Beautifully Brutal ( Cavalieri Della 1)

“Fine,” he spits out. “If Lance can pass one test, he’s yours. Only, if he comes back a different man, you’ll be the one to deal with his wrath.”

“What does that mean?” I finally turn to my father. My gaze boring into him, trying to search for some semblance of emotion, but I find none. There’s never been any affection in Arthur’s touch or words. When he hugs me, it’s because he’s putting on a show for his friends, and when he offers advice, it’s from a place of cold, calculated violence.

“I’ve offered him a deal. A good one, in fact,” he replies nonchalantly as we make our way back to New Orleans. I’m glad to be going back, but I’m nervous as to what I’ll find there.

“I doubt you could ever offer someone a good deal.”

“Oh, I did, in fact. The job I have in mind for him will be perfect for his talents. If he survives, he’ll come back for you. And if he chooses not to come back, then . . .” His words taper off, making me more aware of my father’s sick games.

“You didn’t send him to the Bowels. Did you?”

“Oh no, something much more decadent.” This time, my father offers his signature grin that sets unease tightening in my gut. Darkness clouds his expression when he looks my way again, and there, in those blue eyes that are the mirror image of mine, I see the malevolence of Arthur Calthorpe — leader of the Tabella Della Morte, and

father to the Cavalieri Della Morte.

He’s nothing to me — not a parent, not a leader. He’s a stranger I grew up with, the same man who would kill me if he needed to land a deal.

* * *

The moment I step into my bedroom, I shut the door. Leaning against it, I slide down to my ass and cry. Emotions fall from my eyes in clear drops that soak the T-shirt I’m wearing. The same one that smells faintly of Lance’s cologne. Spicy and manly.

My body shakes with fear, sadness, and feelings. My mind is blank as I wanted everything. I wanted a life with Lance, and even perhaps a family one day, and now, I may not get it. If he doesn’t complete the job, if something happens to him, I’ll never see him again, and that thought breaks me further.

I don’t know how long I sit on the floor. The soft carpet under my ass starts to feel harder as it flattens. Pushing to my feet, I stumble through the bedroom I haven’t seen in years. I know my father will be in here soon to talk to me. To find out about my escape. Even though he orchestrated the whole thing, I feel as if his plan is not over yet.

Over the years, I’ve overheard about the things Arthur Calthorpe does. The people he’s hurt and toyed with. I haven’t been able to hide from his wicked ways, and now, I’m one of those chess pieces on the board, and the king is moving me this way and that.

And the knight, he’s off fighting for me.

I pull off my top and slowly shove off the shorts I put on many hours ago. Lance’s home feels like a distant memory, even though we left there two days ago. Father had the two guards take turns in driving us home.

I recall falling asleep, and when I finally opened my eyes again, we were driving through the gates of the Calthorpe mansion, the headquarters of the Tabella Della Morte. My en suite beckons, and as I step under the shower, I close my eyes and revel in the hot water that prickles my skin.

My soap I left here is still on the small glass shelf built into the tiles. Flicking the lid open, I pour a handful into my palm and lather it over my body. The soft scent of summer flowers assaults me, and I’m taken back to a time when I first saw Lance.

The blooming flowers are colorful, giving the garden a rainbow of vegetation. In the distance, I can see two of the Cavalieri training on the lush, green grass. One is shirtless, his body toned, hardened by years of fighting, of lifting weights, and running. He doesn’t know I watch him. Perhaps I’m a little hung up on a man far too old for me.

Lance Knight. One of my father’s most loved soldiers. He does things I would rather not know about. But there’s something beautiful about his brutality. The rugged features of his square jaw, sharp nose and his deep, dark eyes seem endless. All of those attributes make him manlier than the guys I go to school with.

Lance takes down the man he’s sparring with. They laugh and jeer with each other, and I can’t stop my feet from making their way through the garden toward the men. Both sets of eyes land on me, taking me in, but it’s Lance’s gaze that burns me from the inside out.

He makes my stomach do those strange flips every time he smiles at me. When I reach them, I take note of how Lance slowly licks his lips, his dark eyes traveling over me from head to toe. I especially wore the summer dress with pink flowers over the torso and my ballet flats just for him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the man opposite Lance smirks. He’s scary. I think they call him Bors, or something like that. He’s one of the biggest men my dad has working for him.

“Hi.” I offer a smile.

“What are you doing out here, baby girl?” Lance questions. He’s always called me that, and it only serves to make me even more nervous. His low, husky growl is almost animalistic when he utters those words.

“Figured I’d come to see who’s winning today,” I reply, attempting to sound nonchalant, but I’m far from it, and the quiver in my voice gives me away.

“I always win, sweetheart,” Bors chuckles. “I’ll see you in the dungeons,” he tells Lance and offers a salute as he saunters off, leaving me with the man who’s staring directly at me.

“So, you lost?” I venture, my heart thudding against my chest, and it’s almost painful how it’s beating so wildly.

“I never lose, baby girl,” he corrects me. Leaning in closer, he inhales me with an appreciative rumble in his throat. I feel him, his heat and the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with a manly sweat that’s not horrible at all.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” I tease, crossing my arms in front of my chest, which makes his eyes drop to my barely there breasts.