Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

I still couldn’t figure Nikolai out. He’d been the sole reason I was able to visit Gabby in the park. I mean, he fucking orchestrated it! As far as I knew, he’d not said a word to Beast about our clandestine meeting, yet he wasn’t like Gabby. He wasn’t talking to me; we weren’t sharing our most intimate selves. All I knew about Nikolai was his first name and that he had “secrets”—not particularly comforting.

Maybe one of those secrets was that his name wasn’t Nikolai; so maybe I didn’t know anything at all.

“Will you be needing anything else?” Nikolai asked as we reached my room. It was nearing one in the morning, so I was most likely just going to hop into bed. I shook my head and he left.

The morning after that terrible dinner I’d awoken in Beast’s bed and he was gone. Nikolai brought me back to the white room and ever since I’d been sleeping in the white room—my room—which was fine. It was how I wanted it anyway. It was a little over two weeks since trading my life to the Beast, December was halfway over, and I realized most of the time I slept in his room.

There were parts of me that had started getting used to his room. They’d gotten used to the way his sheets felt against my skin and how much heavier his comforter was than mine. They’d begun to expect the way his smell wrapped around me even when he wasn’t there. But those weren’t good things. I shouldn’t get used to anything involving the Beast; my mind or body shouldn’t expect or want or need anything from him.

I went over to the bed and sat on the edge, the plush mattress sinking with my weight. I stared out the window, wondering if Gabby was looking out at the same frigid, dark world I was.

Or if she’d already been killed.

I dropped my head, everything feeling heavy, even my eyelids. When I lifted my head, Nikolai was still in the doorway. I’d learned with Nikolai that this meant he was about to tell me something. Any time he hesitated to leave, I was about to get some kind of secret spilled.

“The Beast will leave soon,” Nikolai started. “You will be alone for approximately three and a half hours.” He bowed his head and left. My skin creased as my forehead pulled together. Informing me of the Beast’s whereabouts was a new thing Nikolai had started doing. No matter how many times he did it, though, I was still uncertain.

Still, Nikolai gave me the only times I could read the journal comfortably.

Even though I was practically asleep, I walked over to the corner that was in the blind spot of the cameras. I lifted up the rug, undoing the loose floorboard I’d started using to hide the journal. It was easier than the brick outside. Pulling out the weathered journal, I sat down and started where I left off. I remembered in the last entry Sofia had overheard some terribly shocking news about a Pavoni Princess. The rest of the page had been ripped out though, so I hadn’t been able to read any more about that. Curious, I opened the book to the next page.

Lucio Senior died today. You can feel the tension in the air, like hot, sticky poisoned gas. It’s been twenty years since the death of Valeria Marchesi. She died before me, in childbirth, as women do. I don’t expect the air felt as it does today when she died, though. I hear fast talking, rushed curses. Some of Lucio Senior’s brothers think he has lost his way living in America for so long. They want to split as it used to be: a family in America, a family in Sicily, both autonomous.

Papa believes there will be blood, at least that’s what he says at night when he thinks I’m not listening. Is it wrong that I don’t care? I sneak away while everyone is talking about blood and war and meet Alessio. Now that Lucio is dead and our world is going up in flames, we can stand together in the heat. I love him so much. His kisses are like whiskey, warm and numbing. I used to think we were doomed, that nothing could become of us, but maybe if our world is doomed first, we can be saved.

It felt like I had only just put the journal away, only just fallen asleep, when I was being jerked awake.

“Get up.”

I rolled over, groggy with sleep, swatting at the voice. The journal was still fresh in my mind, sort of how when you fall asleep studying math you wake up thinking about numbers. I was in Sofia’s world, feeling her hope that she and her love could be together despite their crumbling world. It was interesting, too, that I shared a name—well, a middle name—with someone in her life. It was like seeing a celebrity whose birthday I shared.

“I said get up.” The voice grabbed my arm, pulling me from my warm sleep.

“What’s happening?” I asked as my feet hit the floor, the cold wood waking me up. I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to my new, awake state. The Beast stood in front of me, dressed for the day in an impeccable gray suit. I glanced at the clock: four in the morning. I’d only just fallen asleep two hours ago.

“You’re going to the gallows,” he said. I knew it was either serious or deadly when he didn’t let me dress. The Beast valued appearances above most anything else, and he was rushing me down to the garage in my nighty.

I was shoved into an already running town car, barely having time to register what was happening. By the time I collected my thoughts enough to see where we were, Beast was already telling Nikolai to “keep the car running.”

My bare feet were, unsurprisingly, not great for winter. The snow numbed them immediately, the wet slush sinking under my soles as we ascended steps into a faceless skyscraper. Beast shoved me into the building as I tried to see the cross street.

The Financial District.

Then the doors shut and we were in an elevator. Beast was paying the least attention he had to me since I’d been thrust into his world. He pushed the button, checked his watch, and readjusted his sleeve to cover it. I played the little game I’d invented and also became master of since falling into this world, the one that allowed me to be okay with being wet, cold, and half naked in a building smack dab in the middle of the Financial District in the middle of the night.

A game I liked to call cognitive dissonance.

The elevator door opened on the top floor and he shoved me once more into another room. Five men sat around a big wooden table. The surface shined as if painted with a coat of gold. The seats were all designed Louis XIV style with thick gold molding and plush velvet. Most had their hands folded above the wood, gold rings on their fingers, and menace oozed from them like steam out of a grate. I tugged on the hem of my gown, as if I could pull it past my ass.

The lights were dimmed. It was only us plus Beast’s personal body guard, Tino, who were standing. Tino had appeared out of nowhere like he always did—I wondered if he had taken the stairs. The only sounds came from the outside and even those were hushed.

It felt like I was caught in a Mexican stare-off.

“Do you take us for a fool, boy?” one of them finally asked. He had sharp angular features and short, slicked blond hair that was so gelled it gleamed in the dim light. His goatee was as sharp as his angular features.

“Not right,” another growled. My gaze flicked to his.

“First an unsanctioned kill of a family member and now this? Bringing a slave?” They went from ice-cold silence to thwacking the ice with a hammer. Shards flew in all directions, they were talking so fast. My eyes flashed from one person to the next, trying to learn as much as I could. The person who had just spoken had a slight accent, and though he was dressed well like the rest, his shave was unkempt, his hair balding, and the rings on his fingers only made his fingers look that much pudgier.