Graveyard promises, p.1
Graveyard Promises, page 1
Contents
Graveyard Promises
Newsletter
Blurb
Dedication
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
THE END
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Kathleen Kelly
USA Today Bestselling Author
Graveyard Promises
Kathleen Kelly
Copyright © 2025 Kathleen Kelly
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. Kathleen Kelly is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
All efforts have been made to ensure the correct grammar and punctuation in the book. If you do find any errors, please e-mail Kathleen Kelly HERE.
Thank you.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
Cover design by CT Cover Creations
Cover Image Copyright 2025
First Edition 2025
All Rights Reserved
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Blurb
This Halloween, masks aren’t the only things coming off…
The Costa and Chavez families have spilled generations of blood in a war that neither side can win.
Raphael “The Reaper” Costa has lived up to his name, becoming a ruthless enforcer of his family’s will.
Sophia Chavez, the Cartel Princess, has always been shielded from the violence and her family’s business.
When a truce is brokered, sealed by an arranged marriage, Raphael and Sophia are thrust together—two reluctant pawns in a deadly game.
He sees her as a spoiled, untouchable princess.
She sees him as nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.
But as sparks fly between them, desire ignites in the ashes of their hatred.
On Halloween night, masks come off—both the costumes and the facades—and what’s revealed is a temptation so dangerous, neither can resist.
When a ruthless enemy emerges from the shadows, determined to annihilate both families, they face an impossible choice: remain enemies and perish, or stand united and defy the odds.
Love and war collide in Graveyard Promises, a dark, steamy tale of sacrifice, vengeance, and redemption from
Kathleen Kelly, USA Today Best-Selling Author.
Dedication
To the Authors, Bloggers and Readers who share my work.
It is more appreciated than you know.
Happy Halloween!
Prologue
Sophia Chavez
Halloween 2024
Halloween night is my favorite night of the year. The air hums with mischief and possibility, the faint tang of smoke from jack-o’-lanterns curling around the manicured gardens of our estate. Papa’s parties are legendary—so many faces, so much glittering wealth, laughter echoing through the halls—it’s the perfect cover for slipping away unnoticed. I do just that, ducking out once his speeches finish, once he’s paraded his latest female prize like a trophy.
Mother died a year after I was born, leaving Papa with three sons and me—his little princess, wrapped in silk and shields. I’m twenty-two now, a woman of my own mind, but the rules are clear: I am to stay ignorant of the family business. Of course, it doesn’t take a genius to see the truth. Papa and my brothers control one of the most powerful cartels in the country, their names whispered in fear as easily as they are praised in society.
My role is simple: earn a university degree, marry a wealthy, connected man, bear grandchildren, and never step foot into the world I truly crave. The world of art. I adore it. Painting, sketching, sculpting—it’s the one place where I can be myself, free from Papa’s shadows. I had dreamed of Paris, of wandering the galleries along the Seine, of absorbing centuries of beauty, of living a life that belonged to me. But Papa’s answer was always the same: stay here, my princess, your life is already chosen.
This year was different. I finished my bachelor’s degree a year early, my final project a piece of defiance and devotion all at once. And tonight… tonight I can taste the possibility of freedom in the crisp fall air.
I slip through the throng of guests, heels clicking softly against the marble floors, my painted face a mask of color and bone instead of leather or velvet masks. The Day of the Dead makeup smudges slightly under my lashes, but I don’t care. Papa appreciated the effort I went to in using my skills to cover my identity, but was disappointed he could not show off his beautiful daughter.
The gardens are quiet once I reach them, the warm chatter of the party fading behind me. Flickering lanterns hang from the trees, casting skeletal shadows across the hedges. I breathe in deep, tasting the crisp air tinged with the sweet decay of fallen leaves, and for the first time tonight, I feel untethered.
Free.
My friend Maria is waiting on the other side of our estate, crouched in the shadows in her car. I slip through the fence and tap on her window, scaring her half to death.
“Sophia! I thought your father was here to teach me a lesson!”
Laughing, I move around the car and get in. “Sorry. He has no idea. Calm down.”
“You calm down. You’re not the one who’s going to be wearing cement shoes if anything happens to you.” Maria tilts her head and eyes my costume. “Side note, you look hot. How did your papa feel about your boobs being on display?”
“He didn’t notice the costume, only that my face was covered.”
We laugh. Maria knows how protective my father and brothers are—they practically suffocate me.
She puts the car in drive, and we leave my family and their secrets behind.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Maria raises her eyebrows and grins. “Only the best party in Miami!”
