Taming the Dark

By Nicole Radosti

Sephina finds herself at a loss against the evil that rages inside her. She has no choice but to surrender to its will each night and do evil’s bidding since being offered up as a sacrifice to save her tribe hundreds of years ago. During the day, when her will is her own, she tries to atone for all the evil she has done after discovering a power that could help her find redemption. Zara, a telepathic twin with the power to extract memories, helps Sephina and countless others find peace in the world not many know exists, including Det. Brayden O’Leary.

After an investigation of a Manhattan homicide leads Det. Brayden O’Leary to Sephina, he learns what she is capable of and what is truly at stake. Zara reveals Brayden’s hidden past and in doing so exposes his dark secret, torn but determined to stay by Sephina’s side. The final battle begins when the Fallen Brother makes Sephina betray those she loves and stand against them as the dark immortal he created her to be…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662451607

Book preview

1

Det. Brayden O’Leary ran a finger along the thin, brass-buttoned border inside the soft black leather menu in his hands. He supposed this ornate trim along the stiff white paper embossed with black cursive writing was meant to evoke a refined and elegant atmosphere, but all he could think of was the brass cartridges loaded inside his department-issue Glock 22. They had their own purpose, one that he couldn’t forget as the gun pressed hard against his side.

Hangar One, Karlsson’s, Bombay Sapphire, Hendricks, Montecristo Spiced, El Dorado 15-year, Corzo Silver, Reposado or Anejo, Bulleit Bourbon, Jameson 12-year, Crown Royal, Sazerac, Rittenhouse Rye, Oban 14-year, Laphroaig 10-year, Chivas 12-year, several amari, grappas, and cordials. An impressive list, he admitted to himself. He expected no less. Adesso was one of the most powerful drug lords / arms dealers in New York City, but when this man spared no expense on his restaurant, Brayden knew it wasn’t for gaudy pretense or to hide the stench of blood money. No, Brayden knew him too well. It was done to taunt. His arrogance allowed to grow to preposterous heights. Years of countless stakeouts, dead leads, and endless nights of reviewing files and surveillance footage told him Adesso’s heart was as black as they came, and his attention to detail could rival even Brayden’s. Despicable nature aside, and his maddening habit of slipping through Brayden’s grasp, Brayden and his partner, Ronan Kane, could take nothing away from this five-star front.

Gotta hand it to the guy, Ronan gushed. Every time we come here, it smells insane. Like he kidnapped everyone’s grandmother in an eight-block radius and has them slaving away in the kitchen. Like a sweat shop from the ol’ country, he added with a raspy attempt at an old Italian man’s accent. His grin widened and his eyes brightened. And the scenery…

Ronan’s gaze slowly circled the room. He did not focus on the ornate chandeliers with amber bulbs nestled inside the triple tiers of frosted glass bowls that resembled glowing snowmen strung upside down. His gaze skipped over the chairs crisply wrapped in white linen and the black-and-brown marbled countertops speckled with what looked like thin flakes of gold. But Brayden noticed them. He noticed everything. Even the infinity waterfalls silently cascading down the tiled halls. Infused with bubbles, the golden lights made the water resemble champagne raining down from the ceiling painted to look like heaven. The Creation of Adam. A little cliché, Brayden judged to his own amusement. Although it would be the closest Adesso would ever get to such an afterlife. Heaven’s doors don’t open for arrogant thieves and casual murderers. I’ll let him dream. Brayden laughed to himself.

It wasn’t just the crimes Adesso committed that bothered Brayden as much as the way he did them. There was nothing he wouldn’t do. Human trafficking, lethal school drug rings, and arms deals with ISIS was the way he made it to the top. And the worst of it all, was the line that stretched around the block to get in his place.

Fetching, wouldn’t you say? Ronan asked, smiling. He was addressing his partner, but his voice was loud enough to be heard by a group of young brunettes striding by in short tight cocktail dresses. Their giggles and blushing cheeks were all Ronan needed to feed his dreams of tonight’s possibilities.

