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“Valeria never wanted the risk this life brings for her family,” Dario continued with annoying serenity. “And supposedly Lucio Senior honored her wishes with the fifth child. No one knows what happened to her. Most say she is dead, but rumor has it she bore a child, and that child carried her name.” Anteros suddenly felt hot. What was Frankie’s mother’s name?
“How could nobody know of her?” Anteros asked. “Of the child?”
“Exactly. These are old wives’ tales of a long-lost princess that would ascend the throne as…” He gave Anteros a long, calculating look. “As now the blood is muddy.” Anteros returned Dario’s gaze with a steely stare. Dario was not exactly clean himself. Ignoring the fact that he had simply married into the De Luca line, he was part of the famous Sofia De Luca scandal. They called him “The Cuck” for a reason.
“If you find the leadership distasteful, you’re always welcome to leave.” Anteros flipped his wool coat, allowing the gesture to expose the metal of his gun to the light. De Luca looked at it then smiled sourly.
“I’m loyal to the Pavonis until the end.” With that, Dario walked into the bedroom of the still official patriarch, Lucio Pavoni. Anteros watched his steps, waiting until he had rounded the corner.
I’m loyal to the Pavonis until the end. Anteros ground his jaw. That was what he feared.
Nikolai waited at the curb of Lucio’s townhouse with the door already open. When Anteros slid onto the leather of the seat, Nikolai asked, “To the warehouse?” He was to meet with Emilio and Rhys that day but everything with Frankie had been so distracting. They could wait a little longer.
“Home.” Anteros ran a hand through his hair. “Quickly.” Nikolai’s raised brow was subtle as he closed the partition. During the ride home, Anteros hardly noticed the cityscape, so consumed was he with thoughts of Frankie. He had allowed it to go on too long, the push and pull.
He hadn’t taken her since the first night, but she’d left an imprint on him. She’d utterly marked his mind and not having her was driving him to madness. She possessed him, and not possessing her was sending him over the edge. He needed an exorcism.
When Nikolai pulled up, he told him to stay in the car. It would only take a minute. He wondered if she knew the entire time—knew what she was doing to him. If it was a game to her, the way she twisted his mind and corrupted his life. If that was what she had planned when she’d traded her life for her father’s.
She wasn’t in her bedroom and wasn’t in his, which only left one place for her to be. He advanced through the penthouse.
The fireplace was glowing, crackling like the fire inside him. She was curled up beside it, a blanket over her legs, a book in her hands. The bright light reflected against her golden skin and her lashes fell across the clear blue of her eyes. Anteros walked over to her, his footfalls landing like violent thuds.
He stepped to her, gripping her chin and pulling her attention to his so fiercely that the muscles in her neck stretched and cabled. Her breat
h quickened and so did her blinks, but he continued to stare into her eyes, a blue so bright, so penetrating they looked crystal. There were very few people he’d ever come across with that eye color.
“Who are you?” Anteros barked. “Why are you here? Don’t lie to me.” Frankie dropped the book she was reading. Blanket now askew, a red glow shadowed the subtle peaks and valleys of her face.
“Are you serious?” Her voice was breathless, the breathlessness of disbelief, as if her lungs were working overtime to understand. “I’m here because of you.”
“Tell me your name,” he demanded.
“What?”
“Tell. Me. Your. Name.”
“Frankie.”
He gripped her chin tighter, the skin whitening beneath his thumb and forefinger. “Tell me your full name.”
“Francesca. Valeria. Notte. You. Psychopath.” She paused then said, “Admittedly, the last part is new.”
“Valeria?” Anteros dropped her chin and couldn’t help the widening of his eyes. As in Valeria Marchesi, of the original mafia family? The family that Lucio Senior had married into and then cut the crown off of in one bloody and decisive night? Anteros grabbed her shoulders, pulling her from the chair.
“Who are you?” he asked. It was madness to think her the Pavoni Princess, but he felt himself succumbing to insanity.
“Who are you?” she countered. “I’m Frankie. I’ve been Frankie.” She shrugged him off. “Weirdo.”
“Who was your mother?” Anteros pressed.
“Valeria Notte,” she replied. A part of him relaxed. That was different from the story, then. Dario had said the fifth daughter was named Isabella. He knew it was ridiculous to indulge this insanity, but he had to press. Had to know.
“Her maiden name,” Anteros clarified.
“I…” Frankie trailed off, her face freezing. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he hissed.
