The Obscurity in Wishing: An Aladdin Mafia Romance (Fractured Ever Afters Book 6), page 1
Contents
Author’s Note
Playlist
1. Caladin
2. Yasmine
3. Caladin
4. Yasmine
5. Caladin
6. Yasmine
7. Caladin
8. Yasmine
9. Caladin
10. Yasmine
11. Caladin
12. Yasmine
13. Caladin
14. Yasmine
15. Caladin
16. Yasmine
17. Caladin
18. Yasmine
19. Caladin
20. Yasmine
21. Caladin
22. Yasmine
23. Caladin
24. Yasmine
25. Caladin
26. Yasmine
27. Caladin
28. Yasmine
29. Caladin
30. Yasmine
31. Caladin
32. Yasmine
33. Caladin
34. Yasmine
35. Caladin
36. Yasmine
37. Caladin
38. Yasmine
39. Caladin
40. Yasmine
41. Caladin
42. Yasmine
Epilogue
Fractured Ever Afters
Extras
Also by M.L. Philpitt
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Obscurity in Wishing (Fractured Ever Afters #6)
Copyright © 2023 by M.L. Philpitt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Warning: This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.
Cover Designer: Cat Imb, TRC Designs
Editing and Proofreading: Rebecca Barney, Fairest Reviews Editing Services
Formatting: M.L. Philpitt
The Obscurity in Wishing is book 6 of The Fractured Ever Afters series. This reads as a standalone but for complete background on the characters’ lives and how we’ve gotten to Yasmine and Caladin’s story, you can start with book 1, The Hunt in Elusion.
This book has content some people may find triggering. Please visit my website for the list of triggers. Feel free to contact me with any questions. If you feel I have missed a trigger warning, please let me know.
Note, I’m Canadian. I write using Canadian/UK spelling, even though most of this book takes place in the US, with one US main character. This means words will have U’s in them, or double LL’s. (colour, flavour, signalling, etc.) These are not typos.
Happy reading!
“Nowhere To Go” by Bad Omens
“I’m Not Okay” by Citizen Soldier
“I Didn’t Ask For This” by Beth Crowley
“Nightmares” by Ellise
“Make Hate to Me” by Citizen Soldier
“Dangerous State of Mind” by Chri$tian Gate$
“Glad You Came” by The Wanted
“The Death of Peace of Mind” by Bad Omens
“A Drop in the Ocean” by Ron Pope
“Speechless” by Naomi Scott
“Lilith” by Ellise
“A Whole New World” by Lea Salonga & Brade Kane
“War of Hearts” by Ruelle
“Meet Me on the Battlefield” by SVRCINA
“Another Life” by Motionless In White
“Walk Through Fire” by Zayde Wolfe & Ruelle
“Awake and Alive” by Skillet
Listen here
For those fighting through the restraints that try to keep you down.
Take control. Don’t let them win.
Caladin
I hate my cousin.
If it wasn’t for Erico, my pain-in-the-ass older cousin and Boss of the Famiglia, I wouldn’t be in some random city called White Rock, British Columbia, Canada. Canada. The place where “eh” is attached to every statement. Their government must control what they all drink because it seems like every second person carries a red takeout coffee cup. Best of all: there’s been three instances in which people have accidentally bumped into one another, where both parties apologized.
What is wrong with these people? The frosty temperatures must numb their senses.
Out of every eligible woman in New York, my cousin married a mute woman from Montreal, a large city on the opposite side of this damn country. Essentially, he’s brought these Canadian-isms straight into our lives. Moron.
As long as she doesn’t influence me into saying “eh.” It’s too country for my city self.
Although, little Ariella is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to my cousin. He may not realize it, but the changes he’s undergone since they wed have been noticeable to me and our soldiers. He’s less cranky, less of the rigid robot his parents trained him to be. With Ariella, it’s like he woke up and realized he’s his own man.
In some ways, I’m grateful to her.
Which is why I’m sitting in this fucking town, completing the task Erico gave me. For her.
I spin my cell phone in my hand to scan over the electronic note I’ve been adding to since arriving in this pitiful small town three days ago. It’s a schedule pertaining to the woman Ariella’s asking me to track down—what I’ve been able to learn anyway. After checking the time in the upper left corner of the screen and scanning for the associated time on the schedule, I’m satisfied I’m where I need to be, provided her daily routine continues.
Then I swipe to my photos app to study the picture of my target again.