They had been waiting for months for the opportunity to nail Adesso and to nail him for good this time. Get him with enough dirt that not even his league of crooked lawyers could scour it away. The UCs had been working him for months, and tonight, they would make their final move. They’d gotten a tip on a ship coming in smuggling kidnapped refugees Adesso was selling. The men were to work as indentured servants working off about fifty grand a head, and the women were sold into much worse for even more.

Would you mind focusing and checking in with dispatch to see how much longer we have to wait for the signal?

Happy to. Ronan picked up his cell and dialed. Hey, honey, I might be out late tonight. Do you need me to pick up anything?

Brayden smirked as he watched his partner actually wait until he received a favorable response from his loving wife—or at least that’s what any eavesdroppers would assume. Brayden knew who must be on dispatch tonight.

All right then, I’ll see you soon. Light the candles, my love. Wear something sexy for me tonight. Bye. He hung up, smiling.

What’s the story Romeo?

We need milk, Ronan said sarcastically with a straight face before breaking into a smothered laugh underneath the stern stare of his partner. The UC’s last check-in said that they were in and waiting to get into Adesso’s loft. Once they are with him and have the shipment manifests in sight, they’ll send the final signal, and we can go in and clean house.

They need to hurry up. Something’s not right, and I swear if he slips through again… Brayden’s voice trailed off in a huff as a busty blond came to the table.

Hey, looker, she said with a wink at Ronan. Whaddaya say we get this stiff something to ease those rippling shoulders? She motioned toward Brayden with a thumb poking out of her closed fist.

Oh, if only it were that easy, beautiful, Ronan responded with a devilish smile, all traces of nerves from his previous call gone. But he doesn’t…

I’ll have a glass of the Bulleit Bourbon, doll, Brayden interrupted with a tone that killed the conversation and sent her scurrying to fulfill his request. Didn’t want to arouse suspicion. I suppose a drink on the night we finally get this bastard…

Is long overdue, Ronan finished. He raised his glass of iced water with a respectful tip toward his partner who had been working on this case even before he had joined the force. He knew how much it meant to Brayden to personally collar Adesso and take him in.

Sorry, Brayden responded with a respectful head dip toward his partner. How are things going with you two? He knew his partner acted like a hound but was a hopeless romantic at heart. And dispatch had cupid’s arrow lodged deep lately.

She’s giving me another shot, not without a little begging on my part, I’m not embarrassed to say. I don’t blame her. The job always gets in the way. But we’re supposed to go out tonight, if all this goes down without a hitch.

I’ll drink to that. Brayden’s voice held a trace of hope.

Before the blond waitress could return with the drink, Brayden saw the two UCs make their way down the spiral staircase and hasten past. Without a go-ahead for him and Ronan, he became quickly irritated. Brayden glared at their faces as if willing them to find him and his partner among the crowd. His anger was on the brink of eruption. Something that Ronan didn’t fail to notice. Ronan turned in his chair and took note that all of Adesso’s men were still milling about and giving no hint to his partner’s agitation. Brayden couldn’t even wait to meet the UCs outside for an explanation. His eyes met with the male UC, a pimp for all intents and purposes, whose facial expression told Brayden’s seasoned instincts that their quick steps were not ones of fear or retreat but of frustrated defeat. Only seconds passed, and they were already at Brayden’s table. Breaking protocol, Brayden reached out and grabbed the female UC’s wrist. She hissed at him.

Hands off. You can’t afford me. She whipped her hand from his grasp to preserve her cover.

Where the hell are you two going? Brayden demanded.

The pimp knew better than to quote the rule book to Brayden. Blowing his cover underneath the cartel’s roof would be nothing compared to the wrath of making Brayden O’Leary wait for an answer.

Adesso already has entertainment for the night. She arrived a few moments before we did. He’s locked away in his room with strict instructions not to be disturbed.

And you couldn’t manage to make your way in? Brayden whispered through gritted teeth. The bartenders gaze lingered on the odd scene that was playing out in front of him.

Before Ronan could begin to deescalate the situation, there was a scatter of unmistakable popping sounds coming from the loft. Gunshots, screams, and a split second of hesitation before the crowd became a mob stampeding toward the exit.

