Beauty, a Hate Story the End

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Even after you called his precinct they still let him continue?” I asked quietly.

  “No, he fucking permanently transferred to 72 and now he’s doing his own undercover operation.” She sat up, voice ratcheting, and wiped her eyes. “He saved him, Frankie. Beast could be dead by now and all of our problems gone but he saved that monster.”

  “I—” My throat constricted at the thought of Anteros dead. “I don’t understand.”

  “There was a bomb and Levi pulled him from the flames because he thinks Beast is his only hope at finding his mom. You can’t tell anyone. If Lucia finds out she’ll be furious. Promise me.”

  Only a month before Gabby had been so excited to watch movies with Levi. I’d thought that meant she’d found her happily ever after, but now Levi had saved Anteros, and as elated as I was, the consequences for Gabby were like a doomsday clock.

  How had we gotten so tangled up?

  “Frankie?”

  “Of course,” I quickly said. “I promise.” Gabby stood up and walked to the other side of the room, putting her palm flat on the dresser. The room was still, too quiet. The shadows moved as the sun went down and the room got that hot, glowy orange color of sunset that only lasts for a minute, as if the world is being set on fire in a final display before the sun falls to the night.

  “I don’t want to be my mom. I don’t want to love a man who will get me killed.” Gabby pressed her head to the armoire and I thought again to the phone in my pocket.

  If only we could choose who we love.

  Gabby was asleep in my bed when I slipped out of my room. She’d cried herself to sleep and I wasn’t about to wake her up and make her leave. There were no elevators in the building, so I had to walk down the grand staircase and through the club, had to push my way through throngs of beautifully dressed monsters.

  I really didn’t want to do this.

  I wished I could pretend the basement didn’t exist.

  I wanted to go back, crawl under the covers with Gabby, feel the lumps in my bed, and hold the phone, rereading the one text Anteros sent me while drooling over the picture. It was pathetic. It was heart sick. But it made me feel closer to him. Still, the basement was the only hope I had for getting truth, especially as Lucia was intent on giving me nothing. So I pushed my way through the crowd.

  It was foolish to take the phone. I should have hidden it, but instead it was in my pocket, burning. I thought everyone could see the bulge as I walked through the club. I definitely wouldn’t have much time before Lucia or one of her soldiers came searching for me—the cameras clearly showed me leaving the room.

  I was nearing the basement door when I saw Nikolai and Lucia, so I quickly hid among the club goers. I couldn’t see what they were talking about, but Lucia held up a red flyer—the same one from earlier in the week. She waved it furiously and if I hadn’t been in the club’s heart with pounding music in my ear, I might have heard her actually yelling. I paused because for the first time ever, she was undone. Just then I felt another vibration in my pocket.

  Playing hard to get?

  I read the text until the screen went blank. How dare he? After the way he treated me at the church and then going days without contact, how dare he say I’m playing hard to get? My face was hot, my tongue felt thick, but I didn’t want him to win. I grabbed the nearest tuxedoed crocodile.

  “Will you take a picture with me?” It was dark and I wasn’t going to turn on the flash—lest cameras caught me and my secret got out—but it would be enough. The man was confused, but even still, his lips were on my neck instantly. Wet, slobbery—it was disgusting and I hoped it was worth it.

  All I sent Anteros was the picture of the man’s lips on my neck. Then I pried myself off and went to the two goons at the entrance.

  “I need to do something for Lucia,” I explained. They exchanged looks. “Go ahead and call her, I’m sure she’d loved to be bugged while she’s busy dealing with the flyer.” Their eyebrows furrowed and sweat prickled the back of my neck as I wondered if they would call my bluff, but they finally parted.

  The walls down to the basement were wallpapered with bright pink Pavoni Princess Lives flyers. The slightest movement made the ends lift up. I hated them. They mocked me, reminded me how little power I had in this world, that I was simply a figurehead. I wanted to rip them all down, especially as I walked into the basement. They were such a cruel irony for these women.

