“What are you saying?”
“Your mother wasn’t your mother. She was sent by the Pavonis to watch over you.”
I scowled. “That isn’t proof. How can you say that?”
Nikolai pulled out two old Polaroids. I couldn’t see the second one, but the first one, I saw too clearly.
“This is your mother, yes?” he asked. It was a little grainy, but I could see my mother. She didn’t look much like me. Where I had brown hair, blue eyes, and not even a sun spot, she had red hair, bright green eyes, and freckles all over her face. Of course, the colors were gone in the black and white photo, but she was still beautiful and unmistakable. There was another man in the photo with her that I didn’t know. Reluctantly, I nodded. Gabby grabbed the photo from Nikolai then pointed to the other man in the photo.
“That’s Don Lucio, you know, the Boss of the Pavonis.”
I frowned harder. “That doesn’t mean anything. She could have owed money.” Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. Gabby sighed and turned to Nikolai.
“Let me talk to her.” Then she turned to me. “You need to get naked and in bed anyway.” I grimaced. She’d said it with a cold calculation that belied her sunny demeanor and gave way to the dark world she’d been living in. Nikolai left the room and she motioned for me to sit on the bed. With my hands in my lap, I sat on the edge.
“Why don’t you want this to be real?” she asked. Her tone was curious and kind, as if asking why I didn’t want ice cream for dessert. I wondered if Gabby had any real idea what she was getting herself into. Nikolai was playing with strings and Gabby was so caught up she couldn’t see she was just one of the many.
“It’s a fairytale,” I responded. “Fairytales aren’t real.”
Gabby shrugged. “This one is.” I had no response. Her dangerous naivety was now affecting me. While sitting on the edge of Beast’s bed as Gabby undid my buttons, I seethed. I did have a family. Some of that stuff was weird, I’d admit. It was weird that I didn’t know my social, but if you knew Papa, it wasn’t so odd. Papa was disorganized and messy, he probably even didn’t know his social. It was weird that my mom had met with the head of the Pavonis, and it was weird that she didn’t look like me, but she was still my mother. Plenty of children didn’t look like their parents.
I rounded on Gabby. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Why are you trying to rip apart the only good thing I had for some fucking fairytale?” She silently undid my dress and my skin slowly became exposed to the darkness. Next to me a passed out Beast slept.
“My mom died too soon,” I continued. “My dad became a deadbeat, we moved to a shitty house, and I became Harry Potter—but she existed.”
She paused with my dress and said, “Don’t you hate that I’m worth less than a dog pumping out puppies?” Again, she wasn’t yelling, she didn’t even sound mad, just curious. “Don’t you hate being abused, raped, and tortured? You can do something about it. You’re in the position. People think you’re the Pavoni Princess.” She gripped my dress, pulling me closer with her excitement. Her face glowed with the eagerness of a child learning of Santa.
My brows caved. Abused. Raped. Tortured. That had been Gabby’s life but it wasn’t really mine. Things were dark and twisted and fucked up between the Beast and me, but it wasn’t what Gabby thought.
“Gabby…” I opened my mouth to try to clarify, but I realized I wouldn’t even know where to start. She looked at me expectantly and I remembered the night she’d come to see me, the night she’d cried about Levi. “Gabby how are you? How is Levi?” I tried to turn around and see her but she had already returned to steadfastly going at my dress.
“There’s nothing to say. Levi and I are finished.” Her voice sounded cold and foreign, as if even she didn’t recognize the words coming out of her mouth.
“Are you certain that’s what you want?” In the short time I’d known Gabby, the only happiness I’d seen from her was when she’d been with Levi.
“If he keeps seeing me he’ll die. He won’t run away from this life, not ever.” I tried to turn around and see her, to comfort her, but she went back to doing my dress. Growing frustrated, I slapped her hand away.
“I don’t want to be naked in his fucking bed.”
She dropped her hand. “If he thinks you guys had sex he won’t be suspicious about what happened.” There wasn’t any anger in her tone, not even confidence. She spoke the words as if repeating a mantra.
