Beautifully Forgotten Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 L.A. Fiore

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477823965

  ISBN-10: 1477823964

  Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014903117

  For the fans of Beautifully Damaged:

  I am humbled by the response it’s received; you have made my dream come true. This book is for you.

  For Lois: Gone but certainly not forgotten. We miss you.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  There have been extensive revisions to Beautifully Damaged, particularly with the secondary characters and their associations with one another. An example of this is the character Trent is now named Kyle. Beautifully Forgotten follows these character changes. Check out L.A. Fiore’s Facebook page for these character revisions.

  https://www.facebook.com/l.a.fiore.publishing

  Another one. Goddamn it.”

  He was probably not even two and looked even smaller. Despite that, the clothes on his back seemed new and his recently trimmed mahogany strands shined from a shampooing and combing. He had been loved, this child, loved and left at the front door of the old orphanage.

  Sister Margaret continued, “I really hate children.” She turned in a swirl of black cloth and started back inside, sweeping past Sister Anne and calling to her from over her shoulder, “Bring the little beggar inside.”

  His little legs shook with fear, his eyes wide as Sister Anne knelt down in front of him. Those eyes—his most remarkable feature—were like the water off the coast of the Caribbean: not blue and not green, but a shade just in between. She reached for his hand and saw that his fingers were curled around something. It took a bit of effort, but she was able to pry open his grip to reveal a small square of paper that simply read, “His name is Lucien and he deserves more than I can give him.”

  Sister Anne looked down at the little boy who was so terrified, but trying desperately to be brave. His eyes locked on her. She reached for his hand again and instantly his little fingers closed around her palm.

  “Stop dillydallying and don’t bother making friends with him. He’ll end up like all the rest of them in ten years: dead or doing time.”

  Sister Anne looked down at the little boy, and though he was young, she knew he understood the Mother Superior’s cruel words.

  “Prove her wrong, little one. Fate is what you make it.”

  Lucien would hear her words for the next fifteen years—they stuck with him and unconsciously guided his every move. He had been abandoned, but he would make something of himself if for no other reason than to prove everyone wrong.

  Sister Anne Black died right before Lucien’s eighteenth birthday. So when he left the orphanage, heartbroken and alone, he took more than her words with him; he claimed her name, the name of the only mother he had ever known.

  Lucien Black pulled off his tie and shoved it into his jacket pocket. If only the pomp and circumstance could be shed as easily. He was unaccustomed to being forced into the spotlight. The exit sign just across the room flickered like a goddamn beacon, but he was the guest of honor; so even as he sought freedom, he was stopped by countless people wishing to offer him congratulations.

  Tonight the fine people of the state of New York honored him as a humanitarian—a feat for someone with his shady past—all because he’d donated to various charities to help children have a better time of it than he’d had. Who knew that all you had to do to get a golden statue and a fucking plaque was write a check?

  And be willing to ignore the irony of attending a charity gala that cost enough to have provided food, clothes, shoes, and books for half of those very children. Not that there were any of those children in this room—the people in attendance were concerned for the children, but only at a distance.

  He glanced at his watch; the time read close to eleven. He had somewhere else to be, so he walked with determined strides to the exit and, just when freedom was in his grasp, an all too familiar voice spoke up from behind him: Judge Jonathan Carmichael.

  Lucien hadn’t been completely forthcoming with his friends last year about his association with the Carmichaels. Dane was a partying jackass who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no. The senator and DA he knew of only by reputation, but the same could not be said of the judge.

  The judge had made it his business to meddle in Lucien’s affairs, presumably to find something to hang him with. The judge wasn’t having much luck, though, since Lucien had lots of well-paid lawyers, but it was a constant irritation. Lucien had been all too happy with the part he played in getting an ethics committee to look into the judge and DA after Dane’s attack on Ember last year. He knew the committee wouldn’t find anything—the Carmichaels were too smart for that—but he enjoyed watching them get a small taste of what he’d been dealing with from the judge on a regular basis.

  A waiter passed by and Lucien reached for a glass of champagne and deliberately took his time tasting it before he turned his attention to the judge. The color that bloomed on the older man’s face at the snub was very gratifying to see.

  “All the money in the world won’t make you respectable,” the judge spat by way of greeting.

  “Respectable like you, you mean? What an aspiration,” Lucien replied.

  “Buying your way into society won’t work.”

  Lucien’s fingers tightened on the stem of the glass as he worked to control his anger at the arrogance of the man before him to presume to know anything about him. Unlike half of the people in this room, Lucien wasn’t looking to enter society; he was only helping those who needed it. None of the people in here knew what it was like to be cold, to be hungry, to feel forgotten. Having been there and having survived it, he would continue to do all he could to give those kids a fighting chance.