  Feeling more determined, I kept my eyes to the ground, trying to ignore the various velvet curtains. I had to squint to see, light never reaching the corners. It was completely different from the magic and beauty of upstairs, but then the men who came down here weren’t like the men upstairs—at least, not overtly. The men who came down here were brazen in their disregard for water spots.

  My phone vibrated again so I found a discreet corner, hiding in the shadows.

  Looks like you need to be reminded who you belong to.

  I wet my lips; I wanted that, but then I remembered the newly installed cameras.

  You’ll get caught and they’ll kill you. There are cameras decorating my room now because I waited all night to see some asshole who didn’t care. I sent it, then a second later I added, So maybe you should come.

  The wait for him to respond was agonizing. I hated that I’d waited days for a text and still just waiting five seconds had me counting the number of heartbeats it took for him to respond.

  I don’t give a shit. Send me a picture like that again and I’ll die ripping his lips from your neck. A small smile came to my lips, but then he sent a follow-up message. I’ll crawl through your window, fuck you so deep and hard that anytime someone touches you, you’ll only feel me.

  The smile dropped instantly. How could he say that? He was everywhere—on my skin, in my blood. Once again, Anteros didn’t just win the game, he demolished the playing board. I stared at the text until a velvet partition rustled. I flattened myself against the wall as two men came out of an amethyst curtain.

  “The Catacombs always give the best pussy,” one man said as he zipped up his trousers. The second guy glanced back into the room, closing the curtain with a shrug. I’d learned The Catacombs was the underground name for Lucia’s club. Fitting, since it was where souls came to die.

  “Wish they were more…” He turned to his friend. “I dunno, into it?”

  “Costs extra,” the first guy said. The second guy nodded as if that was all that needed to be said on the matter, and they walked up the stairs. I stared at the swaying velvet. A morbid curiosity poked my gut, telling me to go pull it aside, even though I knew what was there.

  There was nothing I could do for her. I couldn’t pick her up and run away and save her.

  The only thing looking would do was subject her to another violation.

  I put my phone away and continued. When I got to Papa, he was asleep or passed out. He wasn’t moving and at first I feared he was dead, but then I saw his chest rise with a shallow breath. I slid down the wall and pulled out my phone. I sent a lie because it was the only play I had left.

  You don’t own me.

  I waited in the dungeon for an hour, hoping Papa would wake up. The ugly sounds of men getting off on unconscious or barely conscious women were too close, like whispers right into my ear, but I couldn’t get up. I knew in my marrow that Lucia was just using me, had said those things about men only breaking hearts to fuck with me, but her barbs of distrust had caught.

  My eyes hurt from not blinking, from staring at Papa’s sleeping body. This far down in the basement, everything was just leeching, yellow light. After thirty more minutes of being frozen to the floor, I kicked myself in the ass and left.

  Just before I reached the club, I felt a buzz in my pocket.

  There’s no need to own you, Frankie. You’re going to give yourself to me.

  Five

  Meet me.

  Go fuck yourself, Frankie responded instantly. A smile twisted the corner of Anteros’s lips, but
he quickly rubbed it out so the Wolves didn’t catch it. Not contacting Frankie for over a week after they’d met at the church had been unavoidable. The car bomb was just the first in a series of attacks by Lucia. The docks were hit, then their stockpile of weapons. They’d been on defense and searching for a way to hit back all week. Through all of the shit, he’d had to find time to heal as well.

  Still, he’d been enjoying the consequences. Each time Frankie denied him, it only made him want to work harder for the reward. Each time she cursed him, it only made him want to coax sweet words from her lips.

  “We’ve finally found our one up on Lucia.” Anteros shoved the phone into his desk as Pretty Boy spoke. The Wolf sat across from him on the quilted leather couch, one leg crossed over the other, arms behind his head.

  When he didn’t elaborate, Anteros said coolly, “Are you building some kind of dramatic effect?”

  “The Catacombs,” Little O supplied.

  “As in tombs?” Anteros turned to the Wolf whose massive body was nearly bursting from the velvet wingback. “Will one of you fuckers just get to the point?”

