Maybe one of those secrets was that his name wasn’t Nikolai; so maybe I didn’t know anything at all.
“Will you be needing anything else?” Nikolai asked as we reached my room. It was nearing one in the morning, so I was most likely just going to hop into bed. I shook my head and he left.
The morning after that terrible dinner I’d awoken in Beast’s bed and he was gone. Nikolai brought me back to the white room and ever since I’d been sleeping in the white room—my room—which was fine. It was how I wanted it anyway. It was a little over two weeks since trading my life to the Beast, December was halfway over, and I realized most of the time I slept in his room.
There were parts of me that had started getting used to his room. They’d gotten used to the way his sheets felt against my skin and how much heavier his comforter was than mine. They’d begun to expect the way his smell wrapped around me even when he wasn’t there. But those weren’t good things. I shouldn’t get used to anything involving the Beast; my mind or body shouldn’t expect or want or need anything from him.
I went over to the bed and sat on the edge, the plush mattress sinking with my weight. I stared out the window, wondering if Gabby was looking out at the same frigid, dark world I was.
Or if she’d already been killed.
I dropped my head, everything feeling heavy, even my eyelids. When I lifted my head, Nikolai was still in the doorway. I’d learned with Nikolai that this meant he was about to tell me something. Any time he hesitated to leave, I was about to get some kind of secret spilled.
“The Beast will leave soon,” Nikolai started. “You will be alone for approximately three and a half hours.” He bowed his head and left. My skin creased as my forehead pulled together. Informing me of the Beast’s whereabouts was a new thing Nikolai had started doing. No matter how many times he did it, though, I was still uncertain.
Still, Nikolai gave me the only times I could read the journal comfortably.
Even though I was practically asleep, I walked over to the corner that was in the blind spot of the cameras. I lifted up the rug, undoing the loose floorboard I’d started using to hide the journal. It was easier than the brick outside. Pulling out the weathered journal, I sat down and started where I left off. I remembered in the last entry Sofia had overheard some terribly shocking news about a Pavoni Princess. The rest of the page had been ripped out though, so I hadn’t been able to read any more about that. Curious, I opened the book to the next page.
Lucio Senior died today. You can feel the tension in the air, like hot, sticky poisoned gas. It’s been twenty years since the death of Valeria Marchesi. She died before me, in childbirth, as women do. I don’t expect the air felt as it does today when she died, though. I hear fast talking, rushed curses. Some of Lucio Senior’s brothers think he has lost his way living in America for so long. They want to split as it used to be: a family in America, a family in Sicily, both autonomous.
Papa believes there will be blood, at least that’s what he says at night when he thinks I’m not listening. Is it wrong that I don’t care? I sneak away while everyone is talking about blood and war and meet Alessio. Now that Lucio is dead and our world is going up in flames, we can stand together in the heat. I love him so much. His kisses are like whiskey, warm and numbing. I used to think we were doomed, that nothing could become of us, but maybe if our world is doomed first, we can be saved.
It felt like I had only just put the journal away, only just fallen asleep, when I was being jerked awake.
“Get up.”
I rolled over, groggy with sleep, swatting at the voice. The journal was still fresh in my mind, sort of how when you fall asleep studying math you wake up thinking about numbers. I was in Sofia’s world, feeling her hope that she and her love could be together despite their crumbling world. It was interesting, too, that I shared a name—well, a middle name—with someone in her life. It was like seeing a celebrity whose birthday I shared.
“I said get up.” The voice grabbed my arm, pulling me from my warm sleep.
“What’s happening?” I asked as my feet hit the floor, the cold wood waking me up. I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to my new, awake state. The Beast stood in front of me, dressed for the day in an impeccable gray suit. I glanced at the clock: four in the morning. I’d only just fallen asleep two hours ago.
“You’re going to the gallows,” he said. I knew it was either serious or deadly when he didn’t let me dress. The Beast valued appearances above most anything else, and he was rushing me down to the garage in my nighty.
