Beauty, a Hate Story the End

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  I looked beyond him as he pawed me, into a mass of sequins, satin, and tuxedos, where the princess held the box. She was being shepherded to the basement and if she went down there, she would be lost forever. I couldn’t lose this opportunity. I shoved the man, knocking him off kilter, and ran through the club. Everyone was always too stuck in their debauchery to notice anything other than a good temptation, but I definitely caught the eyes of the soldiers as I reached the princess.

  “You can’t be here,” a soldier said, but I ignored him.

  “Please,” the princess begged, gripping the box until flesh turned white. “I didn’t do this. Someone delivered it. It’s not my fault.” For a second I was trapped in her despair, forgetting the reason I’d rushed to her. I believed what she said, but it wasn’t going to change her fate. Then a soldier grabbed my collar and dragged me backward. I quickly looked into the box while I had the chance. The gasp that escaped my throat was involuntary.

  Blood, so much blood. I’d only ever seen something similar at the butcher. Now I understood what the stain on the corner was. I put a hand to my mouth.

  It was someone’s heart and eyes.

  I should have been disgusted, but I chewed on my bottom lip, mesmerized like Pandora.

  I was so entranced that I almost missed the card—gold like the present, with lace on the edges. It was beautiful, feminine, and that somehow made it much more sinister when contrasted with the box’s contents. As one soldier dragged me back into the club, two others closed the gap I’d made, and I just barely read it.

  I’ll catch you, mio cuore. Be my queen.

  A few hours later, I sat in the courtyard. Even though it was cold as fuck, I wasn’t alone. On the opposite side, a man pawed a princess. A whore—no, that wasn’t right. A whore got paid. A whore could leave at the end of the night. She was no more than furniture, to be forgotten and ignored unless someone wanted to use her. As if she knew I was thinking about her, her eyes traveled across the maze of hedges, catching mine. Like a coward, I looked back at my closed book.

  I skimmed the soft, linen pages and thought of the one I’d left outside Anteros’s club. Not only had he read it, he’d responded. Maybe I should have been disgusted by his response, but I was enthralled. The contents reminded me of that brilliant moment when my knife had slid into Big O. But of course he knew that. I pressed a finger to my lips, eyes wandering over the razor flat tops of the hedges, the memory of Anteros still scorching.

  Once I’d started searching, I hadn’t had to look for him long. It started with a picture, a square Polaroid that ruined everything. One day in the kitchen, I overheard a few soldiers having a conversation. Until then I’d been able to pretend. I pretended the deep chasm in me didn’t exist. When I went to bed, I pretended I didn’t dream of him every night. That picture shattered everything by reminding me how shattered I was.

  “He’s the Beast again,” one had whispered, holding the photo between his hands so tight he practically wrinkled it. Not just the mafia nickname, but what had instilled fear in so many men. When they’d left, I’d picked up the photo. It had showed Anteros as I’d found him the night I’d killed Big O, having shed his bespoke suits for skin and muscle and blood. It awoke something in me.

  I’d listened to the soldiers, the De Lucas who hung around all the time—anyone, but it wasn’t until I went back to the hotel where I’d lost myself to him on New Year’s that I’d pieced it together. I hadn’t expected to find anything, but the minute I’d walked inside, the concierge called me over. He was nervous, looking left and right before reaching his hand beneath the desk to place something in my hand: a chess piece. It was the black king, the onyx triangle I’d used when I’d beaten Anteros at chess. Underneath it numbers were etched, longitude and latitude—a map from Anteros himself.

  I thought if I just saw him, I could take back control. I could just see him and let go, but truthfully I was following the tug, and it only got stronger the closer I got.

  I ran my touch along the worn edges of my paperback, feeling the fuzzy, frazzled white edges. Everything around me blurred like paint running down canvas, leaving me with nothing but the memory of my night with him. I couldn’t see the green hedges, or the snow, or the stone walkway, or the way the girl stared into my soul as a man pawed away bits of hers. I pressed my thighs tight together, holding my breath. The breeze settled.

