Her head shot up, indignant. “You expect me to just leave her?”
“I’ve called a doctor.” Her shoulders loosened slightly, but the tightness in her features remained. Her hands guarded Gabriella like a mother lion. “Come,” he added, gesturing with his hand.
“But what if Giovani returns?” she asked, not moving an inch. Anteros exhaled again, the sound rocky with impatience as it came through his chest. His pocket buzzed and he hastily pulled the thing out, ready to either turn it off or chuck it against the wall.
Crazy A: If you don’t pull a Houdini and get down here now the shipment will be late.
Anteros read the message once, then again, then a third time. His hand hovered over the power button. Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark locks. He couldn’t keep doing this.
He glanced at Frankie.
He was all kinds of messed up.
Nothing made sense. He still didn’t know why he’d even had this fucking dinner. Everything in his mind screamed to shut it down and leave, but his finger kept hovering over the power button instead of texting back, as he should. Never in his life had he ignored his Wolves like he’d done that night.
For a fucking dinner party. Lucio used to throw them to keep the De Lucas happy, but that had never been his game. He stared at the words on the screen, as if reading it would resolve all he’d just ruined. He glanced back up at Frankie and froze.
She was gazing at him fiercely, unafraid and determined. Her dark, elegantly shaped brows arched deep over her sea glass eyes, challenging him but also utterly captivating. He shook his head, breaking the spell, and looked back down. He was about to text Crazy A that he was on his way when Frankie asked, “What if he returns?”
Her question drew him back up again. Frankie’s eyes were wide in expectation, earnestly waiting for a response. He turned the phone off without responding and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“He’s her husband,” Anteros said simply. Her body recoiled like a snake about to strike.
“He’s a bastard,” she said.
“Actually, no.” Anteros leaned against an exposed brick column, folding his arms. “He comes from very good Italian stock.” Frankie rolled her eyes, returning her attention to Gabriella. She kept her hands on her abdomen, glare fierce.
“I won’t repeat myself,” Anteros growled. “Come now.”
“You just did,” she said, face turned away. In one motion Anteros grabbed her by the loose curls spilling down behind her head. She grappled with him as she was forced to stand. Yelping and screeching, feet sliding on the floor, he pulled her out of the room. He kept his hold tight on her hair all the way down the hall and to his room. When he reached the room, he let go, flinging her in the direction of his bed.
She rubbed her head, glaring at him. “I thought I knew the depths of your evil,” she spat. “But an injured woman is down there, alone—” She flung her hand out toward the door just as Anteros advanced and overtook her, causing her to stumble back on the mattress.
“You will tell me right now, Frankie,” he said. “Is Gabriella pregnant?”
She sputtered. “W-what?”
“Is Gabriella pregnant?” The spot Frankie had placed her hand on had aroused his suspicion. She had fiercely protected Gabriella’s abdomen, as if there was something inside to lose.
For a split second, Frankie’s face gave her away, but then she responded, “With how fucking stupid you’re acting, I’d think you’re the one who fell down some stairs.”
“I warn you.” Anteros leaned down, caging her with his arms. “You will not be punished for what you said because you are grieving. Say anything else and you’ll wish you were Gabriella.” Anteros could see the swell of her throat as she took in his threat. He pushed off the mattress and left the room, shutting the door behind him to deal with the mess.
When Anteros arrived back in the room, Giovani was leaning over Gabriella. Knees bent, he fingered a strand of her blonde hair, the locks falling through his pudgy fingers like water until they landed on her semi-conscious cheeks.
“Step away from Gabriella,” Anteros uttered, voice like the wintery wind outside. Giovani blinked his glare, clearly surprised, but also upset.
“She is my wife,” he sputtered.
“As if I needed a reminder.” He let the world know the same way a rancher branded cattle. Anteros beckoned Giovani over with a wave of his hand. Reluctantly, Giovani stood and followed. Anteros led him through the house until he reached the door to the cigar den.
“I could use a good cigar,” Giovani said, relief in his voice.
