The Beast I Can’t Tame: Brooklyn Kings, Book 3

by L. K. Shaw

  I vaguely recall a minor altercation that night, but my focus had been on Francesca.

  “Skill set?”

  Jacob smirks. “He’s a member of an exclusive sex club in Manhattan that caters to those who live a particular lifestyle.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about Jacob just giving a woman to another man. He must sense my unease, because he continues. “If you’re worried about her safety, don’t be. Regardless of whatever the two of them do together, I can promise you that it only happens with her full consent. Davenport is strict about that. No need to be concerned that he’s abusing her. Disrespect or not, I wouldn’t tolerate her being mistreated.”

  I let it go.

  “How many cops do you have on your payroll anyway? And who else’s pockets are you lining?” I ask.

  He returns to his chair with a smirk. “Besides Davenport, there’s a homicide detective, a narcotics officer, a couple judges, and an attorney in the DA’s office. Oh, and the mayor and my father had a particularly friendly relationship. Well, one that included more of him paying us rather than the other way around. It would seem there was quite the scandal a few years ago involving an underage prostitute that our illustrious city leader doesn’t want getting out.”

  I flinch. “Ouch. Yeah, that would certainly hurt his re-election campaign.”

  “Not to mention the devastation it would cause to his pristine public image as the loving husband and doting father,” Jacob adds. “I’m sure a secret like that would do a lot of damage to his children. They’re the ones I feel sorry for.”

  A picture of two dark-haired children, a boy and a girl, running and laughing along the beach pops into my head. They look exactly like their mother. Like Francesca.

  “You okay over there?” Jacob asks.

  I blink and his face comes into focus. “I’m sorry?”

  “You looked like you were elsewhere for a second there.”

  “Oh, yeah, I was just thinking about something.” A quick glance at my watch confirms it’s getting late. “I need to go. I’m supposed to meet Francesca in less than an hour.”

  “Enjoy your evening,” Jacob says.

  I rise from my chair with a nod. A quiet night spent having a nice dinner sounds good to me. Especially with her. I can’t shake the image of those kids from my mind though. Would I even be a good father? I’ve had shit examples in my life. The thought of being one terrifies me.

  Chapter 15

  Francesca

  * * *

  I’ve spent most of the day cooking and cleaning. The rest of the time, I’ve been desperately going through my closet trying to find the right thing to wear. I smooth the fabric along my belly of the new, royal blue v-neck blouse, and check one more time that I didn’t spill anything on the capris I paired it with. What am I thinking wearing white and cooking at the same time?

  The doorbell rings. I try not to rush to the door as though I’ve been standing here for ten minutes waiting and anticipating Gio’s arrival. Instead, I fluff my hair one more time, the curls he says he likes bouncing over my shoulders, before I slowly move to the entryway. With a deep breath, I turn the knob.

  “Good evening,” Giovanni greets me holding a single red rose and a bottle of champagne.

  “Hi,” I return. “Come in.”

  He steps past and the light scent of his cologne wafts around me. There’s just a hint of citrus.

  “For you.” He hands me the bud, and I take a deep whiff of the lovely fragrance. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I say a little breathlessly.

  I’ve gotten flowers once before from someone, but this single bloom means more to me than any large bouquet. It’s exactly like the man who gave it to me. Not flashy or over-stated. But rather bold and solid. It makes a statement.

  “It smells delicious in here,” Gio says.

  “I hope you brought your appetite, because I think I might have gone a little overboard.” I close the door and lead him into the kitchen so I can put the rose in some water.

  This isn’t the first time he’s been in my house, but he’s always come with Brenna. He glances around the kitchen and adjoining living room.

  “You rearranged the place,” he notes. “I like it.”

  I look out over my space trying to picture it from his eyes. I’ve gotten used to the changes I’ve slowly been making over the last week or so, but for him to notice makes me think that I made the right choice.

  “It was too dark and dreary in here. I wanted to do something to brighten the place up,” I confess.