ISIS! some idiot yelled. His voice cracked a whip behind the mangled diners scurrying for the door.

Plates crashed, drinks shattered and pooled along the floor. Tables overturned as people mindlessly pushed their way through the restaurant.

The once elegantly dressed diners were reduced to a herd of crazed animals desperately trying to escape the imminent threat that remained unseen. Larger pieces of furniture were strewn about like a madman’s attempt to chop kindling. The panicked mob made their way atop a smaller layer of debris that became a path they could stumble across. Women were pinned between the larger men as the crowd funneled through the narrowing pathway. Chairs were thrown aside to make another path to the exit. Some chandeliers swayed from the commotion happening above, their rocking light adding to the chaos, giving the impression that the room had caught fire. Some fixtures crashed to the marbled floor, sending shards of glass in all directions. More screams.

Ronan’s thin frame allowed him to squeeze through the crowd and run parallel alongside the remainder of Adesso’s men who were also heading for the stairs. Brayden was having less luck pressing through the mass; each gap he made with his arms closed in and collapsed with more bodies before he could take another step. Waves of frustration crashed over him; with every step, he was forced to take back. He climbed onto an intact table and leaped onto the bar’s countertop. The slippery surface made Brayden pause to regain his footing. Before he could leap back down and sprint toward the stairs, he slipped and fell, kicking a drink onto an old man in a trench coat. The old man remained seated at the bar, his own drink steady in his hand. The smell of bourbon filled the old man’s nose as the drink dribbled down his forehead, nose, and cheeks onto his coat.

Brayden paid him no more mind, other than a muttered Sorry as he leaped from the bar. He was already ascending the stairs, his eyes fixed upward and spotting the back of Ronan’s sports jacket as his partner rounded the corner into Adesso’s loft.

Ronan, wait! Brayden shouted. He feared his partner was running in blind and couldn’t hear him. His eyes remained fixed upward, but not even his will could make him go faster. Two more flights stood between him and Adesso. He thought, He’d better not slip from me again!

The landing in sight, Brayden grabbed a handrail to slow his momentum and make the turn in one smooth motion. A bulb exploded on a corner table as he passed it and entered the doorway to the loft. He dove to the floor and rolled behind an overturned leather couch. What the hell? Peering around the armrest, he realized it didn’t matter, none of it did. Ronan was the only person still standing in the room. As Brayden surveyed the loft, he saw it was filled with bodies, all sprawled out as if thrown by an explosion. The sliding glass doors to the balcony were open; the summer night’s breeze blowing the sheer curtains into the room like flags of surrender that were either raised too late or brutally disregarded. It was a massacre. Adesso’s body was in the center of it all, sitting against the headboard of his king-size bed. As Brayden neared the bed, he saw that Adesso’s throat had been slit wide open. He must have bled out within minutes. His shirt was saturated. His eyes frozen in an expression of surprise. Not the entertainment you’d intended on? Brayden speculated.

All their throats are cut. Ronan spoke from a crouched position next to one of the men that had run up from downstairs. His stomach turned at the oozing slits in each of the bodies strewn on the floor. His tours in Afghanistan kept him from retching at the sight of it but for a moment sent his mind overseas. How the hell did this happen? he asked, bringing his focus back.

Someone’s missing from the party, Brayden said, thinking out loud while wincing, not as unaffected as his partner. He moved away from the bodies toward the balcony. He ran to the open doors to look for signs of movement. The only thing he saw was the silhouette of a woman looking back up at the window from down in the alleyway leading to the street. From his vantage point three stories up, all he could make out was her red coat, whose hood only partly hid her long dark hair. How the hell did she get down there so quickly? Brayden looked, but no obvious explanation presented itself.

Within an hour, the restaurant was completely taped off and filled with the majority of the twenty-second precinct, along with a few forensic teams, as there was a considerable number of bodies and limbs to catalogue and reassemble. Outside, members of the media were banging at the door, demanding morbid shots for the evening news and hassling eyewitnesses in the street. As Brayden and Ronan were walking toward their car, they heard a familiar voice calling for them to wait.

