Wicked Liar by Faith Summers

Chapter Twenty

Dominic

Fuck…

It’s this type of shit that can send a man over the edge. The kind of shit he gets himself into and can't figure a way out.

Candace's words haven't stopped ringing through my mind. Her words and the disappointment in her eyes are stuck in my head and there's not a damn thing I can do to refute what she said because she was right.

My actions weren't anything close to a man who claims to love her. What cut me deep and made me realize I didn't have a leg to stand on was when she said no one would have been able to contact me if anything had happened to her. The way I left was purely selfish, but all I was thinking about was cleaning up. I wasn't thinking straight.

Looking back now, I'm not sure if I was thinking at all. What I did is so unlike me. I'm not that person. I'm not the kind of man who would treat his woman that way. But fuck... that's the point. She's not mine.

I didn’t sleep last night, so I’m cranky and pissed.

As if I don't have the biggest shit of my life to worry about with these people from the Order and the weird connection with the man who killed Candace's parents, I kept thinking of how I was going to get her back.

I had that out of control feeling again for everything, so when morning dawned I did the thing I've been putting off for a few days and made my appointment to see Dr. Wainwright, a Consultant Psychotherapist in drug addictions.

I made contact because the last time I felt this way, I turned to drugs.

I’m in the waiting room of the clinic staring at the brightly colored school of Disc fish in the aquarium. I’m the only patient here, which is great. I haven’t been waiting long, and they know from my name I’m not to be kept waiting so I’m not surprised when the receptionist comes out to get me five minutes after I sit down.

“Mr. D’Agostino, Dr. Wainwright will see you now, if you’ll follow me,” she says, setting her shoulders back.

“Thank you.”

When her face wrinkles into a smile, I guess smiling is a thing she rarely does.

She reminds me of an old schoolmarm, the ones I used to get in trouble with all the time when I was a kid.

I follow her into a neat little office where I meet Dr. Wainwright. His name fits his face. I expected someone who looked like Dick Van Dyke in Diagnosis Murder. Dr. Wainwright looks a little like him with his white hair and beard.

He has unusual hazel eyes though and a younger face which suggests he’s not as old as his beard makes him appear.

Since I was given his name by the Healer in Tibet I didn’t do the ground work I’d normally do.

We shake hands and the receptionist leaves us.

“Dominic D’Agostino I’ve been expecting you. Please sit.”

“Thanks.” I sit before him in the soft leatherback chair and humble myself.

I don’t do that for everybody. I can’t quite recall when I last did it but I’m the one who needs him, not the other way around.

“I’m glad you made your appointment. It’s good to have a point of contact even if you don’t need me.”

“I figured. Sorry I didn’t get around to doing it before. Things have been busy, and it’s been hard coming home,” I explain.

He nods understanding. “That part was always going to be hard. How are you doing?”

“I’m not bad.” When asked that question in the rehab world, they’re not asking how your day is going. They mean do you feel you need to turn to drugs again? “I just wanted to check-in. I didn’t want to get stuck in work like last time and then take the easy way out.”

“Have you felt like taking the easy way out recently?” he asks with understanding, and I appreciate that.

“No,” I answer honestly. “I haven’t. I think I feel like I might do when I reach that point where I lose control.”

Like last night when I realized I might have lost Candace for good.

“What was your image of happiness the healer told you to find.”

I stare back at him not sure how I can explain this without looking like a fucking loser who’s feeling sorry for himself. I’m not a loser but as usual Candace Ricci bends my rules.

“My girl.” As I say that I remember all the things I had to endure to get better.

Mental strength was what helped me finalize everything in the end. I was instructed to think of what made me happy and the first thing I thought of was her.

Images of her flowed into my mind of different periods of our lives. Her as the angel at six years old in the Christmas play. Her walking on the beach in Sicily when our families went there on vacation when we were kids. Her at ten years old when her father bought her a puppy. Her at twelve, bringing us the first batch of cookies she ever made. Her when her heart was broken after her parents' died. Her when she started to smile again. It was years later. I made her an origami angel. They're all supposed to be her. I don’t know if she ever knew that.

