Anteros exhaled and turned to Giovani. “Leave us,” he
said.
“Excuse me?” Giovani said, not even trying to hide his indignation. Anteros dropped all pretenses of civility then. With his cold, cruel stare, he warned Giovani not to mistake thinking that because he wore a suit now, or because he lived in a nice apartment, and hosted dinner parties, that made him a gentleman.
He was not a gentleman. He was a beast, and beasts were hungry for blood. Beasts liked to rip people apart.
Giovani swallowed and turned to leave. He hesitated at the door, turning back. Anteros kept his stare on him the entire time and when their eyes locked, Giovani quickly scurried out.
“Do you think you can talk to me like that?” Anteros asked, turning to Frankie. “Do you want to end up like your friend?”
Frankie's eyes flared, though she kept her gaze on Gabriella. Anteros could see the vitriol just beneath the surface, but to her credit, it stayed there. “No,” she said, but it was quiet, barely audible.
“I didn’t hear you.” He flicked a piece of lint off his suit. “Maybe you should stand and respond to my face, like a civilized person.” Frankie stood, reluctance pouring from every muscle in her body. Her jaw was clenched as she walked toward him.
When she was within his reach, he gripped her by both arms, pulling her close. Surprise and fear flashed across her face. “Don’t forget who I am, Frankie, who you are,” he hissed.
“I’d sooner forget how to breathe,” she replied just as quickly and with as much vehemence. They shared a heated look then he released his grasp. She walked back to Gabriella, resuming her position of fussing and fretting. She gently stroked her hand over Gabriella’s blonde streaks. Her brow knit in concentration as she stared at her friend’s unconscious body. A few minutes must have passed as he watched her. Since laying down the rules, it had appeared she’d been trying to obey. With all things Frankie, though, appearances were never as they seemed. For some reason, it didn’t bother him, if anything, it intrigued him more.
At last he said, “The night is over, Frankie.”
Her head shot up, indignant. “You expect me to just leave her?”
“I’ve called a doctor.” Her shoulders loosened slightly, but the tightness in her features remained. Her hands guarded Gabriella like a mother lion. “Come,” he added, gesturing with his hand.
“But what if Giovani returns?” she asked, not moving an inch. Anteros exhaled again, the sound rocky with impatience as it came through his chest. His pocket buzzed and he hastily pulled the thing out, ready to either turn it off or chuck it against the wall.
Crazy A: If you don’t pull a Houdini and get down here now the shipment will be late.
Anteros read the message once, then again, then a third time. His hand hovered over the power button. Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the dark locks. He couldn’t keep doing this.
He glanced at Frankie.
He was all kinds of messed up.
Nothing made sense. He still didn’t know why he’d even had this fucking dinner. Everything in his mind screamed to shut it down and leave, but his finger kept hovering over the power button instead of texting back, as he should. Never in his life had he ignored his Wolves like he’d done that night.
For a fucking dinner party. Lucio used to throw them to keep the De Lucas happy, but that had never been his game. He stared at the words on the screen, as if reading it would resolve all he’d just ruined. He glanced back up at Frankie and froze.
She was gazing at him fiercely, unafraid and determined. Her dark, elegantly shaped brows arched deep over her sea glass eyes, challenging him but also utterly captivating. He shook his head, breaking the spell, and looked back down. He was about to text Crazy A that he was on his way when Frankie asked, “What if he returns?”
Her question drew him back up again. Frankie’s eyes were wide in expectation, earnestly waiting for a response. He turned the phone off without responding and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“He’s her husband,” Anteros said simply. Her body recoiled like a snake about to strike.
“He’s a bastard,” she said.
“Actually, no.” Anteros leaned against an exposed brick column, folding his arms. “He comes from very good Italian stock.” Frankie rolled her eyes, returning her attention to Gabriella. She kept her hands on her abdomen, glare fierce.
“I won’t repeat myself,” Anteros growled. “Come now.”
“You just did,” she said, face turned away. In one motion Anteros grabbed her by the loose curls spilling down behind her head. She grappled with him as she was forced to stand. Yelping and screeching, feet sliding on the floor, he pulled her out of the room. He kept his hold tight on her hair all the way down the hall and to his room. When he reached the room, he let go, flinging her in the direction of his bed.
She rubbed her head, glaring at him. “I thought I knew the depths of your evil,” she spat. “But an injured woman is down there, alone—” She flung her hand out toward the door just as Anteros advanced and overtook her, causing her to stumble back on the mattress.
“You will tell me right now, Frankie,” he said. “Is Gabriella pregnant?”
She sputtered. “W-what?”