by K. I. Lynn
I stared at my grandfather in disbelief. “Did you know who he really is?”
He nodded. “I do. I’ve been around too long not to know. He was still using the Ferrante name when his brother gave him that scar. That is why his words struck me so. To go against your father is no easy decision. He loves you, more than his family or his own life.”
I froze and turned to him. “Loves me?”
A light chuckle left him. “Nipote, you are just as bad. Think of the way you charged in here demanding help. You assaulted a capo for questioning your allegiance.”
“He was a capo?” That man had nothing on Domenico.
“You’re stuck in a trial by fire that only the two of you can escape. I will help, but your love is what will get you through.”
“You’re not upset by our relationship?”
His lips formed a thin line and his eyes darkened. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that la Bestia is in my home. The house is in an uproar with him here, and I’d just as soon put a bullet in him. I’m not pleased with it by any means, especially with how it began, but he protects you, fights for you. For that, I will tolerate his existence. For now.”
I was so thankful to him, to have an ally on our side, even begrudgingly. Deep down I knew others wouldn’t have the same sentiment, but hopefully they would respect their leader enough to follow orders.
When I’d returned to my room the night before, there were a few bags of clothing waiting for me. Jeans, tops, boots, flats, a coat, and loungewear tagged with names I hadn’t been able to afford over the last few years. I was pretty sure the sum was more than I’d made since I’d run away, just for what was in the bags. They must have taken my clothes and used them as a size template.
I also had a feeling they’d gone through the car and quite possibly thrown out my other clothes, as only Domenico’s bag was in the room.
I spent the remainder of the morning in the infirmary with Domenico. He was asleep, and I nestled into his side, staring at his scar.
It was unbelievable that his own brother had done that to him. It was more unbelievable that my intuition of Roman had been so off. He’d sold it. An Oscar-worthy performance. I was aware now of the monster he really was. Vile and inhumane, someone who got off on the torture of others.
At some point I drifted off and was awoken by a soft kiss to my forehead.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I tilted my head to look at his face.
“I’ll be okay, princess. Don’t worry.”
I clenched my jaw at his deflection of my question. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“By telling me what you did this morning.”
I sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to admit to me his pain level. “Well, I learned there is a camera in this room that is always monitored.”
His jaw tightened. “I hope they enjoyed the show.”
“It has sound as well.”
His lips formed a thin line. “Expected.”
“He already knew who you were, all of it.”
He nodded. “I went to school with some of the Vitale men.”
“When you shot Elio, you said he betrayed the family…isn’t that what you’ve done?”
Again, he nodded. “There was no time. I was to meet with my father later that day. I was going to tell him that I wanted you, that I’d claimed you, but then Roman put his plan into action. My focus shifted to getting you out of there.”
“Couldn’t you explain to your father what happened?” I asked.
“Roman had it right, and he timed it perfectly. I stole goods, and the punishment for that is severe. My father already gave me leniency that dwindles with each day.”
The rose. How many petals remained?
“I hate being referred to as a product,” I grumbled.
He reached up and cupped my face. “You have always been so much more than that to me. From the moment I first saw you on the bridge, I wanted you. The spirit and strength you showed as you fought.”
A knock on the door interrupted us, and I sat up as Luca stepped in.
“Your grandfather would like to see you,” he said.
I turned back to Domenico and placed my hand on his chest. “I’ll be back.”
He nodded, his gaze moving to Luca. “Take care of my princess, Vin.”
“Worry about yourself, Dom.”
I looked between them as I stood. It was good-natured banter, something I hadn’t experienced in the Vitale versus Ferrante conversations.
“You knew him, I take it?” I asked Luca as we left the room.
Luca nodded. “He was a grade above me. Most of the guys idolized him. It was back then people started calling him la Bestia, before the scar.” Our pace was slow, meandering, allowing us time to talk.
Hearing it from another point of view just intensified how horrifically he’d been treated.
“Why was he idolized?” I asked, desperate to hear more, to know more about the man who owned me more with each passing day.
“He was a legend. Unstoppable,” Luca said with a smile. “It didn’t matter how many guys ganged up on him—he went off in all-out beast mode. He destroyed them time and time again, and they still came back for more. Then Genevieve happened.”
I scrunched my brow. “Who?”
He turned toward me. “The catalyst. Roman was always jealous of Dom, but when he became infatuated with a girl named Genevieve, it only got worse. See, she only had eyes for Dom. He didn’t seem nearly as interested in her, but he let her hang around him. One day Roman decided he was going to make sure Genevieve didn’t want Dom anymore.”
I’d studied his scars, seen the depth of them, the damage done. The hatred Roman had. He could never measure up to a brother he felt he should have never been in competition with, a brother he felt superior to.
“Four guys tackled him, sending him down to his knees, but he couldn’t shake them off. One held his head while Roman broke a glass bottle and raked it over Dom’s face.” Luca shook his head. “His screams…It was only his first swipe, but they underestimated Dom. They relaxed, while he gained focus despite the agony he was in.”