  Levi came forward and placed Polaroids on his desk. Since saving his life, Levi had been at every meeting, but the only time he spoke up was to offer something of value. Levi had used his sources at 72 to learn of the attack at the docks—it didn’t stop the attack, but it curtailed it. So Anteros was immediately intrigued by the pictures. He sifted through them, fingers sliding along the shiny plastic edges as he examined them. They were blurry and there weren’t many, but as he got to the last one he thought he saw Lucia Pavoni.

  Anteros pushed the pictures aside and put a finger to his temple, focusing on Levi. “These don’t tell me shit.”

  “We don’t really know what The Catacombs are,” Levi admitted. “They could be a place for stockpiling money or even bombs like the one used for your car or at the docks. The chatter is all over the place, but the consensus is it’s Lucia’s and it’s important.” Anteros had heard tales of catacombs back in Italy, but he had no idea any existed in America. In Italy, The Catacombs were synonymous with the famous ones, but they held Family secrets more than they held bodies. Anteros shook his head with an exhale. He thought he’d uncovered all the secrets, but then Lucia showed up, reminding him how in the dark he still was.

  “I pulled these blueprints from 72 after I heard some officers talking about it.” Levi went to a corner, pulling rolled up papers from his bag. He laid them on Anteros’s desk. Pointer finger to paper, Levi denoted the different areas on the map. “This is the old New York subway line. If we follow this track”—he slid his finger along the paper—“it will lead us to wherever The Catacombs are.”

  Anteros studied the blueprints for the sealed up tunnel. “Are you sure?”

  Levi stepped back, hands behind his back. “Yes.”

  “With the leak out there, and this intel coming from 72, you can’t be sure of shit,” Crazy A drawled from the corner.

  Levi craned his head over his shoulder, meeting Crazy A’s stare. “I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know.” Pretty Boy rubbed his lower lip. “We don’t even know what the fuck this place is.” With an exhale, Anteros tousled his hair with two hands. He shared their concerns, and then some. They didn’t know where this went, didn’t know what the fuck The Catacombs were, and something in his gut said it was too easy.

  “Pretty Boy’s right, we don’t know what’s inside here.” Anteros tapped the blueprints. “It could be nothing. Could be fucking storage for Lucia’s dresses. But…” Anteros paused. “It’s the best shit we’ve got.” They could either take it or sit back and stay on defense.

  “We’ve been getting railed all week,” Little O conceded.

  “My ass is sore from all the pounding. I would like to return the favor.” Pretty Boy rubbed his chin and nodded, as if thinking about the possibilities. Crazy A was silent but didn’t disagree.

  “Let’s draw up some plans,” Anteros said. “We’ll have Nikolai double-check the blueprints, be sure that what we’ve got here is actually concrete.”

  “Nikolai?” Pretty Boy’s brows crinkled. Though he would never say it aloud, Anteros could see the question in the lines growing on his smooth forehead. Why would Anteros trust such an important task to a slave?

  “He will either prove himself or fail.” Anteros didn’t leave room for argument. “We’ll need to do this soon,” Anteros continued; at the same time, the phone in his desk vibrated noisily. “Before Lucia realizes we have the map.” He waved them out, signaling the meeting was over.

  Anteros studied Levi as he gathered the blueprints up from his desk. Levi had consistently given Anteros good intel, had saved his life, and Anteros had been without a right hand since Rhys was murdered. Maybe Levi could fill the spot.

  Anteros slid his desk drawer open casually and, keeping the phone in his desk, opened the message.

  A photo.

  He would recognize the cunt anywhere. Frankie had two fingers inside her slit, glistening. Anteros gripped the desk, instantly hard.

  He was fucking done with texts.

  But when Anteros lifted his head, the Wolves and Levi hadn’t moved an inch.

  “There’s just one more thing.” Pretty Boy shifted.

  Anteros eyed the Wolves, all tense. “Spit it the fuck out.”

  “Lucio Pavoni has died.”

