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“Company?” Frankie blanched. Anteros couldn’t blame her. The last time he’d had company, it had ended with her bloody and nearly despoiled on the floor of a bathroom.
“You will like this company,” he explained. “Gabriella and her husband, Giovani.” A split-second frown covered her face but it was replaced just as quickly with a tepid smile. He had half a mind to ask her what had upset her, but the impulse left him. Who cared? Women were fickle, even more so when it came to their friends.
“You have an hour to ready yourself.” He left her, slamming the door shut behind him. Now he’d been driven out of his own fucking bedroom. A month ago he wouldn’t have questioned throwing a woman out of his room—no, a month ago he wouldn’t have had a woman in his bedroom.
Now he was stalking angrily away from the place. Like a fool. Because the woman in his bed refused to warm it.
With an hour left before company arrived and Frankie hijacking his bedroom, he went to his office. He shut the door behind him. Night fell quickly with winter and as it was nearly halfway through December, it was already full dark outside despite it only being the evening. In New York City, that hardly mattered. It was never dark, at least not completely. In his office, a few electronics glowed in different spots and the city lights twinkled through his floor-to-ceiling windows.
Feet padding against the hardwood floor, he made a stop at the bar. He hadn’t bothered to grab his shirt off the floor, so he walked bare-chested. He selected the elegantly studded Baccarat glass bottle and poured himself a glass of Rémy Martin Louis XIII.
Anteros raised the glass, looking into the muddled honey depths for a moment before taking a large swig. His phone buzzed, drawing his attention. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the words.
Pretty Boy: New shipment rdy for The Institute. U coming?
Shit, Anteros thought, putting the phone away. He had completely forgotten what day it was. Once upon a time Anteros had declared he would be the one to approve new women before they were shipped to The Institute. Without him down there to approve it, the shipment wouldn’t go through, yet here he was about to host a dinner party.
A fucking dinner party.
He told himself keeping the De Lucas happy was good for business, but he’d never given a shit about De Lucas before. He took another sip of honey-colored cognac, staring out at the city. He should just cancel the fucking dinner and go down to the docks. It was more important than the De Lucas. Nothing came before business, before being Boss. Yet as Anteros took another sip, focusing on the way light refracted off the buildings outside, he wondered what Frankie would look like tonight, if she would wear her hair down or if she would wear it up, exposing her slender neck. Finding out was suddenly more important than approving some shipment to The Institute.
Anteros reached for his champagne glass, which was nearing empty, and made a motion with his hand. Nikolai walked forward with the Dom Perignon and poured, gold liquid streaming into the crystal. Anteros swallowed. The sound of silverware clinked against the fine china.
Giovani and Gabriella De Luca were seated on the opposite side of his modern glass table. Normally Anteros sat at the head of the table, but for the sake of balance, he sat next to Frankie. Wax dripped down the thin sides of the tapers and onto the radiant silver holders, a reminder of how long the painfully stiff dinner had already lasted. Above them, a massive crystal chandelier hung. Swarovski crystals dangled from it like hundreds of glass tears and light refracted off them, illumining the room with shimmering light.
Anteros opened his mouth to attempt conversation for the fifth time when his thigh buzzed. Head down, he pulled out his phone.
Pretty Boy: Where r u?
Anteros quickly stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned back to the table. “Do you not enjoy lamb, Gabriella?” he asked, inclining his head toward the rack of lamb cooked to perfection. Gabriella was sitting stock still, having touched nothing save the napkin she put in her lap. Gabriella’s eyes shot to Giovani, who paused from his carnage to grunt in her direction.
She smiled at Anteros and reached a hand out to her plate; at the same time, Giovani reached his own paw out and slapped hers away. Chagrined, Gabriella placed her hands back in her lap. With mouth in the middle of chewing, Giovani took a gulp of wine and turned to Gabriella.
“You eat when I tell you to eat, you know that.”
Gabriella nodded her head gracefully and said to Anteros, “It looks delicious, thank you.”
Anteros tightened his grip on his knife. Giovani wasn’t insulting him. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he even cared. It wasn’t the first time he’d eaten with Giovani, nor was it the first time Anteros had eaten with someo
ne like Giovani. It wasn’t rare for the men he had dinner with to control their women completely. There had been times where women were forced to sit on their knees and eat scraps. No, it wasn’t unusual at all.
What was unusual was Anteros.
Taking another bite of the artfully spiced lamb, Anteros tried to stomach the thought that he should be down at the docks, not having dinner. Why the fuck was he even doing this? He wasn’t Lucio. He never entertained De Lucas. Anteros adjusted his tie and shot a glance at Frankie. She’d barely touched her meal, instead staring hard at Gabriella. With a sigh, Anteros put both his utensils down.
“Eat,” Anteros said.
“I’m not very hungry,” Frankie stated simply. Giovani paused his ravaging to look up, waiting to see how “the Beast” would respond to that act of insolence.
“You will eat anyway,” Anteros growled. Lightly, he set his fork down and snaked his hand under the table, gripping her thigh until the pressure transformed into pain. Releasing a small yip of pain, Frankie lifted her own fork up and ate with robotic motion. Giovani returned to his food.
His phone buzzed again and he set his fork down. Keeping his hand tight on Frankie, he used his free hand to read the text.
Big O: Everthin k?
Anteros looked up at the table. Everyone’s head was down and they were picking at their food or pushing it around the plate. It was as if they were in the mourning. The only exception was Giovani, scarfing his food obliviously. Anteros looked back at the text, his finger hovering over the reply button. Frustrated, he shoved his phone back in his pocket.
Giovani sat up, removing the napkin from his lap to rub his greasy mouth. He leaned back, hand on his stomach, and waved a hand at Gabriella. “You may eat.” As she was about to lift up a fork he added, “Wait!” She froze. Though no muscle in her body moved, her eyes strained against the sides of her sockets, waiting to see what he would do.
