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

by L. K. Shaw

Heads swivel in my direction, but I ignore the intense stares from the entire room. Sure enough, the six-and-a half-foot fucker straightens his massive frame. His entire expression tightens, and I almost swear there’s a flicker of heat coming from the fire-red eyes of the skull tattoo on his throat.

  “Not happening.” His denial is sharp and final.

  Jacob, on the other hand, speaks up, studying me with that inscrutable expression of his. “Explain.”

  My gaze flicks back to Pierce for a half second before dashing back to my brother. “You said that she was sold specifically to Wójcik’s second-in-command, right? Was she held in a general locale with the rest of the women or did he keep her in his home? Because if the latter is the case and there are women who are personal—who are kept separate from the others—then that means we may not be able to get them all out.”

  Several men curse at my announcement. Jacob sighs and his gaze travels to Pierce, who is still seething. There’s a torn look on his face between acceptance and protectiveness for Anya. I can tell he doesn’t want to admit that I’m right.

  “As painful as it is to admit,” Jacob begins, not taking his eyes off his cousin, “it’s possible we can’t rescue every single one. No matter how much we might try. But we need answers.”

  * * *

  I’d never be able to tell Francesca we didn’t help them all. Is Pierce thinking the same thing? Because she will never rest until we rescue every last woman. Which means I will never rest. I want to give her every wish—every thing—she asks for. That’s how much power over me she has. It’s terrifying to admit.

  “We’ll speak to Anya. See what she can tell us,” Jacob announces. Pierce’s jaw tightens as though holding back a refusal, but he won’t go against his cousin in front of everyone.

  “In the meantime,” Cormac says, “the Irish are going to start a war with the Polish.”

  “If that’s all settled, I have other business to attend to.” Donnelly’s dismissal is clear. We may not be done strategizing, but he is.

  I’m curious how he is as a leader within his own organization, because he doesn’t seem to have the patience for this type of discussion. Or maybe he doesn’t have the patience for being in a room full of Italians, some of whom seem to regard him with barely concealed contempt.

  He exits the room and the rest of the Irish who’d been present all follow after their goodbyes.

  Jacob turns his attention back to the remaining captains. “I’ll reach out to Sevan Petrosyan, head of the Armenians, for a friendly chat. Let him know how we’ll proceed should he not heed my warning and cease any business dealings with Wójcik or his subordinates.”

  “I’m sure the Pol will have something to say about that, once word reaches him that you’re circumventing your agreement,” Dino adds.

  “Circumventing and disregarding are two entirely different things. Wójcik isn’t stupid. I’m sure he’s been waiting for something like this to happen. We certainly made our distaste of his despicable practice known,” Jacob says with a sneer. “I think he’s already started fucking with us despite our agreement. Several more of our soldiers have been arrested over the last few days.”

  “Have you considered that it’s someone else giving the cops information? Someone who is wanting to cause trouble for you?” Nero’s gaze zeroes in on me, before he drags it far too slowly away to look at Jacob.

  If I expect him to reprimand Nero in anyway for insinuating that I’m disloyal, I’ll be waiting a long time.

  “Of course I’ve considered we have a leak, and if it is someone within the organization, then he will be dealt with accordingly,” Jacob replies. “In the meantime, if Petrosyan isn’t cooperative, we’ll need to strike at the Armenians soon. Send the message loud and clear. Pierce will gather information on their stores. If it comes down to it, Giovanni—as long as you have that cast off—I want you to join us on the raid.”

  My head snaps in his direction. Me? I’ve never been on one before. Christ, what if I get someone—him—killed? He catches my stare and raises a brow. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all,” I manage without hesitation.

  “Be prepared at a moment’s notice for a raid,” he tells the captains. “It may happen sooner than we think. I’ll be in touch.”