Yasmine De Falco is fucking gorgeous in an ethereal way that doesn’t even seem real. A curtain of night-black hair falls to waist-length, which seems like entirely too much work to maintain. Imagining her with shorter hair, though, is nearly impossible. Her skin is a light tan, as though she spends a lot of time outdoors, and her eyes are a matching warm brown. Captured through a zoomed-in lens within the photo, I bet they’re stunning in real life. A woman’s eyes are her most attractive feature in my opinion. They’re so expressive, indicating how much pleasure or pain they can go through, which emotions she’s hiding.
Before flying out here on the Famiglia’s private jet, Erico caught me up on Yasmine’s history. Daughter to Stefano De Falco, who created a fake mob within Montreal to target their enemies, the Corsetti organization. Stefano’s second wife came with two daughters, who were once Yasmine’s stepsisters, but now are referred to as Della Corsetti, of the very same Corsettis, and Ariella Rossi, the queen to the Famiglia and the very organization I’ve been bred within. Della and Ariella have a complicated history with Yasmine, but Ariella, more than her sister, hence the request for me to find Yasmine and bring her home. Still in Montreal, Yasmine’s older sister, and girlfriend to the Corsetti enforcer, Rozelyn, is also making similar demands to ensure her sister is safe.
Needless to say, if it wasn’t for Erico drawing me a fucking map, I’d be very confused over who’s related to Yasmine.
Because if it wasn’t complicated enough, Stefano De Falco wasn’t only the leader of a mob, he’s a soldier—or whatever—of some weird, secret society who refers to themselves as the Seven, based right here in White Rock, British Columbia. When Stefano’s plans exploded, he fled Montreal with Yasmine and left Rozelyn in the city as a distraction to occupy the Corsettis. Except now, Stefano’s dead, killed by the Corsettis after being handed over by the very people he worked for, but Yasmine’s never returned home to Montreal.
Three days ago, I arrived by the Famiglia plane, booked a hotel on the edge of the town, and hunkered down to observe from afar and concoct a plan. Given all the information the Corsettis provided, and the size of this small but elite town, it was easy to find her.
Getting to her is my second issue.
While the town may be small, it’s obviously the Seven’s headquarters, built specifically to hide them. Based on the opposite end of town is a massive school: a university designed like a castle. After two days of observing, she doesn’t leave the building in the evenings, so I presume she’s being kept on-campus, which makes getting to her even more of a challenge. Whatever the Seven still wants with Yasmine, they’re hiding her within their centre of operations.
But the past two days, she did leave for a couple hours, coming to this very mall I’m presently occupying a bench in. Day one, she got her nails done. Day two, clothes shopping. Wonder what today will bring and why this routine if she’s, as the Corsettis and Ariella believes, being held captive.
For a moment, she seemed fine and I nearly reported back to Erico that Ariella and Rozelyn were making something out of nothing; that Yasmine clearly found a better life here after her father dragged her away. But something in my gut wasn’t sitting right and said otherwise, so I kept watching, studying her behaviours and emotions from afar.
When getting her nails done, she looked more miserable than someone facing death does. Reluctantly sliding
I tracked them back to the school that day. Once out of the vehicle, the thug grabbed her arm and basically pushed her through the doorway, but the final flash of her expression is what secured me to remain.
Desolateness.
The time on my phone, comparing to her couple days of routine, means hopefully it’ll be three-for-three and she’ll appear soon. Today, I have to figure out a way to talk with her. In public, here, it’ll be easier to get to her, but once she’s locked inside the school, not so much. Not without knowing precisely what I’m walking into.
“Can you not walk so close to me? ‘Kay, thanks.”
Even without looking up, I know it’s her, even if I’ve yet to hear her talk. In the expressions I’ve caught so far, she’s obviously packed full of an attitude I’d otherwise appreciate. After being abandoned by her father and kept away from her sister, she makes her fierceness apparent, right down to her tone. Icy, edgy…sexy. A fighter’s spirit lodged within her body.
This is gonna be fun. Ariella will get my thanks when I return with her stepsister, simply because for once, my target will be an enjoyable task. Most of the men Erico sends me after fight back, they curse, they hit, but no one will be like Yasmine.
Yasmine and her thug comes into view and for a second, I stop breathing. The past two days, she’s come to the mall in dresses, but today, she’s casual, and while I wonder why the change, I’m too busy staring to care. Tight jeans that hug her ass, running shoes, and dark hair bound up in a messy bun atop her head, all covered by a black, baggy hoodie with what I presume is the university’s crest over the chest.
Her shoulders are hunched, her pace slow, her shadow walking much too close. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, like he’s really trying to hammer home the bodyguard concept.
The two of them pass by, neither looking in my direction. After another dozen feet, I stand and trail them. Yasmine’s small figure eventually halts by the entranceway of a candle shop.