  “I’d bet my bank account that if you scratched at the shiny exterior of the society you praise, you’d find that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Take you, for instance. Those black robes can’t hide the skeletons in your closet. You have almost as many as I have in mine.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” It wasn’t what the judge said, but how he said it; Lucien had hit a nerve. He was intrigued far more than he wanted to be. Was there really something that would give Lucien the leverage to get the judge off his back? He was going
to damn well find out. More than eager to leave the man guessing and seething, Lucien changed the subject.

  “As much as I would love to stand here and continue this riveting conversation, I’ve better things planned for my evening.” His eyes moved to his date; she wasn’t hard to spot since she looked like a porn star. The judge’s startled breath almost made Lucien laugh with pleasure. Kelly or Kelsey—he never could remember her name—was currently talking up one of the judge’s respectable colleagues: old enough to be her grandfather, but richer than the Queen. Even from their distance he could see the old coot staring at her rack.

  It was with genuine pleasure and more than a little sarcasm that Lucien said, “To aspire to be as respectable as you and yours, a life mission.”

  And then Lucien turned and walked away, feeling the judge’s glare burning holes into his back. He didn’t stop for anyone else, offering his regrets as he moved with purpose to the door. Once he was outside, he took a few minutes just to breathe deeply.

  “Where do you want to go now?” his date purred after magically appearing at his side to press her body up against his. He knew what she wanted, but what Lucien found disturbing was that he didn’t want the same thing.

  Probably frustrated since he hadn’t answered her, she moved her hand down his body to drive the point home. It seemed unwise for the newly honored humanitarian to get a hand job right outside of the event, so he called for his car.

  As soon as the car appeared, he pulled the back door open before the driver could and gestured for his date to get in. His eyes found the driver’s.

  “Take her home.”

  He heard her protest as the car drove away, but he just didn’t care. He walked for a bit to clear his head before hailing a cab and heading to Sapphire, a local club. The place was packed when he arrived, but he easily moved through the crowds to Trace’s table: being friends with the owner had its perks. Rafe, his friend since they were kids, and Kyle, Ember’s best friend, were in the middle of a conversation when he settled into a chair across from them.

  “Hey, Lucien. How did it go?” Rafe signaled to the waitress and pointed to Lucien.

  “I think a root canal would have been more enjoyable.”

  “You didn’t enjoy hobnobbing with the rich and powerful?” Kyle laughed because he knew damn well that Lucien detested all of it.

  Lucien responded by flipping Kyle off. “Where are Trace and Ember?”

  Kyle gestured to the dance floor and Lucien turned his attention to where their friends were dancing. Trace’s head leaned against Ember’s as he played with a lock of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. They moved like one body: seamlessly and without thought.

  He was happy for Trace even as jealousy twisted in his gut. Who would have thought the hard-as-nails player would lose his heart to the girl next door. He couldn’t blame Trace; Ember was great.

  Not generally a jealous kind of guy, Lucien did envy his friend and the peace he’d found. But it gave him hope that maybe he’d be as lucky one day. Settling down was never something he thought he’d ever want—well, not for a long time anyway—but seeing it firsthand, the happiness and contentment that came from marrying the right person, he was beginning to think he didn’t know shit.

  “Makes you jealous, doesn’t it?” Rafe said, which shifted Lucien’s attention across the table. His friend was watching Trace and Ember with a look on his face that he imagined matched his own.

  “Yeah.” If you couldn’t be truthful with your friends . . .

  The song ended and the two made their way back to the table. Lucien stood for a hug and noticed Trace’s scowl as he did so. To be an ass, Lucien also pressed a kiss on Ember’s lips, which earned him a growl.

  “Troublemaker,” she said, but laughter shone out of those big brown eyes.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “So how was it? Did you get a fancy award you can display on your desk?” Trace asked before he pulled out the chair next to Ember and folded himself into it.

  “It was what I expected.”

  “That bad? I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “How’s Carlos working out?” Lucien asked, looking to change the subject.

  “Good, thanks for the recommendation. It’s nice not being tied to the cooking school twenty-four seven”—Trace looked over at Ember—“so I can spend more time with my wife.”

  Lucien didn’t miss the look Ember gave Trace. The fact that he didn’t pull her into a private corner right then proved that Trace had far more willpower than he.

  She ran her fingers over the tat on his arm and said, “Sweet talker.”

  Trace abruptly stood and pulled her to her feet. “Dance with me, beautiful.”

  But they didn’t head in the direction of the dance floor. Lucien grinned to himself and thought maybe he won in the willpower department after all.