“You and me both,” Anteros replied, though he didn’t open the door. Turning, Anteros leaned against the wood and studied Giovani. Hands in pockets, Giovani waited for Anteros. You could see the relation between him and Councilman Sal De Luca. They were both fat, balding, and apparently unable to work a razor on their chin.
“I’m going to hurt you,” Anteros stated. “Badly.”
“What?” Giovani’s eyes widened.
“You ruined my evening with your domestic shit.” Grabbing Giovani’s collar, he thrust him against the wall.
“You-you…” Giovani sputtered, looking from Anteros to the floor to the ceiling, back to Anteros. “You have to ask The Council first.”
“I don’t think I’ll do that.” Anteros readied his arm then swung it so it collided perfectly with Giovani’s nose.
“But I’m a De Luca! My uncle is a councilman! This isn’t how things are done, Beast,” Giovani sputtered blood. Anteros readied another punch, this time going for the gut. Giovani gasped and groaned.
“It is now.” Anteros cracked Giovani across the jaw, the sound like lightning breaking a branch. Giovani’s head fell, and Anteros paused to roll up his sleeves, buttoning them at his elbow.
“My uncle will have your head,” Giovani said, still sideways. Anteros paused for a moment, and Giovani gave him a sidelong glance. Narrowing his eyes, Anteros cracked Giovani underneath the jaw.
He kept up, making expert hits to the jaw, eyes, nose, and ribs. He had intended to only punch Giovani a few times, as a small discipline. Then his fist collided with his jaw and it was like a well was released. A dam burst. His internal storm flowed freely through his fists.
“There were rumors that the Beast was going soft,” Giovani sputtered through punches. “Rumors that a slave had turned his cold blood warm. I didn’t believe them, but now…” He laughed, showing bloody red teeth. “Your punches are like my mother’s kisses at Christmas.”
Anteros gripped Giovani by the collar of his suit, lifted him up a few inches, and then slammed his head against the wooden floor, producing a sickening crack.
“Nikolai?” Anteros called as he walked back out into the main room of the penthouse. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them back down once more, and called out again.
“Yes, Boss?” Nikolai appeared seconds later.
“Mr. and Mrs. De Luca will need a ride home,” he replied, rolling down the last of his sleeve. It hardly mattered, though, as the fabric was completely drenched with blood.
Nikolai nodded. “Yes, Boss.”
Sometime later, after the maid had been informed that a special cleaning was needed, Anteros crept down the hall. He was outside the door to his bedroom, ready to go inside, when he pulled out his phone.
He dialed.
“Are you bleeding?” Crazy A’s harsh brogue came on at once. “Dead on the ground? You’d have to be to have any leg to stand on right now.”
“Something came up,” Anteros replied. His hand rested on the knob, brass with elegant detail. “You have permission to approve the order.”
“Well that’s fucking great but the order is already late,” Crazy A snapped. “You know what that means.” Anteros traced his finger along the intricate lines of the doorknob, barely listening to what Crazy A was saying. He knew what it meant, had known the entire night—he just couldn’t find it in him to care.
What it meant was The Institute would be very displeased.
If The Institute was displeased, they could revoke his charter, a charter they relied on to make their earnings. The Institute was about fifty percent of their business, drugs about twenty-five, guns maybe fifteen, and ten percent truly legitimate business. He fingered the knob, feeling the cool brass against his palm, wondering if he was going crazy.
“What the fuck happened?” Crazy A demanded. “Are you okay? Do you need backup?” Again, Anteros didn’t respond. He turned the knob, gently pushing the door open. “You can’t just disappear on us and not give us a reason,” Crazy A continued.
“Actually, I can.” He hung up, pushing the door open all the way. Light streamed over the bed and onto Frankie's body. He stood for a moment in the doorway, watching her chest rise and fall.
It was another night where she had fallen asleep in his bed. Another night where he should wake her up and make her go to her own room.
Instead he shut the door and walked to the bed. He didn’t bother taking off his clothes, didn’t even bother taking off the blood-stained shirt. He simply took off his belt and shoes and got into bed.