“You say that every year.”
“Girl, that’s because I take you to the best parties every year.”
“Where’s your costume?”
“In the back. I can’t drive with it on. You’re going to love it.”
Maria is five foot with long dark curly hair and the biggest brown eyes, but her Halloween costumes are always… weird. One year she went as a pumpkin, another year as Beetlejuice. She never shows off her curves or how pretty she is.
Downtown Miami comes alive outside the windshield, neon reflecting off the wet streets, the hum of traffic blending with distant music. Maria suddenly throws the car into reverse and parks.
“Ha! Got ourselves a good park. We won’t have far to walk.”
“That’s good. Maybe my whiplash will appreciate the shorter distance,” I say, laughing.
“Pfft!” Maria waves me off and jumps out of the car. She digs into the trunk and pulls out a bright orange Halloween basket, huge, with a handle. She steps inside, hoists it up her body, and clips it to her black shorts so it won’t fall.
“You’re a candy bucket?”
“Yep.”
“You recycled the pumpkin, didn’t you?”
“Hey, I upcycled. Not all of us can afford an expensive costume.”
Pointing at my corset and long skirt, I say, “This is from my wardrobe. And I did the makeup myself.”
“It looks amazing.”
“Come on, let’s go find the party of the year!”
Maria bounces in place. “I got us invites!” She slams the trunk and does a drumroll. “Obsidian.”
“How did you score that?”
“My crappy brother isn’t so crappy after all. He’s working there and got us tickets.”
“When did Vincent get that job?”
“He goes by ‘V’ now. Been there a couple of months. Be nice, or he won’t let us in.”
I salute, and we link arms—awkward because of Maria’s size—and end up laughing, and holding hands as we approach the club’s entrance.
V is standing at his post, and his face falls when he sees his sister. Maria twirls at the bottom of the stairs, then struts up to him.
“Jesus, Maria, can’t you ever wear something cool?” He shakes his head. “Why can’t you be more like Sophia?”
“She’d be boring if she were more like me,” I defend her.
“Yeah, but she’d look better,” he counters.
With a sigh, he unclips the black velvet rope and gestures for us to go inside. We kiss him on the cheek as the line of people waiting groans.
Maria turns, holding the tickets high. “We’ve got tickets, biatches!”
V’s eyes widen, and I giggle, shoving my friend into the club.
The bass hits me the moment we step inside, vibrating through the marble floors and up into my chest. Obsidian is everything Maria promised—dark, sleek, and dripping with neon. Shadows swirl over velvet-draped walls, red and purple lights cutting across faces hidden behind ornate masks. A fog machine drifts lazily over the crowd, curling around heels and cocktail glasses alike.
I inhale, catching the scent of expensive perfume, smoke, and something a little metallic underneath. My pulse quickens—not just from the music, but from the thrill of being somewhere forbidden, somewhere Papa and his men couldn’t touch me. Not tonight. Tonight, I belong only to myself… and the shadows.
Maria yanks me toward the bar, where people in elaborate costumes laugh and drink, their voices mixing with the deep hum of music. I notice the attention my face draws. The Day of the Dead makeup is striking under the colored lights, my painted skull grinning at anyone daring enough to stare. I smirk to myself—Papa may not have wanted my face hidden, but this way, everyone sees me and no one knows me. Perfect.
“Drink?” Maria leans close, her lips brushing my ear, and I feel the tickle of her laugh vibrating against my skin.
“Something strong,” I reply, glancing around. My eyes land on a corner of the room where the crowd thins slightly, shadows pooling against the black walls.
Maria hands me my drink and then prances toward the dance floor like a little whirlwind in her upcycled pumpkin costume. I follow reluctantly, letting the rhythm of the music pull me in, letting the mask on my face and the anonymity of the crowd make me bold.
And then I see him.
Tall, broad, the kind of man who doesn’t just enter a room—he claims it. Dark hair, leather jacket, a mask obscuring his eyes, but I feel the intensity of his gaze as if it’s drilling straight through me. He doesn’t look at anyone else. Not the laughing girls, not the people drinking too loudly, not even the bouncers at the door.
Only me.
I freeze mid-step, my heartbeat stuttering. Something deep in my gut twists, a dangerous curiosity I can’t resist. I’m not supposed to notice him. I’m not supposed to feel anything. But the pull is there, electric and undeniable.
“Move it, Sophia!” Maria tugs me forward, laughing, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
The man shifts slightly, and my breath catches. I know I should look away. I want to look away. But I don’t.