I grasped the dress to my chest as it fell. “No.” Tears came to my eyes. “We haven’t had sex. It’s fine. He won’t be suspicious.” I mean, we’d had sex, but not since the night. He hadn’t entered me with his cock since the very first night. There was a part inside of me, like a butterfly with holes in its wings trying to fly, that thought maybe he was waiting, thought maybe he wished he hadn’t taken me that way.
And maybe he was waiting for me to give him the okay.
But if I did this, all of that would be shattered, because he would think I had given him the okay, and if that happened, I don’t think I could hold myself back.
Gabby scooted so she was next to me. “Look at the photo. Really look at it.” She handed it to me. It was in black and white, an old Polaroid, but it was clearly my mother. I recognized her from the one photo my dad had given me.
“That’s my mother. So what?” Without responding, she handed me the second photo. I saw my mother and the same older-looking man with a hard, square face, but I also saw me. I recognized little me very clearly from old school photos.
“That’s you right?” I nodded wordlessly. “Both photographs were found in Lucio Pavoni’s home, the Boss of the Pavoni family.” My eyes widened. I gave her the photos back. I knew what she wanted me to say. She wanted me to say I was the Pavoni Princess. I couldn’t.
I had to leave.
I had a bag half packed in the other room.
I couldn’t be a princess.
But as I handed her the photos back, I knew I wasn’t going to leave now. I had already felt tethered before, but now Gabby had just revealed something invaluable. I had always felt like there were pieces of me missing. I’d just chalked that up to life, because I thought most people had pieces of them missing.
But Gabby was showing me how to get those pieces back. I couldn’t just leave.
“It could be nothing…” The way she trailed off indicated she didn’t believe it was nothing. “But there’s a growing faction in the Pavonis that really believe in you. They do. Nikolai is one of them.” I narrowed my eyes. Nikolai was a slave like me, had been a slave for almost ten years if my math was correct, and he owed no allegiance to the Pavonis. I doubted he believed I was some long lost savior—but he was making this happen.
I just wasn’t sure why.
“If you’re wrong about me….” I shook my head.
“I’m not.” She stood up and walked to the door, but paused and turned back. I lifted my head, waiting for her. “Look,” she said, hand on the knob. “Girl to girl, prisoner to slave, I understand if you want to run away. I’m not going to be upset, I get it, but I thought you needed to know that you could be a princess.” I held the dress tighter to my body, watching her leave.
I stopped her just before she left, though, and asked her a question—a question that had been bugging me like a sore tooth. The moment she answered, I wished I hadn’t. I couldn’t sleep the entire night. I stared out the window, watching the way the snow glistened, even in the dark.
The sun rose high over the skyscrapers. I hadn’t seen my birth certificate but my mother (or was it “mother”?) had a memory box where she kept things like baby shoes and paintings, pictures and the like. When she died, so did the memory box. I’d been three at the time.
But what if it was possible what they were saying was true?
What if Mom was some fake and there was another woman out there, some biological one? Would I love her more than the one that made a box for my baby shoes? How could I? She had abandoned m
e to this life, the life of a semi-motherless mafia princess.
Francesca Notte didn’t exist… I glanced over to my right where Beast was moving more. He was groaning slightly, moving his arms above his head. He opened his eyes and stared right at me. At first he looked surprised, then a slow smile crept over his lips. He grabbed me, pulling me to him, and slid on top of me. His erection was hard at my thigh.
I don’t want to sing this song to you.
As he pushed his cock near my entrance, it was on my lips to tell him no. Instead I asked, “Do you remember last night?” His brow furrowed and I could see him trying to work out the blank spaces. Before his thoughts could go any deeper, before he could question any further, I arched up to him and quickly the creases smoothed. I met him, skin on skin.