  Anteros slowly slid the drawer shut, regarding the Wolves’ solemn faces with interest. That wasn’t exactly news—Lucio Pavoni had been crawling toward death for years—but it did mean the stakes of the war had just gotten official.

  “He was poisoned,” Pretty Boy clarified. Anteros threw his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, leather squeaking. Now that was news.

  “Someone took time out of their day to poison a dying man?” Anteros asked. The why the fuck would they do that? went unsaid.

  “No,” Little O replied. “The autopsy revealed his cause of death to be poison, not dementia as we thought. He’s been slowly poisoned for years.” Someone had murdered Lucio Pavoni?

  “So that’s where we’re at,” Pretty Boy said, retaking his seat on the sofa. “What are we thinking? A disgruntled De Luca?”

  Anteros rubbed his jaw. There was only one person who came to mind. One woman wicked and brilliant enough to kill the head of the Pavoni Family. He voiced his thoughts aloud.

  “But that’s her brother,” Levi said. His eyes widened and for once his stoic countenance broke. He looked around the room, arms out as if someone would jump out and say it was all a joke. “She wouldn’t kill her brother.” Anteros nearly laughed at his naiveté.

  “What are you thinking?” Little O asked when he’d been silent for some time.

  “We need to test the poison,” he said. Anteros knew if it was the same poison used to try to kill him, it all but proved Lucia’s involvement.

  “You really think Lucia would kill her own brother?” Levi asked, tone oddly frightened.

  Anteros sat forward, elbows on the desk, and locked his bluegreen eyes with Levi’s nervous hazel ones. “Don’t ever underestimate the cunning of a Pavoni.” Levi looked distraught at the revelation, throat swelling with an obvious gulp. In the same instant, the phone in his desk buzzed. Anteros wound his fingers behind his neck nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.

  “Let me know what you find.” Anteros ended the meeting for a second and final time, hoping to get them out before anyone questioned the vibrating in his desk. Little O, Pretty Boy, and Levi piled out, but Crazy A lingered at the door.

  “I’m getting closer to the slave,” Crazy A said. “She’s kept on the second floor. Her room is the last one, shoved into a corner. There are cameras, but I don’t really give a shit if someone sees me killing her.” Anteros nodded, keeping himself level. Anyone else wouldn’t pick up on something so light as a jaw tick or a throat swallow, but Crazy A saw everything. He would notice that just the idea of Frankie dead had him tense.

 
; So he had to be loose.

  His phone buzzed again and Crazy A zeroed in on the desk. “You need to get that?”

  Anteros returned his glare. “What the fuck do you think? How are you going to get to her?”

  Crazy A thumbed his lip. “Workin’ on it. Shouldn’t be too long though.” Anteros suppressed his exhale. When Crazy A figured out how to get to Frankie, that’s when the game changed. Like chess, this game couldn’t be won by planning. You had to watch your opponent and then make your move.

  Anteros nodded. “Good work.” Thick, spiny silence fell. Crazy A stood off the wall, eyes still on Anteros, and then left the room with a slight nod. The phone vibrated once more, but Anteros stared at the empty spot the Wolf had left, memories rushing through him.

  Unlike Beast or the other Wolves, Crazy A was from good Italian stock. He was born Alcide Scarsi, but that didn’t mean he would have stayed a Scarsi forever. Like all De Luca men before him, he had to come from somewhere, and every Scarsi in his family had become a De Luca by marriage. Like all the Wolves, Anteros had blackmailed Alcide in the beginning. He’d had an affair, and Anteros had capitalized on that. The only difference was Alcide hadn’t stopped the affair when they’d agreed to work together.

  “If this comes out, it will ruin everything. End it.”

  “You knew this about me. You already knew,” Alcide responded. “You wouldn’t have worked with me if you weren’t okay with it.”

  “I don’t give a shit who you want to fuck,” Anteros said. “I give a shit when it fucks with business. End it.”

  Anteros exhaled at the memory, still locked on the empty wall. A normal person would have shown some sort of emotion after ending an affair, but Anteros and his Wolves weren’t normal.