I was shoved into an already running town car, barely having time to register what was happening. By the time I collected my thoughts enough to see where we were, Beast was already telling Nikolai to “keep the car running.”
My bare feet were, unsurprisingly, not great for winter. The snow numbed them immediately, the wet slush sinking under my soles as we ascended steps into a faceless skyscraper. Beast shoved me into the building as I tried to see the cross street.
The Financial District.
Then the doors shut and we were in an elevator. Beast was paying the least attention he had to me since I’d been thrust into his world. He pushed the button, checked his watch, and readjusted his sleeve to cover it. I played the little game I’d invented and also became master of since falling into this world, the one that allowed me to be okay with being wet, cold, and half naked in a building smack dab in the middle of the Financial District in the middle of the night.
A game I liked to call cognitive dissonance.
The elevator door opened on the top floor and he shoved me once more into another room. Five men sat around a big wooden table. The surface shined as if painted with a coat of gold. The seats were all designed Louis XIV style with thick gold molding and plush velvet. Most had their hands folded above the wood, gold rings on their fingers, and menace oozed from them like steam out of a grate. I tugged on the hem of my gown, as if I could pull it past my ass.
The lights were dimmed. It was only us plus Beast’s personal body guard, Tino, who were standing. Tino had appeared out of nowhere like he always did—I wondered if he had taken the stairs. The only sounds came from the outside and even those were hushed.
It felt like I was caught in a Mexican stare-off.
“Do you take us for a fool, boy?” one of them finally asked. He had sharp angular features and short, slicked blond hair that was so gelled it gleamed in the dim light. His goatee was as sharp as his angular features.
“Not right,” another growled. My gaze flicked to his.
“First an unsanctioned kill of a family member and now this? Bringing a slave?” They went from ice-cold silence to thwacking the ice with a hammer. Shards flew in all directions, they were talking so fast. My eyes flashed from one person to the next, trying to learn as much as I could. The person who had just spoken had a slight accent, and though he was dressed well like the rest, his shave was unkempt, his hair balding, and the rings on his fingers only made his fingers look that much pudgier.
He looked a little like Giovani.
“Rumor has it you’re planning something with Emilio,” one said. The one with the sharp goatee shifted.
“I think you’re forgetting your place,” the Giovani lookalike said, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “Perhaps you think you are Boss.”
“I haven’t changed any ranks,” Beast uttered coolly. “Lucio is still Don and I’m still under him. Emilio is where he’s always been, a soldier.” Beast looked pointedly to the one with a goatee.
“The Beast as boss.” An older-looking one with white hair laughed, as though the very concept was the most amusing thing in the world to him. Beast clenched his jaw and looked away, annoyance on his features, though he didn’t respond.
Everything happened so fast after that. Italian and English flew back and forth and the three men who were talking stood up. One had hands on the table, another looked like he was going to reach for his gun. I barely had time to process anything,
but then the one with goatee spoke. Quietly. Deadly.
“I think it’s time we talk to you. Alone.” Beast raised a brow but said no more.
I was escorted out by Tino. I craned my head to see what was going on but was carried around the corner. The last thing I saw was Beast rolling his shoulders back, looking entirely unfazed. Then I heard yelling. More silence followed until I heard Beast’s voice drift out.
“Say that again,” he said in a calm, easy way that gave me shivers. “See what happens.”
“The girl should have been sold to The Institute,” a voice said. “Instead you killed Arlo. Are the rumors true? Are you going soft?” My mouth fell open. They were talking about me. They had to be. I glanced at Tino, looking for any sign in his face. He stared straight ahead into the darkness.
“Arlo’s dead because he tried to take something that didn’t belong to him. Why do you care anyway? He’s a Moretti.” I frowned, soaking in the conversation. With slow, careful steps, I scooted against the wall, trying to get closer to the edge. Tino didn’t appear to notice, and I watched him, waiting for the perfect moment to get a glimpse back inside the room. Just when he sneezed, I shot my head around the corner to see the Giovani lookalike yell, “Giovani was not a Moretti! Giovani was my blood.” My eyes widened at that but I had to dart my head back into place.