As he entered me, I turned my neck to the left, staring out at the cold city. It was a chilly blue color. The sky looked like it was a layer of ice, the sun locked underneath it. I knew that by arching up to him, I’d not just agreed to this time, but to any time he wanted after it. I’d unlocked something and simultaneously broken the lock, broken something that would never be fixed. As he plunged deeper into me, I knew that.
And I didn’t care.
He wound his fingers into my hair, pulling my gaze away from the window. His stare bore into me, asking something I didn’t want to answer, so I closed my eyes. The moment my lids shut, he left me, pulling out of my body. I should have wanted that, I should have been grateful he was going, but I kept thinking, Why does it feel like a vital part of my spirit is going with him?
Opening my eyes, I gripped his shoulders, pulling him back. He raised a brow but didn’t move. I tugged harder, my nails scratching against his skin. He wouldn’t budge, the same stare shredding into me.
Demanding me to ask him to stay.
This was what I’d been afraid of last night, why I’d desperately held on to my dress. I wasn’t afraid of him entering me, but this, of what I was about to say, and the reason behind it.
“Please,” I whispered. He was inside me, deep and penetrating, in seconds. I’d never been filled like that before, so fully that it could get all the parts of me that weren’t whole, all the parts that were broken or needing something extra. Before I met him for the kiss I knew would steal my coherency, I remembered the last thing Gabby had said to me the night before, the question and answer that had kept me up.
“Gabby, wait,” I’d asked. “What does mio cuore mean?”
Without hesitation, she’d responded, “My heart.”
Eighteen
Christmas had always been a shit show for Anteros, never the magical day society professed it to be. It was just another day—or worse—yet he’d rolled over that morning and Frankie had been in his bed, naked, and wanting him. He couldn’t quite recall what had happened Christmas Eve, but whatever it was, it had led to Frankie wanting him—all of him—inside of her.
Anteros had been planning this night with Rhys for months. There’d been a few bumps in the road the past month, but in the end it had all come together. He never smiled when a job was done—it was just a job—but damn it if a smile didn’t spread across his face right then. He rubbed a thumb to his jaw, trying to crease out the muscle.
It could be finishing the job caused a smile to finally break on his lips, but then why was he remembering the way Frankie had clung to him as he’d gotten out of bed? He’d nearly stayed home—everything was on autopilot now, anyway—but he’d left her and joined his Wolves at the docks.
Now Anteros sat in his warehouse office, overlooking the iron gray city, and thought of his future. The Pavonis had bragged for years that they were the biggest criminal organization in the world, but Beast was going to be the one to make that actually mean something.
There’s a difference between power and influence.
And then there’s having both.
“Bro.” Pretty Boy’s indignant voice cut into his thoughts. “You’ve hardly said anything these past couple of hours. You’ve just sat there smiling like a little shit.”
“Probably thinking about the slave’s pussy,” Little O’s voiced drifted from behind.
“The princess’s pussy,” Big O corrected.
“I don’t know,” Anteros said. “Is it worse to be pussywhipped by a slave, or jealous of one?” Anteros turned away from the window, looking back to his Wolves pointedly. They paused, then shouts of “Ooooh” and “Shit” rang out. Everyone laughed, except for Crazy A, who was silent in his chair, hands folded. Though they all joked about Frankie, Crazy A’s silence radiated his doubt. He didn’t think Anteros would be able to kill Frankie when it came down to it. Crazy A knew all too well how hard it would be.
Anteros chose not to think about it. It was Christmas, and for once in his life, he was going to revel. Standing, Anteros grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. Whatever had happened with Frankie that morning wouldn’t affect the future. When it came down to it, it wasn’t as it had been with Crazy A. He didn’t love her.
“Four hours,” Anteros said, shrugging into his coat. “Then it’s show time.”
“I really can’t wait until we’re done with these stupid fucking parties,” Big O muttered as Anteros walked by.
“You don’t love kissing The Council’s ass in a big, prissy house while the nearly dead owner sleeps in the next room?” Pretty Boy asked, feigned confusion marring his features.
