Savage Beast: A Dark Mafia Enemies to Lovers Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  Another scream pierces the air and I shake my head. “Dario, I sure hope you got fucked real good, since you’re never gonna feel the inside of a pussy again.”

  The next few minutes are a blur. Perspiration drizzles down the column of my spine as my hand slashes and slices, white noise between my temples muting the earsplitting sounds expelled from Dario’s mouth as I morph into my vengeful and vicious alter ego. My pulse throbs against my neck as my insides flood with a rush of heat.

  The once-spotless blade is stained with the sins of deceit and betrayal when I’m finished with Dario.

  Seeing red is a gross understatement.

  My line of sight—along with my clothes—is completely drenched in it.

  Occupational hazard.

  When I said I wanted the guys to relay a colorful picture, I wasn’t kidding.

  I hope they take pictures.

  I want everyone to know exactly what will happen to them if they abandon their responsibilities under my rule.

  I want them to fear the consequences of their deception.

  I want them to understand that no amount of money is large enough, no pussy is tight or sweet enough, to warrant the kind of torture and torment that I will bring to them.

  I step away from my masterpiece, my shoulders quaking, my breaths coming in heavy pants.

  Dario is barely conscious at this point, which is actually too bad.

  I grit my teeth. He needs to realize that the misery I just caused him isn’t the end.

  His head rolls back and forth after a few minutes, his eyes open a crack.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out, silencing a groan when I see Matteo’s name flash on the screen.

  Anxiety consumes me as I regard Dario.

  I made the right move.

  Fuck, I had to do this! I had to prove to everyone who and what I am, dammit!

  A nagging voice in my head reminds me that the king doesn’t carry out the executions.

  He only orders them.

  I hate this second-guessing shit! I did what I had to do to protect the family and our interests!

  Whether or not Matteo will agree is another story, but I don’t have time to relay the grotesque tale right now. I decline the call and stuff my phone back into my jeans.

  I look up at the expectant faces of the men standing in front of me.

  They’re looking for direction, for strength, for leadership.

  So I give it to them.

  “Finish him,” I say through clenched teeth, abruptly turning around and storming out of the warehouse. My phone buzzes again and I stab the Accept button when I see Bobby’s name flash on the screen.

  “Boss,” he says. “We’ve got Salvatore. And the name of his partner.”

  Tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “Tell me,” I growl.”

  “It’s one you know well from back home,” Bobby says with a deep sigh. “Frankie Amante.”

  My throat tightens.

  My ex-best friend.

  Here in fucking Manhattan.

  Screwing me years later, just like his father did to mine back in Sicily.

  And the brother of my date at eleven tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Marchella

  I stand next to the bar at the end of the night, counting my tips. I do well enough most nights, but tonight, the cash take is amazing. I actually want to cry out with glee. The five, crisp hundred-dollar bills that the sexy stranger, who also happens to be my date tonight, left on his table before dashing out of here are safely tucked away in the front pocket of my pants, not to emerge until I’ve gotten home and can slip them into my safe, along with every other dollar I manage to squirrel away for a rainy day.

  I just never anticipated that I’d be living in the middle of a never-ending monsoon.

  I take a sip of water from the glass in front of me, my mind tripping back to the fiercely handsome guy who literally barreled into my life tonight, only to disappear just as quickly. A shiver runs through me and I glance down at my watch. It’s eleven o’clock now.

  I bite down on my lower lip, hugging myself in anticipation. How ridiculous! I don’t even know his name, although there’s something about him that’s so damn familiar.

  Speaking of names, I wonder how he’ll react when he hears my last name. Will he be like all of the others who disappear into thin air when they find out the truth about my family? I mean, it’s not like guys are lined up to beat down my broken-down door, not with the patriarch of my family tree rotting at the roots in prison.

  For murder.

  At twenty-four years old, I have no prospects…of anything.

  I tug at my ponytail.

  Maybe I can write a book.

  I took courses in creative writing, and Lord knows, I love to read. These days, it’s my only escape from my otherwise dismal reality, whether it’s reading stories to the little neighborhood kids or smutty romance novels to myself.

  How hard could it be to write one of my own?

  At least I’d be able to use my name in a way that would benefit me instead of making me cringe as it so often does.

  My eyes sneak a glance toward the door. It’s still a couple of hours until last call, so he’ll be able to get inside.

  But the past year has taught me that things have a tendency to go sideways more often than not, and getting your hopes up prematurely is the surest way to be disappointed.

  I see Jimmy, my boss, walk over. I straighten up and flash him a bright smile. “Hey, Jimmy! Great night, huh? And tomorrow will be even better, I’m sure! That party will bring in so much business! I’m really excited for you!” There is an exclusive event on the schedule for tomorrow night hosted by some socialite here in lower Manhattan. It’s to celebrate the launch of a new artist who is debuting at the Whitney Museum of Art this weekend. The guest list is sure to be filled with A-listers, and I’m hoping that’ll mean big bucks for the servers.

  Namely, me.

  “Thanks, Chella. It should definitely be good for the restaurant.” He returns my smile, but it doesn’t quite reach as high as it normally does. It almost looks…forced. A knot of fear constricts my heart.