With an arm behind his head, he stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the shadows. It was like alarm bells were going off in his head, but all he heard was music.
“Did you tell him?” Frankie’s voice ghosted through the silence.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anteros replied.
There was a brief pause, and then she asked, “Really?” Frankie sounded less annoyed, more defeated. “You’re going to make me say it?” Anteros didn’t respond. “Fine.” She sighed. “Did you tell Giovani that Gabriella is pregnant?”
The rustle of the bed was heard in the dark as Anteros rolled to the other side. His back now faced Frankie. “Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Eleven
“Giovani is dead.”
“What?” I asked, jumping to my feet. The book I had in my lap fell with a final-sounding thunk. “What do you mean he’s dead?” I stared wide-eyed at the Beast, waiting for him to explain further. He gave me a skeptical glare.
“I didn’t know you two were so close,” he replied. Of course we weren’t close. I hated Giovani almost as much as I hated the man staring curiously at me. It had only been a few days since that fateful dinner and life had continued on as soul-sucking perdition for me. With one exception: I saw Gabby in the park.
One brief moment where she’d confessed her intent.
One brief moment of utter terror when Nikolai had stopped the car and told me to get out because Gabby was waiting for me. I hadn’t planned any of it. I’d refused to get out—terrified Beast would know, but then I saw her and was compelled.
“I…” Stuttering, memories took hold of my tongue. It had felt so strange when my feet hit the pavement. My eyes had left Gabby, wandering around the snowy city, breathing in icy freedom.
Then she’d confessed her intent and my eyes snapped back.
She wanted to murder Giovani
I didn’t think she would do it. It was Gabby after all. Gabby shook when she poured hot chocolate—she wouldn’t murder her husband. I’d only thought she was angry, hurt, understandably abject; because what she’d suggested to me was suicide.
“I—” Quickly I swallowed the memory and returned my gaze to Beast. “I’m not. I’m just surprised is all. Is she okay?” The memories of our encounter continued to wash over me as Beast stepped closer. He reached his hand out and ran a thumb across my lower lip, studying my reaction.
I reeled at the contact, my body swaying slightly. Following the dinner, Beast had been uncharacteristically absent. There’d been no attempts at forced orgasms, no confusing gentleness. He’d been completely gone. I hadn’t expected to miss him, it was what I’d been wishing for since arriving, but there was an ache in my chest. A deep pang existed there, like my heart had been beaten and was constantly sore from the fight.
Now going from zero to Beast had it hammering.
“It’s unfortunate,” Beast said, tugging at my lip. He dipped his thumb into my mouth and I closed my eyes, trying to resist. The ache in my heart was soothed, but in its place was an urgent need. I’d been so foolish, getting used to a life without this constant pressure.
He brushed the rough pad of his thumb against my tongue. I tried to do nothing, but my mouth watered anyway.
“I’m only informing you as Gabriella will most likely be killed,” he murmured. “Or sold into slavery.”
“What?” I asked. At least that did it. The spell was broken and, as if water had been thrown on my body, I jumped back. “But why?” I turned my head to the fireplace in the library, watching the flames crackle. It was just so cruel. She had somehow figured out a way to kill Giovani and now she was to be killed?
“She killed her husband,” Beast replied.
“But she didn’t do it,” I lied quickly, snapping my attention back to his. Beast gave me a tired look, reaching for the book I’d dropped to the ground.
“House of the Dead?” He turned the book over to look at the cover. “Fyodor Dostoyevski. Didn’t I see you reading Crime and Punishment earlier in the week? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a theme here.”
“What about a trial?” I asked, ignoring him.
“There will be one,” he said. “But she will lose.”
“She needs a lawyer.” I snatched the book from him.
“It’s not that kind of trial.”
“But…” I desperately tried to grasp for some way to save her. I had to. It just wasn’t fair. She’d been married to a complete horror since she was a child, lived under the torment of a man who pushed her down the stairs because he didn’t like her tone, and now she was going to either be killed or sold into slavery because she’d freed herself?
