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He looked a little like Giovani.
“Rumor has it you’re planning something with Emilio,” one said. The one with the sharp goatee shifted.
“I think you’re forgetting your place,” the Giovani lookalike said, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “Perhaps you think you are Boss.”
“I haven’t changed any ranks,” Beast uttered coolly. “Lucio is still Don and I’m still under him. Emilio is where he’s always been, a soldier.” Beast looked pointedly to the one with a goatee.
“The Beast as boss.” An older-looking one with white hair laughed, as though the very concept was the most amusing thing in the world to him. Beast clenched his jaw and looked away, annoyance on his features, though he didn’t respond.
Everything happened so fast after that. Italian and English flew back and forth and the three men who were talking stood up. One had hands on the table, another looked like he was going to reach for his gun. I barely had time to process anything,
but then the one with goatee spoke. Quietly. Deadly.
“I think it’s time we talk to you. Alone.” Beast raised a brow but said no more.
I was escorted out by Tino. I craned my head to see what was going on but was carried around the corner. The last thing I saw was Beast rolling his shoulders back, looking entirely unfazed. Then I heard yelling. More silence followed until I heard Beast’s voice drift out.
“Say that again,” he said in a calm, easy way that gave me shivers. “See what happens.”
“The girl should have been sold to The Institute,” a voice said. “Instead you killed Arlo. Are the rumors true? Are you going soft?” My mouth fell open. They were talking about me. They had to be. I glanced at Tino, looking for any sign in his face. He stared straight ahead into the darkness.
“Arlo’s dead because he tried to take something that didn’t belong to him. Why do you care anyway? He’s a Moretti.” I frowned, soaking in the conversation. With slow, careful steps, I scooted against the wall, trying to get closer to the edge. Tino didn’t appear to notice, and I watched him, waiting for the perfect moment to get a glimpse back inside the room. Just when he sneezed, I shot my head around the corner to see the Giovani lookalike yell, “Giovani was not a Moretti! Giovani was my blood.” My eyes widened at that but I had to dart my head back into place.
“Giovani’s death was not my doing,” Beast replied, his deadly patience giving way to annoyance.
“You’re right.” The voice that spoke was cold, cruel, tinged with bothered arrogance, as if the Beast was demanding the answer to two plus two in a calculus class. “That was Gabriella’s fault,” it continued. My gut filled with ice. Things were not going well.
“She killed her husband,” another spoke. “She will be dealt with.” I cursed myself for not learning all their intonations before being dragged out of the room. I was pretty sure I could tell when the fat, scratchy Giovani relative spoke and I was starting to distinguish the cold, cruel one, but the other three were a complete mystery to me.
“According to the girl out there,” Beast replied, “she did not kill her husband.”
“You expect us to take the word of your slave?” Someone audibly scoffed. I hazarded a glance at Tino and noticed that his eyes were actually drooping—he was tired! Taking advantage, I snuck a peek around the corner.
“No,” Beast growled. “You will take my word.”
“My daughter has always been trouble,” the cruel one spoke. He was the one with a goatee, I noted, and gelled hair. “She is like her mother in that regard. This does not surprise me.” My eyebrows shot past my hairline. Gabriella’s own father was sentencing her to death? I desperately tried to get a better look in the room. My father wasn’t winning any awards, but at least I knew he would never sentence me to death. If he had the choice, he would save me.
“In any case,” Beast continued. “Gabriella De Luca is of no use to us dead.” I perked up; what did Beast mean by that? I craned to get a better listen, but then the door slammed shut. All their faces and voices disappeared and at the same time a hand grasped my shoulder, tugging me back.
“You tryna sneak a peek?” Tino asked, glaring. The slam must have woken him up. He let me go when I didn’t answer and thrust me back against the wall. This time, though, he kept his glare pinned on me. I couldn’t move an inch without him seeing.
What felt like an hour later, Beast emerged. He straightened the lapels on his suit and walked toward me. As we walked to the elevator, I desperately searched his face, trying to drink in anything that might let me know what happened.
Nothing.
His face was blanker than paper. Nikolai was waiting for us on the curb, door open, and snow had started to fall with fury. It was hard to even see the hand at the end of my arm. In nothing but my nightgown, it was freezing. In the few seconds’ walk from the building to the car, my skin turned cherry red and I shivered as the door shut behind us, soaking in the heat from the car. Beast slid into the car, still completely ignoring me. When the car pulled from the curb, I was about to scream.
“What happened?” I asked. “Is Gabby—Gabriella going to be okay?” Beast pulled his phone out, the blue glow creating harsh shadows on his face. It was like I wasn’t even there. What had happened in that room? Questions pressed against my lips, demanding to be set free. I knew if I kept pressing, though, I might never know. Not only that, if I angered him, he might reverse whatever decision he’d made.
It felt like I was holding in a geyser. I eyed him, biting my lip to keep from begging, fisting my fingers. Snowflakes in my hair melted from the heat of the car, tickling down my forehead. In any other position I would have been uncomfortable, but all I could do was focus on him. Suddenly the car jolted to a stop. I pulled my stare from Beast’s face and looked around, noticing we weren’t at the penthouse, though it was hard to see where we were exactly through the flurry outside.
The door opened, snow whipping into the car as if trying to escape its own tormented flurry. I couldn’t even see Nikolai through the white mess.
“Nikolai,” Beast said, stepping out, “be sure Frankie is comfortable,” which was Beast for Frankie, don’t leave the car. Beast got out of the car and walked into the furious blizzard as if it were a summer day. We were at the docks, I finally saw, stopped outside what appeared to be the same warehouse he’d taken me to when I had only just sold my life to him.
I stared out the window, trying to see what was going on, and swallowed when I made them out. Those men I recognized—assholes number 1, 2, 3, and 4. Pretty Boy, as he was called. Big O and Little O. The silent one, Crazy A.
I snapped my head from the window, instead focusing on my warming fingers. Every memory I had that involved those men was bad; I didn’t have any urgent need to make more. Goose bumps formed on my skin.
