Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

Giovani took the plate from her and scraped her food onto his own plate. Both Frankie and Anteros paused their meal to watch the action. When it was over, half of her food was on his plate.

“Gotta keep her thin, you know?” He winked at Anteros then waved a hand to Gabriella. “Continue.”

As Giovani was about to dig into his second portion, Anteros said, “Her lamb is cold now. Maybe you’d prefer a fresher slice.”

“’S fine,” Giovani grunted, shoveling food into his mouth. Frankie’s disapproval was like a heater set right next to his body. He shouldn’t care.

He didn’t care.

Following Giovani’s lead, Anteros took a large bite of lamb and followed it with an even bigger swallow of champagne. The dinner passed in the same pressure-filled hush until all plates were cleared. It was customary for Anteros to have cigars with Giovani after dinner, but Anteros was having a hard time with custom. He really wanted to tell the guy to fuck off. He’d made his bed, though, so he had to lie in it. Now that he had invited Giovani into his home, he couldn’t be too uncivil. Giovani might be trivial, but he was a De Luca, and custom permitted him a fucking cigar.

So, while they all left the dining room, Anteros told Giovani to wait for him upstairs. Giovani nodded and ascended the stairs, taking Gabriella with him. Frankie followed, probably assuming she was to go with Gabriella, but Anteros grabbed her arm. He pushed her against the wall so they were hidden by the shadows of the hallway.

“You look very lovely today, Frankie.” Brushing an open palm over her shoulder, he felt her dress. It was a little rough against his skin, as if he could feel each shimmer of the pale gold fabric. The dress appeared painted to her skin—deep inside her breast, high on one shoulder, low on the other. The fabric was uneven along her skin, as if the painter himself had stuttered at her beauty. If you looked closely, there were little cracks in the flowers where her skin peeked through. Shimmery gold florets adorned one shoulder but not the other.

“Did you like the lamb?” One hand fell to her waist, fingering the material lightly between his thumb and forefinger. There the shimmery gold material ended and met stark, creamy white. Like freshly fallen snow, it fell to the ground without any wrinkle.

“It was very…” Her unflinchingly clear gaze, bright even in the shadows, settled on him. “Biblical.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along to the chef.” He pulled her other arm up to his mouth. The forearm was decorated in the same gold florets as the other shoulder and her bust, but her wrist was bare. He turned the arm around, kissing her gently on her skin. She’d worn her hair down, and it fell in apparently effortless curls he couldn’t wait to ruin.

Just as his mouth met her skin, his phone buzzed. And then it buzzed again. And again. Frankie looked to his pocket, where the thing vibrated with purpose.

“Do you need to get that?” she asked.

“It’s not important,” he replied, finishing the kiss against her wrist as if to prove the point. Frankie watched him, her eyebrows drawing together. He could feel her pulse quicken against the flesh of her wrist, like a thrum thrum thrum against his lips.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, her question caught on a breath. He gently lowered her wrist, keeping his gaze locked on hers the entire time. He opened his mouth to respond, when another’s voice superseded his.

“Insolent girl!” Giovani yelled. Both Frankie and Anteros's heads snapped to the sound of Giovani’s voice, just in time to see him push Gabriella down the stairs.

Well, that was certainly going to ruin the mood.

Anteros watched Gabriella fall down his white staircase. Luckily she only fell down the stairs—as it was an open floor plan so she could have fallen off and to the ground. He sighed, dropping Frankie's arm completely.

Giovani was impatient and short-tempered. The De Lucas had picked him to marry Gabriella because he fit certain standards. One, he was the right class. Two, he was willing to take the woman’s last name and continue on the De Luca line.

No one said they were very high standards.

In all other respects, Giovani was worthless. Unkempt. Ugly. Stupid. Angry. If he were a dog, he would have been put down. If his last name weren’t De Luca, Anteros would have been the one to put him down.

Frankie pushed past Anteros and rushed to the bottom of the stairs, falling to Gabriella’s side. With much less haste, Anteros joined her. Frankie immediately began fussing. She checked Gabriella’s extremities, looking for injury. The bottom white part of Frankie's dress had begun to wrinkle, he noted absently.

“Call 911, assholes!” Frankie screamed. Giovani’s eyes raged at the insult, but one look from Anteros put him in his place. Frankie turned her attention back to Gabriella. “Gabby—Gabriella—You here? What hurts?” Gabriella moaned in response. Anteros took out his phone to dial the house physician. In the same instant, his phone buzzed with a text.

Crazy A: Where the fuck are you?

He felt the muscles in his forehead pull together. Closing the text, he instead dialed the physician. When the physician confirmed, he put his phone back and focused on the situation at hand. Frankie’s hands hovered over her friend’s body, apparently afraid to touch her.

Smart.

Anteros had seen one too many broken necks turned paralysis. Once again, Anteros was impressed by Frankie. Giovani had finally finished his walk down the stairs and eyed Frankie as if she was a nuisance.

“I’ll just have my boy put her in the car,” Giovani said. “I’m sorry if she scratched anything on the way down.” Frankie’s eyes flashed up at him, burning so bright with anger they nearly ignited. With a deep, scorching look, she turned her attention back to Gabriella. She placed her hand on Gabriella’s stomach and bent over to whisper something in her ear. Anteros frowned at the placement of her hand.

“Come here, Frankie,” Anteros said, holding his palm out for her.

“Go fuck yourself,” she growled, keeping her lips beside Gabriella’s ear.