  Oh, God. Why is he looking at me like that?

  Jimmy clears his throat. “Listen, Chella. I don’t think I’m going to be able to use you tomorrow night after all.”

  I furrow my brow, my breath hitched. “I don’t understand. I’ve been on the schedule since you booked the event. You said you needed your most experienced servers here.”

  “I know what I told you, but…” His voice trails off and he averts his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “Things have changed.”

  “What kind of things?” My voice rises slightly and I hate myself for it, but I need to work this event. I can easily make a few hundred dollars in only a few hours, and it will hold me over to next weekend when I work here again.

  He leans toward me. “You know this event is high-profile.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “That’s exactly why I can’t risk upsetting any of the guests. The people who run in this circle can crush my business if they recognize you. I took a risk taking you back after all hell broke loose with your family, but negative publicity at that level will crush my business. I just can’t take that chance.” He backs away. “I hope you can understand.”

  I swallow the gaggle of tears in the back of my throat and nod quickly. “Sure, Jimmy. I totally see your point. And I am so thankful to be back here. I’d never want to be the reason for anything bad to happen to your business.”

  “Thanks, Chella. You know I think the world of you, and I’d do anything in my power to help you. But I need you to sit this one out. There will be others in the future and hopefully, when the stories die out, you won’t be under such scrutiny.”

  I force a quivery smile. “Right,” I whisper, gathering my tips and stuffing them into my pocket. “I guess I’ll just see you in a couple of days, then.”

&nbs
p; Jimmy’s lips curl into a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks, you too.” My voice is strong, but on the inside, it’s choked with sadness and dejection. And there isn’t much I can do other than to walk out of the restaurant with my head held high. I give a little wave and scurry outside before the tears stinging my eyes slip down my cheeks.

  I clench my fists as I stare up at the sky.

  No little stars twinkle down on me. It’s just a thick haze, kind of like the one I feel hangs over me day in and day out. So obscure, you can’t see a single glimmer of light in the distance.

  I want to scream and yell and cry. I want to punch something, break something…anything! For the past six months, I’ve tried to battle against the negativity surrounding me on a daily basis. I’ve tried to keep my glass half full with the knowledge that this, too, shall pass.

  When? When will it pass exactly? Well, that’s the freaking magic question.

  I’ve worked hard, kept my head down, and tried to figure out how to put the jagged pieces of my life back together. With barely any prospects for a real job, and diminishing opportunities at my current one, I’m grasping at the frayed ends of my sanity.

  And Frankie—

  My phone buzzes. It’s the one luxury I allow myself, and it’s barely functional as a smart device. But my brother’s track record requires me to be reachable at all times.

  Speaking of the devil, it’s a text from him that lights up my screen.

  Where are you?

  I let out a sigh and stab a response.

  He replies almost instantly.

  Go home now. No pit stops.

  I roll my eyes.

  Damn, you mean I can’t go out clubbing?

  I’m serious, Chell.

  I chew my bottom lip as I walk toward the subway station, fumbling in my handbag for my pepper spray, and tucking it into my sleeve as I bring my hand out. What the hell has Frankie so spooked?

  I actually have a date. Where are you?

  Don’t worry about me. And who the fuck are you hanging out with?

  A smile tugs at my lips. Just a guy I met at work. I won’t be late.

  There’s a long pause before he responds.

  I don’t like you being by yourself with a strange guy.

  I roll my eyes. Well, lucky for me, you’re not my keeper.

  Just lock up tight when you get home. Make sure nobody follows you. I’ll see you soon.

  If that doesn’t sound comforting…

  And make sure the jackass keeps his hands to himself.

  I snicker and lean against the wall next to the front door. I look left and right, but my mystery date is nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later, I frown at my watch. Still no sign of him.

  It was silly to think that maybe I could experience a little sliver of normalcy. A hot guy, asking me out…that’s just not my life.

  Not my reality.

  Not anymore.

  I give him another five minutes because it’s not freezing out, but as each one passes, my ‘reality’ becomes more and more clear.

  I let my resting bitch face slide into place as I get onto the subway a short while later. It’s filled with university kids, most of them drunk, high, or both. And none of them seem to have a care in the world, other than getting wasted or laid.

  How lucky they are to enjoy their evenings without giving a single fuck about anything.

  That used to be me.

  I ride to my stop and then get off the train, sure to keep an eye behind me as I jog up the steps to the street. I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets and keep that fierce look on my face as if to challenge anyone who dares get too close. I pass the bars and delis and storefronts in my shitty neighborhood, looking straight ahead as cars zoom past me in the road. I turn my head every once in a while, a knot in my gut warning me that there is always calm before a storm.

  But nobody follows me.

  Nobody speaks to me.

  And nobody—

  I yelp, my foot getting caught in a sidewalk crack. I put my hands out to brace my fall, landing on the pavement with my full weight on my wrists. Bits of gravel and grit scratch up my hands, and my knees scrape against the sidewalk, tearing a hole in one pant leg.

  Fuck.

  I sit back on my heels, a sob rising in my throat.

  That’s when it hits me.