  The men all nod their assent. There’s a new tension in the air that hadn’t been present at the beginning of the meeting. War leads to casualties. It’s something we’re all completely aware of. I only hope I can prove my worth to everyone. My loyalty. Show them they can trust me. I swallow down the unease creeping up my throat.

  One by one, the men disperse. I hate admitting my weakness, especially in front of Pierce, but if I’m going to be heading into a situation like this one, Jacob needs to know.

  “I’ve never been on an assault before,” I tell him once the room is empty save for the three of us.

  “I know,” he says. “But if you’re going to be a part of the inner circle, as you call it, then this is part of it. Do you know how to fire a gun?”

  “Of course.” I’m almost offended by the question.

  “Can you actually hit what you’re aiming at?” Pierce scoffs.

  I eye him up and down critically. “If the target’s big enough,” I say sarcastically.

  To my shock, he actually cracks the tiniest smile. Just a single side of his mouth hitches, but it’s enough.

  “You’re a smart ass, you know that?” he says.

  “I do. And to answer your question, yes, I can hit anything. Firing a weapon and hitting what I’m aiming at is probably the one thing I excel at. I’ve been going to the shooting range for years, working on my skills,” I tell them. “But that doesn’t mean that I know what it’s like to be in an actual raid and hitting a real person. It’s a lot different than a paper target fifty yards away.”

  Jacob nods. “Yes, it is. It’s utter chaos. You have to trust the men around you. More importantly, they have to trust you. If you want to earn that, then this is the first step. Unless you’re willing to lay down your life for them, then why should they lay down theirs for you? We’re a family, not just some organization.”

  I’ll do whatever it takes. If that means going on this raid, then it’s what I’ll do.

  Chapter 21

  Francesca

  * * *

  Soren pulls up to the Hudson River Yacht Club—a deceiving name, considering there’s no river, let alone one named Hudson. The sprawling white building sits along the waters of the Paerdegat Basin which empties into Jamaica Bay. It’s large and pretentious with its row of matching granite colonnades and arched entryways funneling into a single solid oak door.

  Women dressed in power suits and heels exit a line of town cars. I exit the town car and nervously pluck at the jacket of the forest green pant suit I’d purchased for the occasion. I’m sure my mother will have something to say about the color or style. For a woman who prides herself on looking nothing less than perfect, she doesn’t seem to understand I don’t look good in the soft pastels she prefers.

  A woman crosses in front of me, and I trail behind her and into the club. I’ve only been here one other time, but it’s been years. Inside, the gray and white marble floor is polished to a bright shine and the click-clack of many high heels echoes in the cavernous space.

  Sleek black leather chairs filled with laughing women are scattered in bunches around white tables. To my right, a monstrous, unlit fireplace is built into a white brick wall. To my left, men and women ascend and descend a spiral staircase, which leads to the second floor landing, guarded by an etched glass and black wood half wall where several groups of people stand.

  “Francesca, you made it,” a feminine voice echoes from above me.

  I turn my gaze back to the top of the staircase. My mother glides down it, the same dark-colored hair I inherited pulled into a tight chignon at her nape. As usual, she’s dressed in one of her infamous linen pant suits and draped in jewelry. She reaches me with a faint smile
, as though she fears causing any wrinkles or lines by producing a full one.

  An air kiss to each cheek later, she’s guiding me up the stairs, nodding politely at the people we pass. A few look vaguely familiar.

  “Carlotta is excited to see you again,” my mother says over her shoulder. “It’s been far too long.”

  I should probably know the name, but hopefully the face will ring a bell, and I’ll put two and two together.

  Conversation grows louder. We enter another large room filled with banquet tables draped in white tablecloths and crystal centerpieces with lit pillar candles inside glass hurricane vases. Place settings, with far more silverware than is necessary, circle the outer edge. Hundreds of people mingle, their chatter incessant. Champagne is poured from passing caterers. There’s a giant stage at the front of the room and a podium with microphone.

  “Sofia, my dear, over here.” A woman raises her hand and waves.