The explosiveness of la Bestia was one I’d seen before. The way he moved was disarming in its speed and force.
“Blood spilled down his face and soaked into his clothes, but that didn’t stop him. He broke one guy’s arm, bashed some ribs of another, but Roman ran away. Once he was done and the four guys were on the ground, Dom blacked out. He didn’t return to school for weeks, and when he did, he wasn’t the same.”
My heart hurt for him. His whole life he’d been tormented by Roman. All their encounters I’d witnessed—Domenico throwing his weight around, making Roman do menial tasks—served only to remind Roman who was the stronger brother. Claiming me, a tool that Roman wanted to use, was all he could take.
It was Genevieve all over again, only Domenico wanted me, and I reacted only to him.
Don’t touch what’s mine, Roman.
Luca knocked on the door to my grandfather’s office before showing me through.
I stopped and stared at the man towering over my grandfather. While my grandfather was not a short man, he seemed so in the shadow of the giant next to him.
“Ah, Arabella. Come,” my grandfather beckoned.
I stared at the man, his own eyes staring back. “I know you.”
He remained stoic as he stared at me. “Are you sure about that?”
I nodded as I shifted my weight. “I was with my father, downtown, after my mother passed. At Asher Holdings. My mother had an account, and you refused to release any information about it to him.”
“You’re Francesca’s daughter,” he said in understanding. “He was quite incensed. The account was left to you, and I couldn’t discuss the contents with him present.”
“To me?” I asked.
He nodded as he took a sip of amber liquid in his glass. “Come to my office sometime and we can pull it up.”
I look
ed to my grandfather. “Do you know?”
He shook his head. “My guess is Francesca wanted to make sure you were able to take care of yourself.” His gaze moved up to the painting above the fireplace.
I followed his gaze, and my heart sank. She was so beautiful. Hair so dark brown it was almost black, clear brown eyes, and soft features. Too fragile to survive in this world of death and power.
“You called?” I asked, turning back to him.
He cleared his throat. “I was going to introduce you to Malcolm, but it seems you’ve met.”
“Word has it you’re in a bit of a bind,” Malcolm said as he picked at some lint on his jacket.
I nodded. “We are.” I looked back to my grandfather. “I want you to let Domenico out.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Mancini?” He looked from me to my grandfather. “You have Domenico Mancini in your home?”
My grandfather’s expression tightened. “Much to my chagrin. It’s drained me of every ounce of goodwill I’ve ever possessed.”
“Is he chained in the basement?” Malcolm asked, clearly intrigued as to the reason for Domenico’s presence.
Malcolm. As I thought about the name again it triggered a memory.
“Domenico owes you,” I said as I remembered the words Javier had said.
Malcolm nodded. “You’re the girl from the cage Javier recognized.”
Whatever Malcolm did, it was obvious he held no familial allegiance between the different organizations. It was all business.
“With regards to letting him out, that is up to his doctor. He sustained a major injury,” my grandfather said. “Once he is released, I will allow him to stay with you, but he can’t stay for long.”
Malcolm’s brow creased. “He was shot?”
I nodded. “He was blocking me, keeping me safe from my father.”
Malcolm tilted his head as he appraised me coolly. “That explains the uproar in the Ferrante camp, and why a red-faced Maurizio stormed into my office yesterday.”
“I hope you didn’t see him,” I said.
He finished off the last sip in his glass. “Unfortunately, I did. However, I couldn’t help him.”
I quirked a brow. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
Malcolm set the glass down. “I wish you luck. Once you get settled, come see me.”
“Can you at least tell me what it is?” I pleaded. “She’s been gone for over six years, surely you can tell me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
He stared at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I deal in money, Arabella. I’ll tell you how much when you come to my office.”
I nodded, knowing there was more he wasn’t mentioning, but I did know one thing my mother left me—money. Something that might be able to set us free.
I walked the halls, letting memories wash over me, giving me something to do while Domenico healed enough to be released. Dozens of doors lined the halls. Large wooden panel doors, some with intricate carvings, others plain, but all were heavy and solid.
I stopped at the detailed tree sculpted into the thick wall of a set of double doors. They were familiar. They led to the best room in the house—the library.
As a child, during the rare times we were allowed to go to my grandfather’s, I had loved visiting the library. It was one of my favorite places in the house, a place where I spent a lot of time—so much so that my grandfather kept a shelf of children’s stories for me, then later young adult novels.
With a twist of the handles I was able to push the great doors open, exposing one of the grandest rooms I’d ever been in. It was one of the many rooms that dripped elegance and prestige. Dark, rich woods held vast volumes of books.
It held both a cozy and expansive feeling. A fireplace sat against the outside wall framed by two large leaded glass windows. The ceiling opened into a second story, an ornate crystal chandelier centered in the open space above a few wingback chairs and leather sofas. I ran my hand across the smooth leather surface and breathed in the scent of the thousands of books that lined the walls.
