean good, and bad didn’t mean bad. At least, in the military, I got my orders and didn’t have to think any more about it. I didn’t have to know who I was targeting, only that he was being targeted.

  Natasha didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of crazy and stupid.

  9

  Erik

  “Ah!” The pained hiss that seeped through the small cube sitting on the nightstand woke me from a troubled sleep, and I rolled over to stare at it through the gloom. Natasha kept the bug off during the day and turned it on at night, and her hurt sounds tormented me all the way to morning. I knew what this was. This was her getting back at me for poking my nose somewhere I shouldn’t have. This was her turning the tables on the privacy I had tried to wrest from her.

  I couldn’t turn the damn thing off, either— no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn’t press that tiny button on the back. After Remmy got fired two days before, I’d quit within the hour, and Donald hadn’t tried to get the equipment back. Maybe. He knew it was compromised. Maybe, he just wanted to forget the whole thing happened. I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to slink back to that God-awful place to ask.

  “Shit . . . ” The thick slur assaulted my ears, and a loud rustling emanated from the speaker the muffle harsh pants. Sitting up, my skin burned against the sheet that slid off my chest, and the coarse hairs there bristled. Goosebumps swept up my arm when I grabbed the device, and a little choked sound burst out of it. “I don’t know if you’re listening . . . if anyone ever really listens. Everything I say is being recorded, right? So it’s like a diary . . . ”