  I trail behind as we make our way to where she stands amongst several other sharply-dressed women. Their judgmental gazes and fake smiles take me in. This is why I don’t spend time around my mother’s friends.

  Introductions are made, and several names are familiar.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, Francesca,” Carlotta says with barely concealed condescension.

  My smile mimics theirs, but I’m not sure I pull it off quite like they do. They have more practice at it. “You as well.”

  Already I’m regretting coming, and I’ve been here less than fifteen minutes. The women, including my mother, chat while I stand there only half-listening until Gio’s name comes up.

  “Can you believe that…man…is Mr. Ricci’s half-brother?” There’s so much disgust in the question.

  “Now, Carlotta, we don’t really know anything about him,” my mother actually defends Giovanni, although it does seem a bit half-hearted.

  “I know all I need to based on that mother. She looked like a prostitute stumbling into the funeral with that tacky black dress and cheetah print purse. No one should be caught dead wearing cheetah print anymore. And my god, did you see how her makeup was smeared? She looked like she’d just come from visiting a…client,” a different woman sneers with dramatic pause.

  It takes everything I have to bite my tongue. I don’t want to be drawn into conflict.

  “Thank god Rosalie isn’t alive to see what Sal did.”

  My mother bristles. She never talks about Aunt Rosalie, but the two were sisters. I’m sure she still misses her. It’s almost a smack to my mother’s face to bring her up.

  “Nero told me that some of the men are uneasy about Mr. Ricci allowing this Giovanni to attend their meetings. They don’t trust his mother. There’s just something about her. They don’t even know if they can trust her son,” Carlotta says.

  They can bad mouth Gio’s mother if they want, but I won’t let them talk about him. “Giovanni is just as trustworthy as Jacob.”

  The circle of women turn to me with their mouths puckered like they ate something sour.

  “Francesca.” There’s a warning tone in my mother’s voice that I ignore.

  “No, Mother. I’m not going to stand here and listen to anyone deride Gio.” I’d hoped that coming here would be a good thing. That maybe she and I could begin to get along, but not if it means letting her friends bad mouth Gio. “Thank you for inviting me, but I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

  I turn, leaving all of them standing there gaping. I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother for embarrassing her that way. I don’t have it in me to care.

  The heat of the sun feels good on my face after I make it outside. Soren jumps out of from behind the steering wheel and comes around to open the door for me.

  “Take me to Brenna’s, please,” I instruct.

  I need a friend to talk to, and she’s the first person I go to. Am I being too sensitive? What would Gio have told me to do? Most likely ignore them. I’m probably over-reacting by just up and walking away, but lately my emotions have been…more. I don’t know what it is or why.

  It takes forever to get through traffic and from one side of Brooklyn to the other, but we finally come to a stop in front of the familiar building. I cross the lobby, always enjoying the scent of fresh flowers that permeates the air. The ride up to the fifth floor seems to take forever. Finally, the bell dings signaling my arrival.

  Brenna answers the door wearing a swimsuit cover-up with a towel thrown over one shoulder and sunglasses perched on the top of her head. “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m sorry for coming over unannounced, as usual.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Mother dropped Caitlín off for a swim so we were headed up to the roof. I can send her along without me. Or I have another suit you can borrow if you wanted to come with us,” she says.

  Caitlín comes bounding down the stairs, full of teenage energy, a huge grin across her lightly freckled face. “Hi, Chess.”

  “Hello, yourself.” Her friendliness is infectious. She might be a good influence on Anya.

  “You coming swimming with us?” she asks.

  I turn to Brenna with a questioning gaze. “You sure it’s okay if I borrow a suit?”

  “Of course. Come on.” She loops her hand around my elbow and leads me toward the stairs. “Go ahead, brat. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  Caitlín sticks out her tongue, but heads out the door with a wave and shout. “Hurry up before you miss all the sun.”