“Giovani’s death was not my doing,” Beast replied, his deadly patience giving way to annoyance.
“You’re right.” The voice that spoke was cold, cruel, tinged with bothered arrogance, as if the Beast was demanding the answer to two plus two in a calculus class. “That was Gabriella’s fault,” it continued. My gut filled with ice. Things were not going well.
“She killed her husband,” another spoke. “She will be dealt with.” I cursed myself for not learning all their intonations before being dragged out of the room. I was pretty sure I could tell when the fat, scratchy Giovani relative spoke and I was starting to distinguish the cold, cruel one, but the other three were a complete mystery to me.
“According to the girl out there,” Beast replied, “she did not kill her husband.”
“You expect us to take the word of your slave?” Someone audibly scoffed. I hazarded a glance at Tino and noticed that his eyes were actually drooping—he was tired! Taking advantage, I snuck a peek around the corner.
“No,” Beast growled. “You will take my word.”
“My daughter has always been trouble,” the cruel one spoke. He was the one with a goatee, I noted, and gelled hair. “She is like her mother in that regard. This does not surprise me.” My eyebrows shot past my hairline. Gabriella’s own father was sentencing her to death? I desperately tried to get a better look in the room. My father wasn’t winning any awards, but at least I knew he would never sentence me to death. If he had the choice, he would save me.
“In any case,” Beast continued. “Gabriella De Luca is of no use to us dead.” I perked up; what did Beast mean by that? I craned to get a better listen, but then the door slammed shut. All their faces and voices disappeared and at the same time a hand grasped my shoulder, tugging me back.
“You tryna sneak a peek?” Tino asked, glaring. The slam must have woken him up. He let me go when I didn’t answer and thrust me back against the wall. This time, though, he kept his glare pinned on me. I couldn’t move an inch without him seeing.
What felt like an hour later, Beast emerged. He straightened the lapels on his suit and walked toward me. As we walked to the elevator, I desperately searched his face, trying to drink in anything that might let me know what happened.
Nothing.
His face was blanker than paper. Nikolai was waiting for us on the curb, door open, and snow had started to fall with fury. It was hard to even see the hand at the end of my arm. In nothing but my nightgown, it was freezing. In the few seconds’ walk from the building to the car, my skin turned cherry red and I shivered as the door shut behind us, soaking in the heat from the car. Beast slid into the car, still completely ignoring me. When the car pulled from the curb, I was about to scream.
“What happened?” I asked. “Is Gabby—Gabriella going to be okay?” Beast pulled his phone out, the blue glow creating harsh shadows on his face. It was like I wasn’t even there. What had happened in that room? Questions pressed against my lips, demanding to be set free. I knew if I kept pressing, though, I might never know. Not only that, if I angered him, he might reverse whatever decision he’d made.
It felt like I was holding in a geyser. I eyed him, biting my lip to keep from begging, fisting my fingers. Snowflakes in my hair melted from the heat of the car, tickling down my forehead. In any other position I would have been uncomfortable, but all I could do was focus on him. Suddenly the car jolted to a stop. I pulled my stare from Beast’s face and looked around, noticing we weren’t at the penthouse, though it was hard to see where we were exactly through the flurry outside.
The door opened, snow whipping into the car as if trying to escape its own tormented flurry. I couldn’t even see Nikolai through the white mess.
“Nikolai,” Beast said, stepping out, “be sure Frankie is comfortable,” which was Beast for Frankie, don’t leave the car. Beast got out of the car and walked into the furious blizzard as if it were a summer day. We were at the docks, I finally saw, stopped outside what appeared to be the same warehouse he’d taken me to when I had only just sold my life to him.