  No matter how hard I try to keep my head up, no matter how much time I put into planning for a better life, reality is always back to smack me in the face.

  And it fucking sucks.

  I drag myself to a standing position, whisking the dirt off my jacket and pants. I examine my hands, the thin cuts on my palms already bleeding. I let my hands fall to my sides and turn to my right, catching a glimpse into the overflowing tavern. A song by the Dropkick Murphys interrupts the pity party in my mind, girls and guys singing and drinking and dancing.

  I wish I was one of them.

  Come to think of it, I wish I was anyone other than who I am right now.

  I should feel guilty for thinking that, for despising my father for unraveling what remained of our family after Mama died, for wishing I could just run away to a place where nobody knows who I am, a place where I can get a fresh start and a new lease on life since my current one is about to expire.

  Maybe it already has.

  After a fitful night’s sleep, I wake up to a lot of banging. Cabinet doors, closet doors, pantry doors. I lift my head from the pillow, rubbing sleep out of my eyes as I pull myself into a seated position. “Frankie?” I call out, my voice groggy. “What the heck are you doing out there?”

  But he doesn’t answer.

  I’m just greeted with more banging and heavy footsteps pounding around the apartment.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and reluctantly launch myself off the bed. I said we’d go for a run, so maybe it’s better to get up and at ’em early.

  I catch a glimpse at the time on my phone and groan.

  Seven o’clock?

  Ugh, I was thinking more ten-ish.

  I pad into the kitchen, running a hand through my sleep-tousled hair. Frankie is dressed and thumping all over the place, piling things together by the front door. I furrow my brow as I take it all in.

  “How was your date?” he grumbles when I come into the kitchen.

  “Didn’t happen. And I don’t want to talk about it, so please don’t ask.” I nod at the pile of crap he’s assembled in the center of the apartment. “Going somewhere?” I ask, heading for the cabinet where my favorite coffee mug resides. I frown at the coffee pot and then at my brother. “Couldn’t you have started the coffee while you packed?”

  Frankie lets out a huff. “There isn’t time,” he grumbles.

  I furrow my brow. “You want to tell me what’s going on? Are you okay?”

  He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine.” His brown eyes twitch at the corners, and I know immediately that he’s holding out on me. “For now.”

  “What are you talking about?” I narrow my eyes, forgetting all about the coffee. “Did you do something last night?” I look around again at the mess on the floor. “Why are you pulling all of your crap out here?”

  “Look, Chell. I don’t have time to go into detail, but we need to get out of here.”

  “Why?” My eyes widen. “Oh my God, how many times have I told you to stay away from those fucking scumbag gangsters you insist on hanging around? When are you going to learn? After everything happened with Papa, after the mess he caused for us, the loss of everything we ever knew, how could you let yourself get caught up in that shit again?”

  “Stop being so judgmental! You know it’s my job—”

  “It’s only a job if you get fucking paid,” I shout.

  “That’s the problem,” he says, stopping short. His shoulders slump and he raises his pained expression toward me. “I did get paid. Big.”

  “What did you do for this payment, Franki
e?” I ask, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. I swallow hard, but the growing lump in my throat almost chokes me.

  “Something bad. Something,” he says, walking over to one of the windows that faces the street. “That can hurt us, way worse than anything we’ve experienced before. The shit with Papa would feel like a picnic in comparison.”

  I storm over to him, pushing him against a wall. I wag a finger in his face, my voice quivering with anger. “You’d better tell me exactly what you did that can hurt us,” I hiss.

  “It’s more the ‘who’ than the ‘what’ that’s the issue,” he mutters.

  “I don’t like playing these games with you,” I say. “Tell me what happened!”

  Frankie averts his eyes. “Look, I’ll explain everything, but in the meantime, I just think we need to get out of the city for a while. Just lay low somewhere where nobody knows us until I can figure out—"

  His cell phone rings and we both jump. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the screen for a second before answering. I can’t see the name or number but judging by the fact that the color in my brother’s normally tan face fades more and more with each passing moment, I know it’s not a call he wants to take.

  But he answers because the look of resignation on his face speaks volumes.

  “Yeah?” he barks into the phone. Always the tough guy. Always the fucking troublemaker!

  My breath hitches, and I nibble on a hangnail as he continues his terse exchange. It must be a burner phone, even though there isn’t a whole lot of detail exchanged.

  God, I hate that I even know what a burner phone is…

  He finally hangs up after a few minutes, but he looks somewhat settled after whatever he was just told. He drops the phone back into his pocket and sinks onto the couch, combing his fingers through his hair.

  I sit across from him on the edge of the rickety coffee table, wringing my hands together. “Who was that? More importantly, do I even want to know?”

  “It’s not important,” he grunts. “What is important is that it looks like we’re clear for the time being.”

  I clasp my hands together and bring them to my lips, squeezing my eyes closed for a second. I say a silent prayer to God that whatever Frankie did isn’t as bad as I think. “Frankie,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “You are jeopardizing our lives by sticking with whatever thug crew you’re working with. I don’t care what they’ve promised you, but it isn’t worth what you’d be giving up if you ever got caught doing their dirty work. Do you understand that?”