Then my last memory was her in my arms waking to the bright morning sunlight and that smile she gave me when she felt like mine.

That’s why I can’t stop trying to get her back.

"I've... been in love with her my entire life, but she never knew, and I never knew how deeply I felt." I've never confessed that to anybody and I've had people fooled for so long I fooled myself with wicked lies.

“You need your image always,” Dr. Wainwright says, and I couldn’t agree more. “I’m guessing something must have brought you here. Something more than worrying you’ll lose touch with the strength you have now.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just want to make sure I’m doing all the right things.”

“Okay. I like where your head is at. I think to stay on top of things try to identify anything, anything at all that might throw you out of balance. Don’t underestimate the little things. Identify any threats and neutralize them.”

I nod and I don't know why but when I think of threats and things throwing me out of balance, that asshole Jacques Belmont comes to the forefront of my mind.

Him. That motherfucker.

He wants my girl.

Damn it. Once again, I have my priorities mixed up. I have to get my act together. There's a lot going on and I need a clear mind to focus, but I'm not fucking losing my girl to that prick.

I meant every word I said to her. I'll find a way to get her back.

* * *

“It turns out I was right,” Aiden states, releasing a haggard sigh.

He opens the large brown manilla envelope he brought and pulls out some printouts of images. When he sits forward and lays them on the coffee table, I press my lips together.

The images are full-bodied pictures of Karl and Bradford. Just like the guy from the other night, both have the tattoo on the underside of their forearms. I stare at the inky black dagger with the cobra going around the handle and the word Eternal in the center of the dagger's blade.

Shit.

I knew from the second I opened my door to Aiden he'd be coming inside with dangerous news.

"God," I breathe. "This shit is definitely getting real."

When I got back from Dr. Wainwright, I dived into research, just continuing my pursuit in looking through Alfonse's files. I felt we'd find more answers there, but here Aiden is with another piece of the puzzle. At least this piece fits what we already have, and we're starting to create a picture.

"I know. It's not good news, but at least we know what we're up against."

"Yeah, a team of the worse motherfuckers known to man plotting together."

Aiden nods. "It makes sense now how it was so easy to bomb the old Syndicate and convince members to doublecross them. They were almost sure the plan would work. This is where the money, the brains, and the muscle came from."

I completely agree, and it does make sense. You couldn't just take out the type of people and connections that formed the old Syndicate.

"And I can absolutely see now where the thirst for power is coming from."

"Exactly." He straightens up and eyes me with caution. "Dominic, I think the king is someone in the government simply for the fact that your father was going to do business with the Russian and Italian governments years ago. I believe we're looking for someone like that."

I look at him, process what he's saying, and think about what he said the other night.

"How did you know about the Order, Aiden? You said you came across them by accident."

When an uneasy expression washes over his face and that pain I noticed in his eyes from days ago comes into his eyes, I suspect the answers to some of the minimal things he's shared are connected.

"I did something stupid a few years back." Sadness glazes over his eyes, taking over the pain. "It was something that exposed me to them... nobody is supposed to know about people like that. I screwed up, and they killed my wife and my baby to get back at me."

A sudden heaviness expands in my core, leaving me feeling deep sadness for him. "Aiden, fuck... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know that happened to you." I'm assuming now that's why he turned to drugs.

"I'm not exactly a guy to share info about myself."

"I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, I appreciate that." He inclines his head to the side. "Dominic, we need to end this once and for all. We just do. This isn't like years ago. Back then we didn't know what was going on. Right now we don't know what the fuck our enemies are up to but it's obvious they must want control of the Syndicate again in some kind of way. The best part of this is we know what we're dealing with. We don't know everything, but we know something and that's more than what they had. I don't want to spend the next few years watching my back. I'm the leader of my brotherhood now and if it comes to it, I'm pulling out of the Syndicate."

My lips part.

"God, Aiden... no one wants you to do that."

