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I try shake my head even though it barely moves. “No, she said…she said.” It’s getting harder and harder to put words together.
The edges of my vision are closing in. I love this man. He has to know the truth.
“She said what?”
"To keep you…keep you away from me.”
After that, everything goes black.
* * *
I’m sorry!!! I know it’s a cliffhanger, but you guys know me and the next book is coming VERY soon!
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Blood and Beauty Free Preview
“You’re mine, Esmeralda.”
His amber eyes track me as I move away from him slowly. He’s a predator in the wild and I am his next meal. His scent and presence are so overpowering that it makes my knees tremble in anticipation.
Never have I been this attracted to a man, especially a man that I should hate. Especially from a man who’s taken everything from me.
Esmeraldaisjust one semester away from graduating college and on her way to opening the restaurant of her dreams.Danteis a ruthless mafiamonster that walks in the daylight. Neither of them would've ever crossed paths until Esmeralda's mother makes a dire mistake that leaves them both merciless to the cartel and the whims of it'scaptivating leader.
Blood and Beauty is a dark, modern-day, mafiaspin on Beauty and the Beast. This is the first book in the new 'Owned by The Don' Trilogy from author Callie Vincent.
Chapter One
Esmeralda
The house is dark, but I hear the faint buzz of the television echo quietly onto the porch. As I place my fingers on the door handle, I steady my hand and inhale the cheap metallic smell from the fake plating. I take a deeper breath and prepare myself for what's inside, though my feet stay firmly planted on the ground beneath me.
It's like this most times.
Every time I decide to come home, whether from a friend's house or college, it's always a preparation. A steady brace for the war that awaits me in the living room.
She's there most times as well. Although there have been a few occasions where I've picked her up from the bathtub or kitchen floor, it's almost always the cheap blue couch that sits in our tiny living room. Television blaring and a cigarette dying in her hand, while I'm left wondering if she's actually dead or not.
Twenty years of my life have been composed of these moments, these deep breaths and planted feet. I should've taken the chance when I first went away for school to wash my hands clean of this woman, but she is blood and I'm beginning to think I have a savior complex.
I run my nose along the crack of the front door, trying to catch any other scent besides old metal. Maybe weed, maybe the biting fumes of meth, or maybe the silent stench of blow. It's mysterious, this house. Much like the woman who owns it.
I'd like to say it wasn't always like this. I'd like to say I'm the typical bastard child that had a single mother who gave everything she could to her daughter, but I'd be lying. And if that woman has taught me anything, it's to not be a shitty liar. And she's made me nothing but a bastard child by both her and my absent father. She's made me a single mother since my birth.
I catch my reflection in the window, the shades are down and I stare absently at the woman before me. She is young, but tired. Her green eyes bright, but haunted. Her dark hair is a veil of shadows around her.
I guess you could say it's a blessing that I don't look like her, my mother. Though we share the same eye color, I am the exact replica of a man I've never known. Which is my curse. One of many to be exact.
I've never asked her the story of this shadow man, this hole in our lives that is always gaping and pulling her into its abyss. If I've ever even tried to mention this mystery sperm donor, it's a swift smack to the jaw or a missle of curse words that billow out with stale cigarette smoke.
She sounds like a ray of sunshine, right? A queen in her own castle of misery. I'm not a slave to this house, not its keeper or ghost. I'm not even its caretaker. I'm hers. As much as I hate to be, I've been hers and I always will be hers. Her captive, her child, her mother, her blood. As much as I try to escape and rid myself of her, I can't. Because she's the only thing that's ever been mine.
I look away from my reflection and decide against my better judgement to open the door, waiting to see what new hell awaits me.