Little O got to his knees and slapped his hands together. “Dear our savior Emilio, on this of most holiest of nights, please save us from this fucking horse shit.”
“Just one more party,” Anteros said over them, walking to the door. As he left the room, charged conversation broke out behind him. In four hours, Lucio Pavoni’s annual Christmas party would start. He’d never looked forward to one of the stuffy, over-the-top parties before, but now he was practically counting down the hours.
When Anteros got home, he headed straight for the library. She was curled up in the same wingback she always was, reading a new book. By his count, she read at least one book a day.
“Frankie,” he said, but she didn’t turn around. He walked to her and faced her. He got on his knees so they were eye level and drew her chin to his. “Merry Christmas, Frankie,” he said, taking her lips in his. She was cold, though, unlike she had been that morning. Something had changed.
Eyebrows creased, he continued to work his tongue against her lips, but it was like kissing a dummy. She went through the motions, taking his tongue in her mouth, but that was it. Her body was stiff, her fingers still grasping the book she’d been reading. He pulled back, his hand still in her hair, and looked into her eyes. She looked away.
He smiled, running a finger from her temple to her jaw. She didn’t say anything. “What’s wrong, mio cuore?”
“Just go away.” Frankie shied from him. “Please.” Anteros caressed her, trying to draw her back to him, but she flinched as if she’d been hit. Anteros blinked, feeling as if he’d just been thrown into a thrash of waves.
“Will you just leave me the fuck alone?” she asked, tone beseeching. Frankie gripped the book she held for dear life but didn’t look at the page, eyes never moving from the spot on the floor. It was like she was frozen.
Anteros reeled at her words, standing up. What had happened between this morning and now to make her so cold? He nearly reached out again, but then shook out his shoulders.
It didn’t matter.
He didn’t care.
“Be ready in an hour,” Anteros snapped, walking out of the library.
Anteros watched as Frankie placed her finger against the car window, just as she had the night he’d taken her from her home. This time though, they were traveling together to the home of the man that had taken him, Lucio Pavoni. Lucio’s annual Christmas party was famous in his world—so famous, it had continued on without him. As in the first instance, she let her finger slide down the glass, separating the moisture, creating a clear line between the fog and the picture outs
ide.
Just as in the library, Frankie was distant. She’d hardly said a word. Anteros had intended to ignore her; whatever was bothering her was not his problem. She was just eye candy, yet he couldn’t peel his focus from her, watching as she trailed her finger from the top to the bottom of the window, over and over again.
“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Anteros demanded.
Frankie sighed. “Christmas was the one time of year I enjoyed at my house. I wonder what he’s doing this year,” Frankie sighed again, finger resting delicately on the windowsill. “You wouldn’t understand.” Anteros leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, studying her. Maybe this was why she was so cold to him.
“You still think because I am an orphan that I don’t remember my parents?” he asked. “Don’t remember holidays?”
“Yes,” Frankie stuttered, removing her finger from the window quickly. “I mean no, I don’t.” She placed her hands in her lap.
“You assume I grew up in an orphanage, misplaced at birth.” She didn’t say a word at that, but her gaze flicked to his. “I knew my parents and I knew them well.” Frankie’s eyebrows creased, taking in what he’d just told her. His own forehead caved in response. To Frankie, he was two-dimensional, a monster born without parents, begot in the fires of hell without any concept of love. Which, to be fair, wasn’t that far off from the truth.
“Why…” she slipped.
“Because they were better to me dead.” Anteros sat back, rubbing a hand through his hair. She was like fucking heroin. He knew he should shut up. Ignore her. Be impassive, stolid, uncaring. In less than a week she would be dead, and he the one to kill her. The fact that she had pulled away earlier shouldn’t bother him in the slightest; the fact that she stared out the window shouldn’t matter, but it did. He watched her as if putting the needle to the vein, waiting for her to turn back to him.
She rested her head against the window and shifted to him, eyes locking. “I’m sorry.”
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 29