  Brenna glances at me and we both burst into light laughter. “She’s going to lead some man on a merry chase one day. In the future. The far, far future, I hope. God, I can’t believe she’s going to be sixteen.”

  We enter the master bedroom. It looks so different than the one and only time I’ve been in here. The same blue comforter covers the bed. Still hanging behind it is the gorgeous acrylic painting I’d found in a gallery in Carroll Gardens. Even the vase on top of the dresser remains, but the bundle of flowers I’d left with it have long been replaced with fresh ones.

  Except beside it is an open wooden box which houses several pairs of cufflinks. There’s also three expensive watches lined up in a perfect row, each one spaced evenly apart. Several hair ties with a few strands of red hair stuck to them are scattered across the surface as well. A bra dangles from a dresser knob.

  A quick glance around the rest of the room shows signs of Brenna, with clothes strewn here and there. Other than the box and watches, there aren’t any signs of Jacob’s presence except the open closet displaying a ridiculously organized selection of dark suits and ties.

  “What about this one?” Brenna asks, holding up a modest, multi-colored one-piece.

  “It’s perfect, thank you.” I take it from her and head into the bathroom to change.

  In here, it’s more of her chaotic mess. Clothes on the floor. Toothpaste in the sink. Hair ties everywhere. I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Jacob, his fastidious self, standing amongst all this. He probably shudders every time he steps in here. Is Gio neat and orderly like his brother? I’m not the tidiest, but definitely more so than Brenna.

  The suit is a little small, mostly in the torso length than anything, but it fits well enough for an afternoon of sunbathing on the rooftop. I step out into the bedroom, where Brenna waits with a towel.

  “Ready?” she asks, handing it to me.

  I nod and we head out. We can talk later.

  “You’ve been quiet all afternoon. Everything okay?” Brenna asks from her lounge chair next to me. She always seems to be able to tell when I have something on my mind.

  “My mother invited me to a charity luncheon today.”

  She whips her head in my direction and lifts her sunglasses to stare at me with a wide-eyed gaze.

  “Yeah, I know. It came out of nowhere. She invited me when she stopped by unannounced earlier in the week—apparently I inherited that from her,” I say with a small grin that Brenna returns while lowering her glasses back down.
r />   “Is she okay?” she asks.

  I can’t stop my laugh. “You sound like me. When I told Gio about the invite, I thought she might be dying.”

  Brenna snorts. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun, but I’ve seen and heard your mother in action.” Her expression flattens. “She isn’t very kind.”

  No, she’s not. “Imagine my surprise, then. Anyway, the luncheon was today. I might have made a small scene and then walked out before it even started.”

  “What happened to make you walk out? Because I know you wouldn’t have without a good reason,” Brenna states loyally.

  “They were making snide comments about Giovanni. His mother as well.” Although I could have tolerated that. I wince, because that’s also unkind. I never want to be accused of being like my mother.

  Brenna stiffens. “I don’t blame you one bit for walking out. I would have done the same thing if anyone disrespected my husband.”

  She might seem quiet and meek to those who don’t know her, but she is a lioness. A queen that rules right alongside Jacob. I’ve witnessed it. As has most of the organization. I’m certain none of those woman who have dared spoken about Giovanni if Brenna had been there. They fear her wrath, as well as her doting husband’s.

  “I was afraid I’d over-reacted a little. It wasn’t like they were being particularly vicious, but the digs really bothered me. Especially because they alluded to Gio’s loyalty. They said there are whispers that the men don’t trust him.” Repeating those words sparks my rage again.

  “That’s such bullshit.”

  “Wow, someone must have pissed you off. Since when did you start cussing?” A dripping wet Caitlín stands at our feet casting a long shadow between our lounge chairs.

  She throws down her towel in the narrow space and settles on it cross-legged, her gaze darting from her sister to me and back again. “Who’s going to tell me what you guys are talking about and what’s got Brenna so wound up that she’s swearing?”

  “Yes, please tell me why my wife is cursing?”