  “It looks good. Absolutely beautiful, in fact.”

  I turn to find Giovanni looking, not at the living room, but at me. There’s a blazing inferno burning so hot in his eyes it almost scorches me. A nervous giggle snort escapes, and I cover my mouth in horror. I grab the champagne bottle he’d set on the kitchen island and rush to the cabinet to grab a couple of flutes.

  “Would you like champagne? Oh, no, we should probably start with water first. Save the champagne for later. I mean, not like, later, later, but you know, after we eat later. When we celebrate. Not that—”

  A warm hand covers mine and my mouth snaps shut. I freeze. Gio’s body heat pours off him from how close he’s standing.

  “Francesca, look at me.” His voice is soft and gentle.

  Almost against my will, I turn my head to face him. His expression is serious. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  I try to shake my head, but he holds up a finger inches from my lips. Not touching, but right there. “I only ever want the truth between us. If you’re uncomfortable or nervous, I want you to please tell me. I have to trust that you’ll talk to me. I don’t always know what’s going on in your head.”

  There’s a rock growing in my throat, and I swallow it down. “I didn’t realize how different it would feel to have you in my house. Just the two of us. It’s not bad. Please don’t think that. I guess it just hit me all of a sudden.”

  “Do you want me to go?” Giovanni asks.

  This time I manage to shake my head frantically. “No. I want you to stay. I want to have a nice dinner and conversation. Then we’re going to open this bottle, have some dessert, and celebrate like I wanted to when I invited you over.”

  He stares into my eyes, studying me. I stare right back, resolute. I’m not going to let anything ruin our evening. Not even me. Whatever Gio sees must satisfy him, because he nods and takes the champagne from my hand. I’m also still holding the rose. I’ve somehow managed not to crush it.

  “Okay. Let me put this on ice, and we’ll open it after we eat,” he says.

  I nod, and he steps back, taking the warmth with him.

  “Do you have an ice bucket or should I just stick this in the freezer?” he asks.

  Shaking myself out of the haze I’m in, I gather myself. “Um, I think in that cabinet by the fridge there’s something you can use.”

  “Got it.”

  While I stand there taking a few deep breaths, Gio rifles through the cupboard and manages to find a makeshift bucket. He puts the bottle in it and fills the thing with ice. I make myself move and grab a vase under the sink. I set it, along with the rose, in the window sill. With a deep breath, I turn. He’s standing back on the other side of the island, giving me plenty of space. I appreciate the gesture.

  “Can I help with anything?” Giovanni asks.

  I glance at the timer on my phone. “No, I think that’s everything. We have about five minutes until dinner should be ready. Can I get you a drink? Water? Tea?”

  “Water is fine.”

  Thankful to have something to do with my hands, I pour us both a glass of ice water and hand him his. Our fingers brush and a little zing of electricity zips along my skin. Did Gio feel it, too? I hate that I made things so weird.

  “Thanks. So, tell me about this class of yours. What kinds of things are you going to be learning?” He takes a seat, and I breathe a little easier, which makes
me angry.

  “I just got the syllabus yesterday. Looks like during the first couple lectures we’ll be learning all the functions on our cameras. Professor Ortiz wants us to know our cameras inside and out. It’s supposed to become an extension of us.”

  Giovanni nods like I’m telling him the most interesting thing and he’s taking it all in. “That makes sense,” he says. “You have to be able to adjust the settings without thinking about it. You never know when the right photo opportunity will present itself.”

  “Exactly.” The excitement is building inside me just talking about it. “Later on we’re going to be learning about lighting and angles. There’s a portion on landscapes and one on human subjects.”

  The latter is the one I’m most nervous about.

  “Sounds like it’s going to be a great class. I’m glad you found it,” Gio says.

  “Me too.”

  My phone starts beeping. I shut it off and pull the steaming hot casserole dish out of the oven. The scent of garlic, cheese, and tomato sauce fills the room. “Dinner is served,” I say with a fancy flourish.