"I don't either, but there comes a point when you have to make that judgment call. This is my last run of this. I suppose though if we all die I won't have to worry about a brotherhood to take care of."

"Let's hope it doesn't fucking come to that."

"I hope it won't either. I think we've shown how effective it can be when the Bratva work with the Italians."

I nod at that. "I think so too."

Many of the men I know in our alliance would never ally with the Bratva. Vincent and Claudius from Chicago are men like that, but they joined the Syndicate because Massimo trusts Aiden.

"I think your dead soldiers in the warehouse means we need to take things up a notch." Aiden bites the inside of his lips. "When things get to that stage, it suggests the days of relaxing and simply checking the streets are over. I don't know if we're doing enough."

"Alfonse's files must have more answers." There has to be more inside them. I just have a feeling from the way it was encrypted and the number of files on there.

"I think so too. Maybe we can find everything there."

"I fucking hope so." Frustrated, I run my hand over my beard. "I wish I'd started working on them sooner. Who knows what I could have found. I've had them for two years."

"We'll keep looking, Dominic. Believe me when I say that even if you had checked, you probably wouldn't have been in the right frame of mind to see what you needed to see."

He's right, and probably the only person who'll understand what I went through to clean up.

"Thanks. We'll go in hard this week."

He dips his head in agreement.

The beeping sound from my computer has us looking at it. I get up and go over to see what it found. I’m expecting something to do with Karl or Bradford but when I see Jaques' personal diary appear I grit my teeth. I'd almost forgotten I'd done this the other day when I was checking him out. Aiden joins me and looks at the screen with narrowed eyes.

“What did you do, Dominic? That says Jacques Belmont's diary." He's looking at the notification my bots left in the corner of my widescreen.

"It is. I hacked in. He’s in it right now. Fucking live."

He laughs. "You win M.I.T. boy, I don't know how to do that."

"I’m watching his ass like a fly on the wall as he updates his activities for the weekend. This is the diary he doesn’t want people to see.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're are a very dangerous man?”

“All the time.”

The damn smile drops off my face when I watch Jacques input his schedule for this evening.

At seven p.m. he’s supposed to win Candace in the Decadent Auction, then at eight, he’s going to fuck her brains out.

My fucking blood heats and I blow out a breath of fury.

He starts writing on Sunday and blocks out two weeks for fucking, which he highlights in pink, then he's taking her to Monte Carlo for more fucking. He’ll decide by the third week if her pussy is good enough to skip his weekend getaway with Cyndy.

“Jesus Christ,” Aiden hisses. I look at him and he shakes his head. “Calm down old friend. I think your brother would have your head if you kill that prick."

If I'm getting the warning not to kill, it means I must look like I'm about to issue death.

"Fucking fuck.” I ball my fists and my gaze snaps back to the computer screen to the word auction. The Decadent Auction. My Candace is in an auction. That is what we'd call dark auctions because it's run by the Syndicate. Massimo kept the old practices going long before I left home. "Auction."

"Auction," Aiden confirms.

And Candace is taking part? What the actual fuck?

Candace is in an auction that's set up for women to sell their bodies for sex. For thirty days and thirty nights.

The Candace I know would never dream of entering something like that. No fucking way.

“Candace doesn’t seem like the type to be part of such a… thing. Not even for charity,” Aiden surmises biting the inside of his lip.

“She’s not.”

Candace isn’t like that at all. So something else must be going on. Maybe she needs the money. If so, then why wouldn’t she ask one of us for it?

Dark dread fills me. What if she’s in trouble? I don’t even want to think about that part.

There has to be a damn good reason for this thing I’m seeing.

And fucking Jacques… That motherfucker, he’s not only going to the auction, but he knows she’s an applicant and he’s planning to win her.

We’ll fucking see about that.

Prick…

I glance at the clock on the wall. It's just after six. Aiden winces as I grab my gun. An idea forms in my head. One as dark and twisted as my heart. It actually has me smiling to myself as I walk through the door.

I must look like a madman.