Page 19 of The Beast Who Begged Me

DAMIANO

Caligula drifts off after I basically force his dinner down his throat. But later that evening, there’s a soft knock at the door. I’m so jumpy that I’m on my feet in seconds with my hand halfway to a gun I’m not wearing. Didn’t seem wise with so much hospital security around; I didn’t want to give them an excuse to call the cops.

Caligula wakes with a jerk. “Who is it?” he asks sleepily.

I cross to the door and yank it open about an inch wide. It’s that fucking nurse again. I pull the door wider and he takes a step back.

“What?” I snap.

“There’s someone asking to see the patient,” he says nervously. “But visiting hours are over. Only he insisted he…uh, so if you…”

“Who is it?”

An unwelcome voice winds its way up the corridor. “It’s I, Mr. Orsini. How wonderful to see you again, snarling at the door to my cousin’s sick chamber. But you needn’t snap at me.”

Tiberius fucking Vicario, dressed up like some dandy in a three-piece paisley suit in all the colors of the bruise around my eye, and carrying a fat bouquet of yellow gerberas. Marcello’s at his shoulder, hands at his sides like he’s ready to pull his gun if he needs to.

“And there’s your guard dog,” I sneer, but Marcello doesn’t even seem to hear it, turning around to glance down the corridor. Because behind them both, Ferraro is waiting with a hand inside his jacket, watching my face for a verdict.

Well, at least the old man didn’t just wave them on through.

“I’d like to see my cousin,” Tiberius goes on, trying to see past me into the room. “Are you going to be agreeable?”

“Fuck off.”

I close the door. But somehow there’s a foot in it, an Italian leather loafer. “Why don’t we ask dear Cal what he would prefer?”

I glance over my shoulder at Caligula. He gives me a nod.

I don’t like it. But I do it. I open the door and the Vicario strolls in. He looks me over first, top to bottom, the swollen eye, the wrapped hand, and I want to punch the smile off his face so bad my knuckles itch. “You’re welcome, by the way, Mr. Orsini.”

“For?”

“It seems as though Marcello arrived at just the right time.”

“You should’ve sent him to drag Caligula out of the fire, if you ask me.”

His cold green gaze travels to Caligula, and I move. Not far. One step, into the space between the door and the bed. Behind Tiberius, Marcello’s weight shifts, too.

Tiberius smiles wider and steps around me like a man skirting a dog on a chain. “Cousin Cal,” the Vicario trills. “You look surprisingly well.”

“Tiberius. Why don’t you take a seat?”

Tiberius does, arranging himself in the visitor’s chair like it’s a throne. Marcello posts up by the door. I stay standing where I can watch both of them.

“I’m so glad you came to see me,” Caligula goes on. “Last time we met, I wasn’t at my best.”

Last time we faced this asshole, Caligula was broken down under my own hand and putting on a show of strength. Straight-backed, steady-voiced, but struggling mentally. I remember being impressed. Wondering how I could possibly trust a guy like that, who could put on such a convincing show.

Now the memory turns my stomach, because I know where Caligula learned to perform like that. He learned it under me. I built that skill into him one cruelty at a time.

“And are you at your best now?” Tiberius asks with a faint air of amusement.

“I’m getting there.”

They shoot back and forth for a while, snipe for snipe, and I watch Marcello watching me. Where the hell did Tiberius find this guy? Marcello looks away at last, and I’m nearly loose in the shoulders again when Caligula raises something I’d totally forgotten about. “Last time we met, Tiberius, you claimed to be the one who alerted Dami to the auction. I should have asked at the time—but were you also the one who impersonated Louie and texted me to meet him at the townhouse?”

The elegant black eyebrows climb. “Why, no. That wasn’t me.”