  Dinner had gone well. Better than I expected.

  Gio leans back with a groan and places his hand over his belly. “Thank you for the delicious meal. I can’t remember the last time I ate so well.”

  “Cooking has always been one of my hobbies. I enjoy trying new recipes. Although, my heart is more into baking. If it’s sweet, I’ll make it,” I tell him. “I have semifreddo for dessert.”

  He groans again. “I’m a sucker for anything sweet, but I don’t know if I have room for another bite.” He sits up with a mischievous grin. “Although, I’m certainly willing to give it a try.”

  “I’m glad someone is. Pierce is so strict, limiting his sugar, that the only thing he’ll eat of mine is fette biscottate and on the rare occasion, tiramisu. Of course, then he’ll work out for hours in the gym afterwards.”

  Gio holds up his arm. “I’ll be glad to get this damn thing off so I can get back to Gallo’s and start working out again.”

  “How much longer do you have to wear it?”

  “Depends. I go in for an x-ray next week to see how the bone is healing. If things are progressing, the doctor said I might be able to move to a sling. I guess that’s better than nothing though,” he says. “Anything to get this annoying cast off. My arm itches like crazy under here.”

  “Oh my gosh, isn’t that the worst? I broke my ankle when I was little and the itching was worse than the break itself.”

  Talking to Giovanni is the easiest thing in the world. Conversation never seems to be a problem for us. It’s one of the things I like best about him.

  “Would you like that champagne now or wait a little bit?” I ask.

  “Now is good. Would you like me to get it?” He starts to rise from his seat.

  I wave him back down. “No, you’re my guest. Why don’t you get comfortable in the living room, and I’ll bring it to you?”

  Gio nods and heads into the other room while I pop the cork on the bottle and pour each of us a glass. I pause a moment to take a breath. I glance across the room and he’s sitting on the far end of the couch with an arm slung over the back of it, looking far more at ease than I feel.

  Soft music comes from the bluetooth speaker, and a small candle burns in the center of the coffee table. It’s the perfect romantic setting. The nervous flutters rear to life in my belly again, but I push them further down and make my way to Giovanni.

  “Here you are.”

  “Thank you.” He takes the flute from me.

  I pause a moment too long deciding where to sit.

  “Would you rather I move to the chair?”

  My gaze darts from the couch to him, and I shake myself out of the daze. He’s lowered his arm from the back cushion and set it in his lap.

  “What? No, I’m being ridiculous.” I hurry to sit in the middle as a compromise and take a giant gulp of champagne.

  Silence greets me, and I glance up from where I’d been staring at the floor to meet Gio’s eyes.

  “It’s just me,” he says. “I have no expectations for tonight. We’re going to sit here and drink our champagne and talk and laugh. I might give you a goodnight kiss, and then I’m going home.”

  Shame washes over me, but it’s quickly replaced with anger. Anger at the Russians. But mostly, anger at myself. I grab Giovanni’s hand and raise it before scooting close enough that our legs touch. Then, I drape his arm over my shoulder, and I cuddle into his side.

  “Thank you for being patient with me,” I tell him, taking a much smaller sip of the fruit-flavored bubbly. “I never realized how hard this would be. And I hate that it’s this hard.”

  “You don’t ever have to thank you me. Not for letting you move at your own pace.” Gio’s finger brushes across my chin and tips it up so I have to look at him. “When you need a minute, I’ll give you as many as it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter 16

  Giovanni

  * * *

  Does Francesca see the burning fire of hatred for our enemies flickering in my eyes?

  The skin under my fingertips is like silk, and tempers some, but not all, of the rage inside me. I force my body to stay relaxed, despite the murderous torrent flowing through my veins. I can understand the Russians trying to kill me. It’s how things are in our world. Kill the enemy before they kill you. So for them to leave me for dead? It’s the order of war.