  “Lucky bastard,” Rafe muttered before he reached for his beer and downed the rest of it. “I need to go. I’ve got to get up early to deliver a few pieces to a client in the morning.”

  “I’ll leave with you. I’m beat,” Kyle said.

  “I’m going to stay and have another drink.” What Lucien didn’t add was that the idea of going back to his empty apartment was completely unappealing.

  “All right, see you later.” Rafe and Kyle disappeared into the mass of bodies.

  Lucien signaled for another beer before he leaned back in his chair and idly glanced around. He didn’t miss the looks he was getting from several of the women at the bar, but he was just not interested. It should concern him, his total lack of enthusiasm, but caring was too much effort.

  Maybe he needed to find a hobby. Or join a cult. He took a pull from his beer, but it had lost its taste. Jesus, he was in some serious shit when he couldn’t even enjoy a simple fucking beer.

  He dropped some money on the table before heading to the bar where he signaled the bartender, Luke.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “If you see Trace and Ember, will you let them know they’re on their own?”

  Lucien understood the smile that tugged at Luke’s mouth—eight months married and they were still acting like newlyweds.

  “You got it,” Luke said before he moved down the bar to take an order.

  Lucien stepped out into the balmy night and hailed a cab. When it stopped in front of his building on the Upper East Side, the doorman greeted him.

  “Evening, Mr. Black.”

  “Johnny, how are the kids?”

  “Good, we have the grandkids for the month, but they’re in camp this week, which gives me and the missus some time to ourselves.”

  Lucien grinned because Johnny was pushing seventy and his wife was just behind him in age. The most they were likely to do with time alone was watch Jeopardy while holding hands. He pulled a fifty from his wallet and passed it to Johnny, knowing both Johnny and his wife had a preference for fine Scotch. “To keep from getting parched.”

  Johnny didn’t hesitate to take the offered gift. “You are a fine young man.”

  Lucien laughed as he made his way up to his apartment. He dropped the keys in the Baccarat dish that one of his girlfriends insisted he had to have. His apartment had become a point of pride for him, especially coming from beginnings like his. The floors were bamboo, the walls were painted a dark tan with thick crown moldings, and he’d mixed several priceless old pieces with modern ones. A stand-alone linear fireplace separated the living room from the dining room and a massive kitchen took up the one entire wall. He didn’t cook often, since he was a single man living alone, but he could if he needed to.

  He moved to the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and popped the top before he settled on his sofa and took a long drink. Yeah, he’d come a long way since being a gravedigger sharing a studio with five other guys. Of course, he didn’t realize at the time that the graveyard was really a front and that most of the caskets were filled with guns instead of bodies. Trafficking in firearms using a cemetery was both twis
ted and fucking clever. The only bodies buried in that graveyard were ones that were better off never being found. At eighteen, Lucien had been blissfully unaware and at thirty-one, he really didn’t give a shit because that job helped him to get to where he was now. Of course, looking around his spacious apartment and seeing only his reflection in a mirror, where he was now wasn’t all that great. He thought bitterly, I need to get a fucking life.

  He switched on the television and when a picture of Horace Carmichael, the DA, flashed on the screen, he turned up the volume.

  “. . . a crack in the case against the Grimaldi crime syndicate. District Attorney Horace Carmichael has testimony from a source close to the Grimaldi family that conclusively links them with several arson cases, racketeering, and the cold murder case of Elizabeth Spano, the NYU theater major found strangled thirty-two years ago in Central Park. That case has been kept in the public eye by the tireless efforts of the victim’s father, Anthony Spano. More to follow.”

  Darcy MacBride climbed from the cab and wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. She was nervous, but then, this was Lucien Black, whom she hadn’t seen in fourteen years. She remembered the first time they met at the orphanage. Even at sixteen, he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. And his eyes, God, she could have happily drowned in them; but he was so serious, as if he bore the weight of the world.

  She had been scared when she’d first arrived at fourteen, given up by her mom because she hadn’t wanted a kid anymore. She couldn’t lie, it had hurt to be cast off like an unwanted puppy, but she hid the pain behind humor and sarcasm. Only Lucien seemed to see beyond that and offered her the one thing she always secretly longed for: a place to belong. And she did. She belonged with him and they both knew it. For those two years they were inseparable, and she gave him her young heart with the reckless abandon of youth.

  The day Sister Anne died was forever burned into Darcy’s memory. Even though Lucien loved Sister Anne, he tried so hard to not show how much her death hurt him. And when he did finally give in to his pain, he mourned so silently that watching his grief was even more heartbreaking than seeing Sister Anne waste away. It was that same night that Darcy gave him her virginity. Even at sixteen she knew that he was it for her.