Books had always been my escape. My way to see the world in a way I was never allowed to. Reading was my comfort, my greatest joy—and the stories inside my savior.
Books got me through the hard times. Let me live in a world full of wonder and happy endings. As a teenager I used partying, sex, and alcohol as an escape, but even outside of those times I still read. In the days I was trapped inside, I used books to explore other worlds.
Shelves were labeled with placards showcasing the language or genre.
A wooden spiral staircase was built into a corner, and I climbed up to the second story. The view of the ground was spectacular. Over the treetops I could see the sun reflecting off Lake Michigan.
If it had been warmer, I would have taken a walk down the path that led to the shore. I could barely recall what was down there anymore, but I remembered a beach area and a boat house, both protected by jetties.
On the second floor was where my shelf was located. I loved going up the staircase, so that was where my books were kept.
I didn’t expect it to still be there—I was just curious what was—but I was shocked to find it fully stocked. The young adult novels still sat, but the collection had expanded to two shelves. Classics from Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen, the entire Harry Potter series, and many others lined up together.
One in particular caught my eye—La Belle et la Bête by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve. The origin of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale.
I pulled it from the shelf and returned to the first floor and the comfortable furniture. The binding was quite old, but I was surprised by the pristine pages inside. Written in its original French, I didn’t get very far before my eyes grew heavy.
A hand gripped my arm, and I drew in a sharp breath as my eyes popped open.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” my grandfather said as he took a seat in one of the wingback chairs.
I straightened and rubbed my eyes. “I didn’t realize I’d drifted off.”
“When nobody knew where you were, I knew you’d be in here,” he said with a smile.
“Not much has changed. It even smells the same.”
He nodded. “I see you found your shelf,” he said with a smile.
I glanced down to the book in my arms. “Thank you for keeping it stocked.”
“My pleasure. How interesting, though, that you picked that book.”
“It called to me,” I said as I ran my hand across the gold lettering on the front.
“It’s quite fitting, given your situation. A beast of a prince, and a beauty of a princess. Speaking of, your beast is asking for you.”
I wondered how long I’d been asleep. “Would it be all right for me to take him some books?”
He gazed out at the shelves and the collections. “Avoid that wall,” he said before pointing to the tallest bookcase in the room.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to his cheek. “Thank you, Nonno.”
He took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “There is little I wouldn’t do for you.”
I pulled a few books down, everything from history to classics, mystery, and even romance. The stack was ten deep, and Luca was called in to help me.
At the infirmary, I glared at the men guarding his room, wishing they would just go away, and entered.
Luca followed in behind me, and we set the books on the table. The doctor was talking to Domenico, examining his wounds, and it was the first time I’d seen the doctor since the day we’d stormed in.
“How much longer am I to be secluded inside these four fucking walls?” Domenico cursed. His expression was one of clear aggravation at his situation.
At least he was out of the hospital gown and into some sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“Your swelling is starting to go down, but your pain is still high,” the doctor said, which surprised me. Did he get Domenico to admit to it, or was
it purely observation that he was in pain? “You seem to be healing well and could be out in a day or two. With restrictions.” He pulled Domenico’s shirt down, then marked something in a chart. “I’ll check back in tonight.”
“Thank you,” Domenico said begrudgingly. Luca followed him out, and I leaned over and pressed my lips to Domenico’s.
He reached up and fisted my hair, deepening the kiss and taking control. When we parted I could feel the warmth spreading through my body from my cheeks down to my toes.
“Hi,” I whimpered as he nipped at my neck.
His breath was harsh against my ear. “I want to fuck you so hard.”
I swallowed. That was exactly what I wanted as well, but he needed to get better before bursting open his stitches. “Just a little longer.”
I had to pull away, and he was reluctant to let me go.
“I have something for you,” I said as I shoved one of the books at him. “Here.”
He took it from me, his brow furrowed. “What’s this?” he asked as he looked down at the book in his hands.
“I thought you might be bored,” I said, a little uncertain whether it was a good move. I pulled a few more up. “There are others if you aren’t interested in that.”
He looked through the titles and pulled a book out—Qualcuno volò sul nido del cuculo.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey, in Italian.
I set the other down, just in case he finished that one or wanted to switch.
“Thank you. This room is like a tomb, and I’ve been bored out of my mind when you’re gone.” He linked his fingers with mine and pulled my hand to his lips. His teeth grazed against my knuckle before his lips soothed.
“Resting is good. It will help you heal.”
“Resting, yes, but can’t I rest where there’s a fucking window?” He closed his eyes, his agitation getting to him.
I ran my hand across his chest. “I know this sucks, but soon you can leave here.”
“And we can get the fuck out.” A tic of his jaw told me that was his main concern. Being caged by an enemy had the beast pacing.
“He’s going to help us.”
He scoffed. “If they don’t kill me before I make it to the front door.”