  Big O’s blood—red and spilling onto the concrete—popped into my mind. I opened my mouth on a long exhale, closed my eyes, and slid two fingers between the pages. The book was hot on my lap, thighs sticky with sweat.

  Say you fucking need this.

  I wondered whom the heart and eyes belonged to, but I didn’t think it was particularly important—at least not for me. The who belonged to Lucia; the statement was for me. He’d wrapped up his Beastly nature and given it to me, offered to share it with me.

  I need this.

  “Mistress Pavoni.” I jumped at Nikolai’s voice, book falling to the snow and making a shadow in the powder.

  “What did I say about calling me that?” I snapped before quickly grabbing the book off the ground.

  “All right, princess.” There was a dark, mocking tone to his voice. It was hot, poking, and it hurt. I folded my arms, shoving the book under one. That wasn’t what I meant and he knew it. People might call me princess, but that didn’t make me one. I was surrounded by people who lived and breathed this darkness, who’d grown up in it. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

  Lie with your mouth all you want, the truth is between your legs.

  The memory came crashing back and it made me hot and confused. I got tongue-tied. I opened my mouth, but only squeaks came out.

  Nikolai smirked. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe some other animal?”

  “What do you want?” I hissed. Nikolai was a fucking snake. He was working both sides, and though he swore he was only a double agent for Lucia’s team, I didn’t believe a word of it. The only side Nikolai was on was his own.

  “Donna Lucia is requesting you,” he said.

  “I’m busy.” I waved him off, sitting back down. You can’t wave off Donna Lucia, but I wasn’t about to follow Nikolai. “Fuck off,” I added.

  A war was going on, the Second Blood War, as I heard Lucia call it. I remembered reading about the beginning of a war in Sofia’s journal, but I wasn’t sure how it ended. I could guess, based on our current state of affairs, but that was all I had. Guesses. I was woefully in the dark as usual. I hadn’t even been able to take Sofia’s journal with me when I left. I’d thought about grabbing it when I’d snuck in to grab Paradise Lost, but I’d run out of time. Even though Anteros wasn’t staying at the penthouse, I’d nearly been caught when Tough Tino showed up as I was leaving. Sometimes I think I’m two people, and the second person wants me dead.

  Gabby refused to talk about her mother. She was rarely angry, but she got furious if I brought up Sofia. Regardless, whatever had happened last time, now the Pavonis were split between Beast and those intent on keeping the blood pure, those who supported the princess, who supported me. But I wasn’t a princess.

  I was Frankie.

  “Just Frankie…” I mumbled aloud, absently fingering the diamond rose pendant. When I was with Anteros, I was transformed, dark in a way that was completely intoxicating. I didn’t question who I was. I didn’t question my wants or desires. I didn’t question the fact that I enjoyed presents filled with body parts.

  “I imagine you’re tired after how late you got in last night,” Nikolai cut in.

  “You’re still here?” I said, turning back to him. His cold jade eyes probed me. Though I met his glare, inside I was shaking. Did he know? When I snuck out the back entrance and went to steal the book, I’d been sure no one had seen me. Maybe I wasn’t as stealthy as I thought, though. After all, it was the first time I’d attempted anything like this. I’d never even snuck out during high school. I’d been too sick, and it wasn’t like there had been someone
waiting for me. Still, I wasn’t about to be threatened. I was done being threatened.

  Standing up, I quickly walked back toward the club before I could hear another word Nikolai said.

  As I reached the door, my hand stalled on the knob. I really didn’t want to go inside. I looked at my worn sneakers melting patterns into the thin white sheet blanketing the cobblestone. When I’d been with Anteros, there was hardly a full hour in the day when it didn’t snow. Now only the occasional sprinkle dusted the ground like powdered sugar. In a few months, it would be warm and I could see the courtyard in my mind’s eye: flowering cherry blossom trees, pale gold light peering through the hedges.

  On the outside, the building was like all other Upper East Side buildings with clean beige stone—nothing to do a double take over. On the inside…well, the inside was like a castle come to life, but I knew better than anyone castles could be cages. Case in point, Nikolai approached me from the courtyard.