And then, in one fluid motion, he steps toward me, weaving through the crowd as if everyone else is frozen. His presence commands the room, and when he stops just a foot away, I see a glimmer of something behind the mask—danger, amusement, and something… magnetic.
“Do I know you?” My voice is louder than I meant, cutting through the music, my skull-painted grin daring him.
He tilts his head, a slow, teasing gesture, the mask hiding the rest. No answer, just a glance that tells me he’s already decided something… and I have no idea what.
And in that moment, Halloween becomes more than a night of costumes. It becomes a night of sparks, danger, and a temptation I can’t name… yet.
The crowd swirls around us, bodies moving in rhythm to the pounding beat, but it feels like we’re in our own bubble. His presence presses close, a warmth I didn’t expect, and I suddenly notice the way the mask doesn’t hide the sharp intelligence in his eyes.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks finally, his voice low, just above the music.
I raise an eyebrow and hold up my glass. “I’ve got one.”
He nods. “How about we get out of here?”
“Do I look like the type to fall for masked strangers?”
A slow smile spreads beneath the mask. “Maybe not… but maybe the type to break the rules.”
I laugh a little breathlessly and step closer. My heels click against the floor as I follow him into the moving crowd, letting the rhythm guide us. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, a dangerous, sexy energy that makes the back of my neck tingle.
“What’s your name?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, though my heart is doing that stupid fluttering thing that never stops when danger—and attraction—collide.
He shakes his head, the movement deliberate, teasing. “Names are overrated. Tonight… I just need to know you’re paying attention.”
I smirk, daring him further. “I am. You’re… interesting, I’ll give you that. But I’m not leaving here with you. You could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous is exactly why I approached you,” he says, and I catch the faintest edge of amusement in his voice. “And I can tell… you don’t scare easily.”
Tilting my head, I pretend not to notice the way my pulse jumps. “I’ve had practice.”
He leans just a fraction closer, enough that I feel the brush of his sleeve against mine. “Good. Then maybe you’ll enjoy the night ahead.”
I shiver, and it’s impossible to tell whether it’s the air, the music, or the way he watches me like he’s sizing me up. The thrill of unknown danger, of someone who could be anywhere from charming to deadly, sends a shiver down my spine.
And just like that, the night shifts. The masks, the costumes, the glittering chaos—they’re background now. He’s the only thing that matters, a spark I can’t quite touch… and somehow, I know I shouldn’t.
Yet I can’t look away.
He takes my hand before I can protest, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. The music pulses through the floor, reverberating in my chest, and suddenly we’re moving together, slipping into the rhythm as if the world outside this club doesn’t exist.
His hands are careful at first—one on my waist, the other brushing against my back—but there’s an unmistakable edge of exploration, like he’s testing boundaries, learning what’s new to him. I can’t help the sharp intake of breath that escapes me when his fingers graze my hip, light but deliberate, sending a heat curling through me I’ve never known.
Without meaning to, I stiffen slightly, unsure of how to respond. I’ve been sheltered my whole life, wrapped in silk and shields, my body mostly mine but my heart… often watched, often controlled. Now, pressed against him, I feel something else entirely—curiosity, longing, and yes, a hint of fear that excites me in ways I shouldn’t admit.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and teasing. “Relax. Feel it. Let it guide you.”
Swallowing hard, I nod, forcing a small laugh, though my pulse is thrumming in my throat. “I—I don’t… I’m not used to this.”
A chuckle rumbles from him, deep and amused, and I feel the vibration along my shoulder. “Not used to being wanted?”
The bluntness of the question makes my stomach flip, and I shake my head, cheeks warming beneath the paint. “I’ve… never danced this close.”
“Hmm,” he hums, his hand sliding slightly higher on my back, pressing closer, testing me without rushing. “Then tonight … you’re allowed to explore. No rules. Just you … and me.”
It’s ridiculous. Dangerous and thrilling. My hand drifts to his chest almost without thinking, feeling the solid heat of him beneath the fabric, the pulse of hard muscle. I’m learning, inch by inch, the rhythm of closeness, the way a body reacts when it hasn’t been touched like this before.
His other hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together, firm and possessive, guiding my movements. Every brush of his palm, every shift of his body against mine, feels like it’s writing a secret language I didn’t know I wanted to learn.
“Relax your shoulders,” he whispers, and I do, letting him take over the sway, the lift, the turn. His body is confident, skilled, and I am raw, unpracticed, every nerve alight with sensation. I can’t stop the shiver that travels up my spine when his hand glides along my side, daring, patient, as though he knows exactly how far he can push.