No fucking way.
“Enough, Frankie. I informed you out of courtesy. I don’t want to hear any more.” He hardened his eyes, like stone trapped under a glacial chill. I swallowed. Anything I said now would end badly, but I just had to, for Gabby.
I stepped up to Beast, fingers curling on his forearm. His suit jacket felt like cream. He looked at my hand then back to me. For a moment, I thought he would do something because his eyes drilled into mine with that savage, carnal fury that had been absent the past few days. Then he shucked me off and left the room.
I tried to go back to reading, but couldn’t. It was late, nearly past twelve in the morning, and my eyelids were heavy. Barely two days had passed since dinner with Gabby and Giovani, and now she was going to be killed—not to mention Gabby had been arrested. Arrested.
When Nikolai forced our meet at Gramercy Park she told me the story, the story that would lead to Giovani’s death. I remembered how her bruises looked fresh beneath the expensive foundation, and that was because they were. Instead of being left to recover after being pushed down a flight of stairs, left to mourn the loss of her child, Giovani took to beating her.
So she’d snapped.
After almost five years of constant abuse she fled the house.
Screaming.
And he had her arrested.
My fingers curled around the book until my knuckles turned white. Death was too good for a man like Giovani. My mind went back to the day at the park when she’d intimated her plan to kill him. There’d been a brief moment when she’d smiled. Gabby had told me about some cop she met while at the precinct and she was like a girl with a crush, not someone about to commit murder. But then Giovani had come back into focus, as he always would, and her smile had fallen.
“I don’t want you going back to that man,” I said. “You can still run. I’ll help you!”
“Don’t worry.” Gabby kissed me on the cheek, readying to leave. “It will give you wrinkles, and then what would the Beast want with you? Or never mind. Worry lots.”
The words had been so out of character, so blasé. I should have known
then. That day in the park I saw it in her eyes. Her baby was murdered the moment her body hit the floor and that was the final straw. Gone was her unassuming, timid aspect and in its place was a deadly determination. She wasn’t going to stop.
Apparently she hadn’t.
With a sigh, I set the book down. I rubbed a palm to my forehead and looked from the fireplace to the door. If I was going to help Gabby this time, I had to do it on my own.
I left the library and walked out, past the open room and to the foot of the stairs. Up there was his study. It wasn’t the first time I’d ascended; the first being the day I’d truly met Nikolai. It was also what led to me being strung up on a fucking wall for a day. My hands gripped the banister, shaking. This is for Gabby, I said to myself.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my mind screaming for me to turn around. When my foot met the floor, I took a deep breath and walked down the hall. Surprisingly, the door was open. He was seated behind his desk, head down. For a moment, I just watched him work.
My fingers went to my lip, the one he’d touched. I wondered if this was where he’d been the past two days, right under my nose, not even bothering to leave the penthouse. It was his house after all.
“Can I at least be there?” I blurted. “When it happens? She was kind to me.”
“What purpose would that serve?” He didn’t even look up from his desk.
“Moral support,” I lied.
“She won’t be present.” Still he didn’t look up.
I desperately searched inside myself for another reason, but came up empty. “Please?” He paused his work and looked up at me. Our eyes locked and for a moment, hope blossomed inside of me. Then his gaze shifted over my shoulder. I glanced behind me and, surprised, I saw that Nikolai had appeared behind me.
“Frankie has lost her way,” Beast said. “Help her find it.” His head returned to his work just as Nikolai nodded and gently took hold of my elbow, steering me out of the Beast’s study.
I still couldn’t figure Nikolai out. He’d been the sole reason I was able to visit Gabby in the park. I mean, he fucking orchestrated it! As far as I knew, he’d not said a word to Beast about our clandestine meeting, yet he wasn’t like Gabby. He wasn’t talking to me; we weren’t sharing our most intimate selves. All I knew about Nikolai was his first name and that he had “secrets”—not particularly comforting.
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 19