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A queen.
But Frankie may never want that, and if she wanted to run, he would run with her.
“Will you give me one more question?” she asked, tilting her head. In lieu of response, Anteros reached out and pulled her atop him. He brushed his lips along her neck, underneath her chin, her shoulder, the swell where her breast met her nipple. In the water, her skin was slick, and the heat and the salt made her taste even better. He would never get enough of her. He would use her until she was wasted then he would use her more.
He gripped her face between his palms. She was damp from the steam, lips shining. He sucked the bottom one then plunged his tongue into her mouth, determined to mark every inch of her.
“Please?” she asked when they broke for air, breath fogging his lips. “Tell me the truth about Nikolai.” Frankie’s gaze slowly collided with his. Lidded. Heavy. Small curly tendrils stuck to her sweaty face.
“The Pavonis aren’t the only crime family in the world, Frankie. We’re just the biggest.” He went back to kissing her, neck tasting like saltwater and sweat and her. He groaned—it was so fucking good. He wondered if she knew what she did to him.
“Tha—” Anteros sucked on her earlobe and Frankie stuttered, the word getting lost in a sigh. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she finished. Exhaling, Anteros pulled back.
“Nikolai was heir to the Sokolov crime family,” he explained. “His family openly waged war on us and they lost. When you lose in war, you die. It was my fault for showing a boy mercy. I should have slain him like I did his father and mother.” He was bitter, angry—still pissed from the betrayal. He should have killed him. Mercy was for the weak, and showing Nikolai mercy had weakened him. Now his empire was teetering on collapse.
“He said you slaughtered his siblings,” Frankie murmured. “How old were they?”
“Babes,” Anteros responded, staring past her into the black window. Her gasp rose with the steam, and it pissed him off. “I could lie to you like Nikolai did, would you like that?” he snarled, turning back to her. He gripped her waist, tangled his other hand into the loose, wet bun at the nape of her neck. “I took the children and I made sure they were given to the best families. They are living happy, fulfilled lives.” He tightened his hold on her slippery waist and wet hair, made sure she had to see him. The way she looked at him, not disgusted, not angry, but nervous, pissed him the fuck off.
“Should I put on a mask, Frankie?” he taunted. “Should you?” He bruised his lips against hers, biting the top one, diving his tongue into her mouth. He demanded her submission, demanded she admit the truth of them. Of herself.
She moaned an
d he captured the sound. She tried to move but he kept his grip tight. Her hands scratched ardent lines down his chest before resting on his cock. She stroked him and he tugged her hair so her ear was against his lips.
“Should we pretend to be like everyone else?” he asked on a hiss. She groaned, a choked sound low in her throat. He took her hand from his cock, replacing it with her cunt. He forced her to sit on him, to feel how hard he was, to rub herself against him.
The water was cold compared to them. Sweat dripped down his chest, trailing into the lines of his muscles. With one smooth motion, Anteros spun Frankie around, pinning her to the tub’s edge. He thrust inside her without pretense and she groaned when he broke through.
“Rip it off.” Pound. “Keep it off.” Pound. “Stop. Fucking. Pretending.” Pound. Pound. Pound. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, over the stone, drenching the towels laid at the side. Frankie cried out his name and he let go of her hair, gripped her face with both of his hands, and craned her neck so he could kiss her. She took his tongue, sucked him in.
“Revel in the darkness I know you have,” he said against her lips.
Afterward, Anteros carried a tired and sated Frankie to the bedroom upstairs. She curled into the blankets and fell asleep immediately.
She slept on her side, wet hair making a spot on the pillow, chocolate strands black in their wetness. Her mouth parted and her breaths were almost musical in her sleep. She grasped the pillow with small, slender fingers.
Fuck.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, getting it out of his face. He wasn’t sure what god he’d blown in a past life to get her, but he wasn’t letting her go. Ever. He wanted to get into bed and pull her to him, but first, he had to take care of something. Frankie’s question about the letter had reminded him how important it was to get rid of the fucking thing.
Anteros quickly unlocked his desk, grabbing the piece of paper from inside. Then he went to the other side of the room and sifted through a stack of books. Years ago, Anteros had acquired the journal of Sofia De Luca in hopes of using it for leverage. He’d gone looking for it a few days after Frankie escaped but hadn’t been able to find it. There were a few pages Anteros had torn and kept hidden in various places, though, ones he thought might be important and needed to be kept separate. Most were just business shit, but one had always stuck out in his mind. He’d never been able to figure out the reason, but now he knew.
After sifting through a few books, he found it in a faceless, leather-bound book. It was stuck in the middle: a ripped, yellowing entry from Sofia’s journal. The entry had started with Sofia overhearing Lucio talking with Lucia. She’d feared for her life over the conversation.
* * *
They spoke in hurried, angry whispers. Lucia said a child was coming and there was no way to stop it. Lucio struck her and said the bastard could ruin everything he’d built. I ran away, worried for my own safety. I cannot believe what I have overheard, am too disgusted to write it down, worried my pen will make it true.
This child will change everything.
* * *
When Anteros had first come into possession of the journal, Lucio had been at the height of power, years away from showing signs of the poisoning that would take his life. Anteros had yet to learn the truth behind Sofia De Luca’s demise, as her journal ended abruptly before the start of the First Blood War. He’d been fed lies as Frankie had been. Since whatever child Sofia had overheard them discussing clearly hadn’t ruined anything, he’d brushed it off as more Sofia De Luca drama, something in the past and not relevant to him.
As Anteros had gained more power, he’d only thought about Sofia in terms of her widower, Dario. Lucio had been dying and clearly wasn’t a threat, so he’d diverted his attention to more obvious ones. To Anteros, that day in the street all those years ago had been about Lucio and some random woman. When people called Frankie the princess, he’d just thought it was another rumor. For as long as he could remember, the rumor had always been alive, even before he came to America.
Now he knew the truth. Once Lucio had realized Lucia hadn’t killed Frankie, he’d concocted the rumor to distract everyone, and it fucking worked. Anteros had held all the puzzle pieces, but he’d been too busy putting together the wrong puzzle to wonder why his pieces didn’t fit.