“Keep going.” He shoves into her back so roughly, she stumbles, but ignores him to stop by a large display table at the shop’s front. Based on the thug’s tight jaw and obvious huff, he’s pissed, and her rebellion brings a smirk to my face.
The shopkeeper rushes over to assist the potential customer so I wander nearer, keeping my head down to scan the surrounding area. There’s a bend in the mall up ahead, which I walk toward, hoping to use the angled wall for a better vantage point. Her guard glances me as I pass and looks away after a second, clearly deeming I’m no threat to whatever fucked-up orders he’s following by Yasmine’s side.
Big mistake, buddy.
At the bend, I press against the wall beside the doorway to the female washroom, and pull out my phone, feigning a social media addiction while I observe the trio. The shop owner is gesturing for Yasmine to follow her deeper into the store, but Yasmine glances away and down the mall’s strip, in my direction.
The role of Erico’s Consigliere is an element of my job. Tracking people is extra because I’m good at it. But with both those roles, studying people’s behaviours is a required skill. Determining why people do what they do, how they think, and what motivates them. So while the shopkeeper is gesturing to Yasmine, she’s studying the mall. Up and down the stretch, toward her bodyguard, and repeat.
She’s going to run.
Her feet inch backward and I realize, her outfit choice is purposeful. She planned this.
I rub at the side of my face, feeling my own half-smile. At least she has some sense to attempt escaping, which only makes my job easier. She’ll want to be saved and I’m happy to be the one to do that.
She picks up the same candle she first touched, studying it intently. Then, in a flash, she pockets it, spins on her heel, and takes off in my direction.
“Shit,” I mumble.
Chaos breaks out, the shop owner screaming in her direction. Some mallgoers pause walking and shopping to determine the source of the drama, some sipping from those red takeout cups as they observe the show. Her bodyguard’s attention flicks back and forth between his escapee and the elderly woman, who looks like she’s about to throwdown over a stolen candle. He chooses the owner, likely threatening her silence.
Works for me.
Yasmine’s five feet away from me…three…I tuck my phone in my back pocket and prepare for her arrival. The second she’s turning the mall’s bend, I wrap an arm around her waist, my other hand covering her mouth as I spin us into the room at my back—the female washroom. She screams into my palm, warming my skin with her fear.
Once inside, I press her against the shut door and pin her there, hand still covering her mouth while I flick the lock shut. She screeches again into my skin, eyes widening until all I see is the brown iris darkening with terror, and fist after fist lands in my gut, my chest, making me grunt. She’s weak, and it’s like being hit by a child, but her fighting attempt surprises me.
I stop her easily with my body, pressing my chest to hers as I shake my head and shush her. “You’re not in danger.”
She’s shorter than me, only reaching my shoulder, and the scent of jasmine and lavender is strong, filling my senses until it’s all I smell. Her soft curves hug my body, more when she wiggles her shoulders, trying to free herself.
“Stop,” I command again. “If this is you trying to fight, I have to say, piccola tigre, it’s a bit pathetic.”
Not sure where the name came from, but little tiger is my first thought if I had to describe her. A fighter but cautious and guarded, like the animal. Beautiful and majestic but feared by so many.
Her eyes narrow, drawing my attention to the warm colour I’ve so far only seen in the photo Erico gave me. Soft, chocolate, with specks of green. The emotion buried in them is what makes my heart skip a beat. Fear, but curiosity too.
“I’m here to help,” I continue before she has more reason to fight me. “If I lower my hand, don’t scream. Believe me, I’m the better option than fucktard out there.”
She nods her head, so after searching her expression for a lie, I slowly lower my hand. Her breaths come out heavier after her run, as well as the flurried commotion getting into the bathroom. They blow over my neck as she tilts her head to look at my face.
“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi, espèce de psychopathe?”
Her words are fluid, smooth, and almost sexy, that they make me pause. I assume they’re spoken in French, given where she’s from. Certainly nothing I understand.
“What?”
She makes a snarling sound that’s more cute than fearful and shoves her arms into my chest, demanding I back up. “I said, what the fuck is wrong with you, you psycho? Since you started spitting out new languages, I thought that’s the acceptable thing to do.”
Feisty. She’s cute, like a kitten. With huge teeth to eat her victims and claws that’ll shred me. It’s decided: the tiger nickname is suitable.
She rolls her eyes at my lack of a response. “Who are you?”
Instead of answering that, I explain, “I’m here because Ariella is worried about you.”
She blinks, all signs of her battle fading off, her tanned skin flushing paler. “Ariella? Is she—are they—?”
“Hey!” Her numerous questions get cut off by her bodyguard’s heavy thump to the door, jiggling the lock and rocking her forward and into me. One of those red cup carrying Canadians probably ratted her location out.