I stared out the window, trying to see what was going on, and swallowed when I made them out. Those men I recognized—assholes number 1, 2, 3, and 4. Pretty Boy, as he was called. Big O and Little O. The silent one, Crazy A.
I snapped my head from the window, instead focusing on my warming fingers. Every memory I had that involved those men was bad; I didn’t have any urgent need to make more. Goose bumps formed on my skin.
“Cold, mistress?” Nikolai’s voice carried from the front.
“A little,” I said, staring at my fingers.
“Do you like music?” My gaze flitted to his, unsure of his game. His jade gaze stared back through the rearview mirror, eyes so much older than himself.
“Yes.”
“What would you like to listen to?” I frowned at his question. The car had always been quiet, not even the nameless, obsequious trill of classical music played. It was what I imagined death sounded like.
I used to like all kinds of music. Top 40. Classic rock. Indie. Now? I could barely remember the sound. I slowly shook my head. “Surprise me.” A melancholy, delirious melody engulfed the town car. The vibration was deep in my bones, echoing in my soul. The woman’s voice was rough, like she’d had too much whiskey.
She was asking someone to save her.
From herself.
Suddenly the song shut off and the car went back to static silence. Nikolai stepped out of the car and I brought my open palm up to my cheek, wiping away the hot tear just as the door opposite me opened. Ice-cold air rushed into the car with snowflakes finer than powdered sugar. The Beast slid in.
The car pulled away and even though he’d said nothing, I knew we were headed back to the penthouse.
“Is Gabby going to be okay?” I dared to ask.
He glanced up from the blue light of his phone. “Yes.”
“They believe me?” He blinked then looked back at his phone. I did my best to hide my glee, but I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching, so I grabbed my palm and dug my fingernail into the skin until all I knew was pain.
By the time we made it back to the penthouse sun was rising. I was so exhausted my eyelids were drooping of their own accord and yawns were arriving every other minute. I had never been so excited to see that fucking white painted door before, or the quilted bed.
Just as I did a swan dive into the sheets, Beast’s low rumble came from the door. “Get dressed, Frankie. You have a funeral to attend.” I groaned, pressing my forehead deeper into the pillows. Distantly I wondered if it was my own funeral. Could exhaustion kill?
“You only
have twenty minutes,” he continued. “Maybe you can think about whether or not she was worth it while you’re yawning through her husband’s funeral.” I heard his footfalls disappear and sat up on the bed. In that moment, I felt sad.
So I’d lost a night’s sleep.
Of course she was worth it.
She was worth many nights’ sleep, but he didn’t understand that, and that was tragic.
Thirty minutes later we were filing through wet snow and hoards of people in black. There were no colors visible that day. All the women were either wearing black hats or veils, so it was hard to identify Gabby.
There was some kind of order everyone had to stand in, so I paused, waiting for the Beast. He’d gone to talk to someone. This was my first real introduction into mafia life beyond the Beast and his men. It was pretty in line with what I’d experienced so far. All the men were savage yet well dressed, all their women missing something vital from themselves. I noticed one particular woman behind a veil crying really hard. I frowned, wondering who on earth could miss a toad like Giovani that much. Then I focused harder. Quickly glancing over to where the Beast was still talking, I discreetly walked over to the person.
“How are you doing that?” I whispered.
“What?” Gabby cried through her veil.
“Crying so hard.”
“Onions,” Gabby responded. “I keep rubbing them in my eyes.”
I whistled low. “Jesus.”
“I have a cover to maintain,” she explained. I snorted. When people looked in our direction, I wiped my nose, pretending it was tears. Beast caught my eye and I saw he was finished with whoever had distracted his attention.
I gave Gabby’s hand a squeeze and walked back to my jailor. We took our spots and as a light dusting of snow began to fall, the funeral started. It was actually quite beautiful—not the ceremony, but the way the white snow contrasted with the black garb of the attendees. I found myself staring at how pure it looked, and how dark everyone else looked, thinking it was pretty fitting.
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 20