  “She’s waiting for you on her floor.” Nikolai opened the door next to me and went inside. I blinked, the familiar fish-out-of-water feeling that had been constant since selling myself to Anteros thick in my gut, except here it was like everyone had a fishing pole. I waited a moment, wishing I had another option, before following. The door slammed shut behind me, but no one noticed.

  It was hard to see, the contrast between outside and inside so stark, and I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the dark. Nikolai had disappeared, but that was easy to do here. This was the first floor and you were expected to vanish into sin. Everything dripped opulence and fantasy; nothing went down on this floor that wasn’t conducive to the illusion.

  There were four floors total. The first led to the street and housed the courtyard and main club. The second was where my and Gabby’s bedroom was. I’d never been to the third and topmost floor, Lucia’s floor. Then there was the basement, where I wished I’d never been.

  I was at the foot of a massive, winding staircase that spilled out onto the floor like melted wax. Lucia practically beckoned for me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go upstairs. Too much was on my mind. Not one night back with Anteros and I’d killed someone—but that wasn’t why my heart hammered. It was because a dark, twisty part of my soul reminded me just how much I’d liked the kill. It pointed out how I’d stared at his lips when he’d sucked the blood from his thumb, wondering what it tasted like. All I’d wanted to do was chase his tongue into his mouth and lick the coppery taste from it. Every part of me ached for it. I never did get to taste Anteros after I carved him…

  You’re so fucking hot for this, you’re dripping down my hand.

  “Frankie!” I jumped at my name, feeling like I’d been caught in my memory. I turned to see Gabby walking toward me. Unlike me, she blended in beautifully. She was dressed in a flowing floor-length gown with glittery gold embroidery. Gabby had chopped off her long blonde hair and now it fell beneath her jaw in an angular cut. There was one bold pink streak in it that she tucked behind her ear as it flew around her face. There was something edgy about it, but also elegant. Gabby herself was edgier, though. She’d gained weight in the month we’d been away and was no longer waiflike and sickly. No doubt the freedom from her husband had given her space to grow.

  Gabby started talking animatedly, but I couldn’t focus, mind locked on Lucia. When I’d first arrived, Lucia had gone on and on about being glad she’d found her family and I was so excited. At the time I was still naive; I thought she was my grandmother in a cookies-and-milk way. I asked her so many questions. Who was my mother? Was she still alive? She’d called me granddaughter, so I’d thought that must mean I was a Pavoni, but then Papa couldn’t be my father because she wasn’t related to him. Was the mom I knew her daughter?

  She’d laughed and said, “In time, child.” A week passed and I asked the same questions, but again they remained unanswered. Another week into it, I got frustrated. I was somehow more in the dark here than with Anteros. I went into the basement searching for answers, but after what I found, I realized Lucia would never be that person.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Gabby asked, moving her head to cut off my view of the basement’s door.

  I blinked, bringing her bright blonde hair into focus. “Sorry, no.”

  “Frankie, I have news,” she said, exasperated. “I’m going to meet with Levi! Donna Lucia is letting me.” There it was. The reason I still didn’t sleep well, the reason I continued to look over my shoulder. Donna Lucia was letting her. It may have seemed like we’d escaped, but there was something inside me that said we’d only traded one penthouse prison for another. My gut screamed that if Lucia was letting Gabby see Levi, it was for some reason beyond love, but Gabby was so excited. I didn’t want to burst that bubble. I smiled and told her it was amazing. I was excited for her.

  “Want to help me get ready for my date?” she asked. I looked up the grand staircase. Lucia was waiting for me, but memories of what had happened the last time I’d been alone with her were fresh like a cut.

  “Frankie?” Gabby lightly touched my arm. “Will you help me?”

  I forced a smile to my face and said, “Always.”

  After helping Gabby get ready, I sat in her room, unable to move. Night had fallen and glittery, dancing New York city lights trickled into the room. I watched them dance across the floor, thinking. About Anteros. About me.