  But what they did to Francesca? How they are, after all this time, still managing to hurt her? I would coldly and callously murder every single one of them in a heartbeat. I would wreak total havoc and vengeance on them.

  For her.

  “Will you talk to me?” Francesca asks.

  My brow crinkles. “About what?”

  “Anything. Everything. I just like to hear the sound of your voice.” Her gaze darts away but returns. “It relaxes me.”

  She scoots a bit closer into my side and lays her head on my shoulder. Another tight knot of tension unwinds inside me. I’ll give Francesca anything she wants.

  “One day, about a year ago, I was driving Mr. Ricci. It was hot as hell that day. I sat inside the air conditioned car when the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen walked by.”

  Francesca lifts her head and glares. “I’m not sure I like this story.”

  “Will you let me finish, please?” I ask with a chuckle.

  She huffs a little and rests back against me.

  “The woman was stunning. Gorgeous. Absolutely took my breath away. She was the kind of woman I wished would want to be seen with me.”

  “Not getting better,” she says in a high-pitched, sing-song voice.

  I smile over the top of her head and continue. “I had to know who she was, because in that moment, I vowed that some day I’d be worthy of a woman like her. There were several town cars parked outside the venue with drivers waiting just like me. I prayed Mr. Ricci wouldn’t need to leave, and I stopped at every single car, asking if they knew who she was. Six cars later, I struck out.”

  Francesca harrumphs.

  “At least, I thought I had. Moments after I returned to the town car, Mr. Ricci comes walking out of the building. By his side is the woman I’d just desperately tried to identify. They chatted briefly, moving closer. I rushed over to open the back door, hoping she’ll glance in my direction. It was only for half a second—not even a full heartbeat—but our eyes met.” I pause a moment to replay the memory, that instant of connection. “Then, she glanced away, said goodbye to her uncle, and headed down the sidewalk, taking all the air from my lungs with her.” And maybe even a little piece of my heart.

  It doesn’t take long for her to respond. Slowly, Francesca sits up, her eyes wide with awe and maybe a little understanding. I remove the champagne flute from her loose grasp before it tumbles to the floor and set it on the coffee table. My gaze returns to her and locks there, wanting her to know what she means to me. She swallows.

/>   “Her—her uncle?” she whispers.

  I reach up and push a few strands of hair off her face, drinking in how beautiful she is, made more so by the fact that she has no idea how she affects me. Not truly.

  “I’ve done everything I could to show my loyalty to the family. I worked hard, because I wanted to be somebody. For you. Every time I saw you—talked to you, even if for only a second—I fell harder. You’re all I’ve thought about since that day. I’ve treasured every smile. Every laugh. Every glance. Every word you’ve ever spoken to me.”

  Francesca’s eyes shimmer. She cocks her head and a tiny, watery smile tips up her lips, along with a small puff of laughter. “You know that sort of makes you sound like a creeper.”

  I answer with a grin of my own. “Maybe, but look at me, now. I’ve got the woman of my dreams sitting nearly in my arms. It’s what I’ve wanted since that first moment I saw you. I knew that one of these days you’d be mine. I just had to be patient.”

  She purses her lips. “I’m yours, am I? What about you? Does that mean you’re mine?”

  “Every fucking inch of me. I’m completely and utterly yours and have been every day of my life for the last year,” I tell her with no hesitation.

  Francesca’s entire body jolts and then freezes. She doesn’t move a muscle, except her eyes. They flit back and forth, her gaze taking in my whole face. There’s a hint of disbelief on her expression.Because she doesn’t think I’m telling the truth or because I am? Either way, she keeps taking me in.

  At last, though, she creeps closer, leaning into me, placing a hand on my knee to brace herself. Her lips touch mine, caressing them softly, yet eagerly. She explores my mouth, her tongue teasing the corners and dragging along the seam, coaxing me to open to her. I part them, tipping my head to give her better access, and Francesca takes advantage of the move by swiping her tongue in further. Teasing me. Tempting me.