Beautiful Monster (Dark Lies Duet 2)

For the last week, I’ve snuck out at night, stealing one of my father’s many cars and parked it at the top of the hill just yards away from the Guiliani residence. Like I have every night, I kill the lights and roll the car into park, careful not to slam the door as I exit.

The trek down the short path between a row of trees is uneven. So I take my time to ensure I don’t slip down the small mountain and plummet to my death at the bottom. It’s close enough to the property that I can hear anything that goes on inside, but it does sit at the perfect angle for me to see inside. And with a pair of binoculars and thanks to the wall of windows, I get more than a glimpse of the things that happen in the Guiliani’s household.

You would think that as a man of his status, with enemies near and far, he’d want more privacy, as opposed to giving the world a full view of his life. Windows cover every inch of the back half of the house, the half that faces the woods. Maybe that’s why he did it, thinking that no one would possibly dare to spy on them or that the trees and mountains would shield him and his secrets.

But that’s the thing about secrets. Nothing can ever really keep them under wraps. No matter what you do or how many people you kill, nothing stays hidden forever. And at only fourteen years old, I learned that early on.

Pulling my binoculars from my backpack, I squat low to the ground and settle into my spot. Coming here has become one of my favorite things to do. Not because of what happens in that house but because I know everything there is to know about this family while they are none the wiser to my presence.

It’s addicting.

Adjusting my vision, I search through the house. The interesting thing about people is that they are creatures of habit. They’ll do the same thing over and over, despite the consequences. It’s a comfort, I guess, or selfishness, maybe. In one room, there’s the woman who visited my father. She’s sitting on her bed, her legs spread wide with her hand between her thighs. My body reacts, my dick twitching at the sight of her touching herself.

I let my gaze linger for a moment before breaking my concentration and searching the rest of the house. It appears quiet. There are no other lights on, at least not until I reach the end. My movement is quick, and I miss it at first, but double back.

There they are. Marco and a woman who is not his wife are locked away in another room. And just on the opposite side of that is a little girl.

She sits on the floor, playing with her dolls without a care in the world, oblivious to the things happening around her. Just next door, her father is betraying her mother and is balls deep in the cunt of one of his workers.

This isn’t the first time, and if I had to guess, he enjoys being with her more than he does the woman he’s married to. In the short time I’ve watched them, he’s touched his wife maybe once, while just about every other night, sometimes two and three times, he’s with this woman. She’s his favorite.

And while this happens—while the adults betray each other—this little girl is in her own world. So innocent. So pure. Observing her is probably the best part of all. And not in any creepy way. She’s a child. But maybe that’s what I like about her.

She reminds me that I’ve never had this. A loving home where I could be a kid and play with toys until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It’s as if I get to live vicariously through her. I get to be a kid again until it’s time for me to pack up and return to my world. And at the end of each night, I’m reminded of just how different our lives are.

Our fathers may both be ruthless, cutthroat criminals who lie, kill, and cheat, but none of that touches her. Like now, she’s a ball of joy and doesn’t even know that things are haywire around her.

She’s everything I’ve never been. She’s happy and loved, which is why this whole thing doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would Marco agree to give up everything he worked for to my father? It’s supposed to be a truce, but I know Samuele better than anyone, and that’ll never happen. Once my father gets what he wants, he’ll surely put a bullet between Marco’s eyes, and the world this precious little girl knows will be over.

A car pulls up, the sound of tires over the pavement breaking my thoughts. A man gets out, slamming the door and racing toward the house. A second later, I see him through the window moving through the bottom level of the home. Even though I can’t hear what’s happening, his hasty movements tell me that something is about to go down.