  Gabby had a room similar to mine, though mine was more opulent. A four-poster bed draped with silky fabric, a billion thread count sheets, and ornate furniture were the themes of both rooms. Light spilled in from big windows swathed in gauzy, feminine drapes, making it appear cheerful and enchanted and beautiful. It was all a lie, the beauty nothing more than paint thrown over rotting wood. I’d fallen for a beautiful room once, and I wouldn’t do it again. This was all simply a gilded cage.

  “Emilio is becoming a problem,” someone said right outside the door. I straightened my back.

  “I admit I was holding out hope he would have killed himself by now,” Lucia replied, and the person laughed. I sucked in my breath, fearing they would hear my inhales and exhales through the door. As far as Lucia knew, Gabby’s room was empty. I pulled my knees up to my chest, held in my breath, and stuck my ear out.

  “He’s still smoking weed, hasn’t moved to the hard stuff yet,” the man replied.

  “I won’t have rumors of a Pavoni Prince threaten what I’ve built, especially when that prince is nothing more than the son of a cuckolded councilman. How long will Sofia De Luca’s whoring plague me?” Her voice drifted out of earshot and I let out a big exhale, breath blowing hair from my face. So much had been said in those few sentences, so many new questions were born, but I knew Lucia would never answer them.

  I stood up and tiptoed to the door, pressing my ear against the cool, silky painted wood. All I heard was silence. Then the subtle creak of the window being opened behind me stilled my blood.

  We were at war, but up to that point I hadn’t really seen any of the danger. I’d been warned I was a target, but the most blood I’d seen was inside the present earlier that day. Even then, that wasn’t violence begotten from anger. It was beautiful. It was passion. It was boiling, raw emotion, and it was all for me. My heart thudded as more noise sounded behind me. I spun around, not sure what to expect.

  When I saw who it was, my heart leapt. I was simultaneously terrified and excited. He shouldn’t have been here, but I was so fucking excited that he’d come.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered. “You can’t be here.” Anteros sat lackadaisically on the windowsill, one leg draped and touching the hardwood. He was like a boy who’d climbed through the window of his high school crush. A crooked, infuriatingly beguiling smile twisted the corner of his hard jaw. Unfreezing, I ran and pulled him from the ivory window before someone outside saw—if they hadn’t already.

  Anteros jumped off with ease and I curled my fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt, a simple red v-neck this time, and he was wearing a hoodie
with jeans, too. It was like he was trying to blend in—but he was massive, shoulders dwarfing the window he’d just come through and having to bend his neck to look at me. I was certain if anyone looked up, they would see us, see his frame shadowing the window.

  “I was hoping you’d let down your hair for me,” he replied, wicked grin breaking both cheeks. His hand scored through my hair, knotting it. “When you didn’t, I had to climb up.”

  “You can’t be here.” My words were too breathless. I fought the urge to fall into him, his touch, his playful words—reminding myself who had just been outside the door.

  “Did you get my present?” He raised a dark brow, and for a moment I was lost, distracted by the impossible color of his eyes. I’d never seen anything like them, eyes that had infuriated me by the simple fact that I loved them even when they had been hateful. Seeing them trained on me, sparkling with humor and lust and all trace of hate gone, turned my legs into jelly.

  “Yes,” I said, focusing on keeping my voice steadier than my legs.

  “Did you like it?” He tilted his head, pressing his lips to my neck. I nodded, getting lost in the sensation of him. Blood hammered in my veins like a heavy musical beat, pulsing, thrumming, driving me to a crescendo. The hand in my hair tightened and he pulled me back so I had to look into his eyes. “Words.”

  “I liked it,” I responded in little more than a gasp. He went back to my neck and I asked, “Who was it?”

  “Governor Dubois,” he said simply. I almost lost myself in him, in his tongue at my neck and his words vibrating along my flesh, but a memory broke me out of it.

  Governor Dubois is in league with the mafia and this new senator is just a puppet.

  Senator Hatch had screamed that Anteros was working with Dubois the night of the Christmas party, but Dubois had been the one in the box? I didn’t understand. I thought back to what Lucia had said about Emilio.