Why am I not surprised to find you two here? Capt. Harold Galt of the twenty-second precinct growled as he pointed toward the restaurant. My orders were to keep your well-known faces away from here. It could have tipped them off! his face was suggesting that’s exactly what had happened.

Captain, no one suspected a thing, Ronan began with his diplomatically correct tone, all his debonair charm turned on full. Brayden and I were just talking for probably a minute before we heard the gunshots.

The captain was not interested in hearing what someone thought he wanted to hear. He wanted it straight. Brayden was good for that, and the captain knew it. He learned a few things early on when he’s been Brayden’s instructor in the academy and later on the job. Brayden never liked to sugarcoat anything, not even his coffee. More to the point, with people he was no bullshitter. Told it like it was. Some people appreciate that, but most prefer niceties and a good bedside manner. Brayden could read people too, knew their story before anyone else. This could scare people, put them on edge in their work. The few women Brayden got close too; Capt. Galt had watched them break his heart and leave. They couldn’t take his honesty.

Brayden, what do you make of it? Galt’s temper eased now with thoughts of memories past. He hoped his old partner’s famous gut would give him something he could use.

Someone beat us to the punch, Brayden said. A pro for sure. Must’ve been right after the UCs left him.

Yeah…did I hear right that you two blew the UCs’ covers? he asked with labored patience.

The ends justified the means. That was always the reason Brayden gave for bending the rules. Before he’d been made captain, Galt had tried to change Brayden, told him to clean up his act, kiss a few asses, and get promoted off the streets.

Lucky bastard bit it before I could get my hands on him. And Adesso’s entertainment… Brayden’s sarcasm trailed off as he spotted the old man in his freshly stained trench coat from the bar slip past the reporters and officers stationed on the corner.

Adesso’s entertainment… the Captain echoed as he waited in vain for the rest. The urgency was pressing, but he knew that look. Brayden had something. The captain looked in the same direction that had stolen Brayden’s attention.

Adesso’s entertainment was the last to see him before he died. So we’ll be looking into them, Ronan offered quickly while stepping in front of the captain. Maybe, it wasn’t the type of ‘pro’ we thought was with him. All we know at the moment, sir, is that whoever did this did it without firing a shot. Not by them at least. They used something very sharp, most likely a sword. Or a dagger… The last word made even Ronan second-guess his own theory.

A sword? The captain’s face contorted. This only made his message to the media harder to deliver. It was sure to raise questions he couldn’t possibly answer.

Captain, can we have a word? The reporters were chomping at the bit; fresh blood on the streets was turning to ink for their headlines. It had been three hours since the scene had been taped off. Crime is a currency on all sides. Everyone was waiting to get paid.

Let me see if I can make heads or tails of this. So we have no leads other than the weapon. And maybe the gender of the suspect. Galt’s mind began to rehearse what he could say that could satiate the press and not make him look a fool. Brayden’s something had better produce results. They usually did. He allowed himself to feel slightly calmer.

Capt. Galt looked at Ronan who shrugged his shoulders in response and added a consoling headshake for good measure. It did the trick. The captain left without further questions and walked toward the restaurant and the flashing cameras. He caught a glimpse of Brayden walking toward an alleyway off the side of the restaurant. He managed to yell over the shouting reporters and called into the night, Hey, Brayden! Hell hath no fury…

Brayden chuckled half-heartedly as he began trotting away. It would seem.

Ronan looked at the time: 1:12 a.m. His arms dropped to his sides; his head fell back with a huge sigh.

Damn!

2

Thomas Comparetta turned his 1964 Ford Comet into the driveway of the Boathouse Bed and Breakfast that he owned. Nestled away in a nook on the shore of Lake Castle, it had been his home for almost forty years. With the top down, a warm breeze that had blown in over the mountains surrounding the lake met his face, the smell of fresh cut grass and roses riding gently on it. He smiled as he looked down along the edge of the driveway where the yellow roses were in full bloom. The green leaves beneath them seemed to envy the morning sunlight they would never bask innocently in again, not without their thorns. From here, he could see the back of the boathouse and the