Beauty, a Hate Story the End

Levi came forward and placed Polaroids on his desk. Since saving his life, Levi had been at every meeting, but the only time he spoke up was to offer something of value. Levi had used his sources at 72 to learn of the attack at the docks—it didn’t stop the attack, but it curtailed it. So Anteros was immediately intrigued by the pictures. He sifted through them, fingers sliding along the shiny plastic edges as he examined them. They were blurry and there weren’t many, but as he got to the last one he thought he saw Lucia Pavoni.

Anteros pushed the pictures aside and put a finger to his temple, focusing on Levi. “These don’t tell me shit.”

“We don’t really know what The Catacombs are,” Levi admitted. “They could be a place for stockpiling money or even bombs like the one used for your car or at the docks. The chatter is all over the place, but the consensus is it’s Lucia’s and it’s important.” Anteros had heard tales of catacombs back in Italy, but he had no idea any existed in America. In Italy, The Catacombs were synonymous with the famous ones, but they held Family secrets more than they held bodies. Anteros shook his head with an exhale. He thought he’d uncovered all the secrets, but then Lucia showed up, reminding him how in the dark he still was.

“I pulled these blueprints from 72 after I heard some officers talking about it.” Levi went to a corner, pulling rolled up papers from his bag. He laid them on Anteros’s desk. Pointer finger to paper, Levi denoted the different areas on the map. “This is the old New York subway line. If we follow this track”—he slid his finger along the paper—“it will lead us to wherever The Catacombs are.”

Anteros studied the blueprints for the sealed up tunnel. “Are you sure?”

Levi stepped back, hands behind his back. “Yes.”

“With the leak out there, and this intel coming from 72, you can’t be sure of shit,” Crazy A drawled from the corner.

Levi craned his head over his shoulder, meeting Crazy A’s stare. “I’m sure.”

“I don’t know.” Pretty Boy rubbed his lower lip. “We don’t even know what the fuck this place is.” With an exhale, Anteros tousled his hair with two hands. He shared their concerns, and then some. They didn’t know where this went, didn’t know what the fuck The Catacombs were, and something in his gut said it was too easy.

“Pretty Boy’s right, we don’t know what’s inside here.” Anteros tapped the blueprints. “It could be nothing. Could be fucking storage for Lucia’s dresses. But…” Anteros paused. “It’s the best shit we’ve got.” They could either take it or sit back and stay on defense.

“We’ve been getting railed all week,” Little O conceded.

“My ass is sore from all the pounding. I would like to return the favor.” Pretty Boy rubbed his chin and nodded, as if thinking about the possibilities. Crazy A was silent but didn’t disagree.

“Let’s draw up some plans,” Anteros said. “We’ll have Nikolai double-check the blueprints, be sure that what we’ve got here is actually concrete.”

“Nikolai?” Pretty Boy’s brows crinkled. Though he would never say it aloud, Anteros could see the question in the lines growing on his smooth forehead. Why would Anteros trust such an important task to a slave?

“He will either prove himself or fail.” Anteros didn’t leave room for argument. “We’ll need to do this soon,” Anteros continued; at the same time, the phone in his desk vibrated noisily. “Before Lucia realizes we have the map.” He waved them out, signaling the meeting was over.

Anteros studied Levi as he gathered the blueprints up from his desk. Levi had consistently given Anteros good intel, had saved his life, and Anteros had been without a right hand since Rhys was murdered. Maybe Levi could fill the spot.

Anteros slid his desk drawer open casually and, keeping the phone in his desk, opened the message.

A photo.

He would recognize the cunt anywhere. Frankie had two fingers inside her slit, glistening. Anteros gripped the desk, instantly hard.

He was fucking done with texts.

But when Anteros lifted his head, the Wolves and Levi hadn’t moved an inch.

“There’s just one more thing.” Pretty Boy shifted.

Anteros eyed the Wolves, all tense. “Spit it the fuck out.”

“Lucio Pavoni has died.”

Anteros slowly slid the drawer shut, regarding the Wolves’ solemn faces with interest. That wasn’t exactly news—Lucio Pavoni had been crawling toward death for years—but it did mean the stakes of the war had just gotten official.

“He was poisoned,” Pretty Boy clarified. Anteros threw his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, leather squeaking. Now that was news.

“Someone took time out of their day to poison a dying man?” Anteros asked. The why the fuck would they do that? went unsaid.

“No,” Little O replied. “The autopsy revealed his cause of death to be poison, not dementia as we thought. He’s been slowly poisoned for years.” Someone had murdered Lucio Pavoni?

“So that’s where we’re at,” Pretty Boy said, retaking his seat on the sofa. “What are we thinking? A disgruntled De Luca?”

Anteros rubbed his jaw. There was only one person who came to mind. One woman wicked and brilliant enough to kill the head of the Pavoni Family. He voiced his thoughts aloud.