Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

While Frankie had been getting ready, he’d nearly come to his senses. He’d realized what a terrible idea dinner was. Even now, he couldn’t fathom what came over him to suggest it. He’d sold plenty of women to The Institute. None of those transactions involved his fucking house. He’d never devalued an asset, never messed up a trade so badly.

Never.

It was is as if seeing her against the muted backdrop of city lights had thrown him into a state of chaos. The fact that she was nothing more than goods vanished. She’d been a virgin; taking her had seriously fucked up her value. Before dinner, The Institute had buyers lined up for her—on the condition of her virginity.

That was fucked now.

The Institute didn’t renegotiate contracts. He could sell her to someone else, but the money was already lost. None of that had mattered in the moment though. His mind had gone into tumult. He’d meant to simply tear the necklace from her neck and send her back to her room but when his finger touched the silken wings of her collarbone things had…gotten out of hand.

Before he’d had her, she’d been just a thing, an object—a beautiful, intriguing thing, but just that, a thing. Now, after taking her, after feeling her hot and wet, after plunging inside her and feeling her tighten around him…

He shook his head, putting his face between his palms.

It was nothing.

She was nothing.

He’d never been one to take an unwilling woman. It was not an unusual thing in his world to take women unwillingly, in fact, he was the unusual one. He just preferred his women to come to him. There was something about Frankie that twisted his insides, called forth things like lust and rage as if she were a snake charmer. He’d been at the precipice last night, so close to taking her without her want.

What was it that had transformed him? And why did he care? She was his slave now. She mattered no more than what collected on the bottom of his shoe.

Maybe it was just that he was the Beast, so that was what he did. He raped women and plundered homes. One didn’t climb the ranks and ascend the role of blooded patriarch when one wasn’t blood without getting drenched in it. The little orphan boy Lucio had found years ago may as well have been dead.

“He’s sundowning.” Beast snapped his head up to see a woman with mousy brown hair rubbing her neck. When she spoke next, her voice got lost in a whisper. “It would be better if you came back tomorrow…” she trailed off, obviously uncomfortable. She was Lucio’s nurse and she was supposed to offer advice and instruction for how to care for Lucio, but that was a bit difficult when the men she worked for did not like being told what to do, when they responded to defiance in blood.

“I will see him now.” The Beast rose from an antique cherry-wood couch and brushed past her. The entire penthouse was opulent, decorated in rich woods, golds, and reds. It was everything one would expect of the head of the biggest crime family in the world.

You wouldn’t, however, expect IV fluids against the rich draperies, or beeping machinery on top of the Aubusson rugs. Nor would you expect the thick satin duvet to be pulled up to the chin of a once fearsome man to prevent

chill, even though the thermostat was set to boiling.

Months ago, when the Beast first entered Lucio’s bedroom and was surrounded by sickly instruments, medication, and the smells of death, he’d made a promise to himself: die before death came. Go out as people saw him, go out before this, before his infamous dark locks turned gray, before his deep bluegreen eyes drowned in their own depths.

Lucio’s guard stood watch next to his bed and Beast told the man he would see him alone. The guard’s eyes widened, unsure what to say. He was not to leave Lucio alone, but the Beast’s reputation superseded him.

“Why would I bother when death has already done the job for me?” Beast asked. Brows furrowed and looking uncomfortable, the guard shuffled like he wanted to leave, but stayed. Growing impatient, Beast countered the look in the guard’s eyes with one of his own. He reminded the guard with a cool look that Lucio was dying but still alive—the guard could be dead that night. Easily.

The guard quickly left the room.

As the Beast sat down, taking Lucio’s frail hand, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lucio wished the same thing. The man Lucio had been was not unlike the Beast. He was cold, calculating, and the reason the Pavonis were known worldwide.

“Alessio?” Lucio turned, calling Beast by the name of his deceased son. Though he spoke clearly, his eyes were fogged and distant. “Alessio, this war has waged for too long.” Most days Lucio’s mind was stuck years in the past, during the war that had essentially ended the entire family, a war Lucio himself had started.

“I’ve taken a woman,” Beast responded, talking as if Lucio was present and coherent. “I’m not sure why.” Since Lucio became sick, Beast found himself talking to the man more candidly, using him as an ear he never could have been in health. Lucio’s light blue eyes searched the Beast’s face, seeing something that wasn’t there. Some said Lucio’s sickness started early, years ago even, when he first found the Beast and put him in the Family. If the Beast had feelings, they might have been hurt at that insinuation.

Eventually Lucio nodded. “It’s about time. Stop fooling around with the De Luca woman. You know your brother Emilio has feelings for her. Is no good, Alessio, will only bring trouble.” Beast patted the man’s hand. Lucio always saw him as his deceased son Alessio. Beast was aware that with the onset of dementia, Lucio mixed people up, but Lucio was always transfixed on Alessio.

It was probably the most infamous story in the Pavoni world. Twin brothers Alessio and Emilio Pavoni fell in love with the infamously promiscuous and notable temptress, Sofia De Luca, wife of Dario De Luca. The brothers eventually killed each other over it. As recompense, Sofia De Luca was killed and her newborn child was named Emilio Alessio in remembrance.

“He’s getting worse.” Beast dropped Lucio’s hand and turned to see none other than Emilio Alessio De Luca leaning against the door.

“I can see that,” Beast said, standing up. “Most days he doesn’t even recognize his own reflection.”

Emilio pushed himself off the frame by the rubber sole of his shoe. “Rhys is waiting for you down at the docks.” Light stubble dusted over a golden skinned-jaw that was sharp like his icy blue eyes. His thick, dark locks were curling even at the short length he kept it. The only thing Emilio shared with his brown-eyed, blonde-haired sister and father was a name, which was why most opted to call him a bastard.

Just not to his face.

“What have you heard about Sicily?” Beast asked. Though the Pavoni family originated in Sicily, just about everyone had immigrated years ago. Everyone important lived in America—everyone important, that is, except Lucia Pavoni, Lucio’s older sister. Technically, Lucia was Donna, the matriarch. Really, she’d been removed from the business for years, left behind during the great immigration, all but forgotten. Still, Beast knew with Lucio’s waning health and no heirs, the Family was growing restless. Those who previously dismissed her were starting to view her as their last hope, the only thing that could save them from him—an outsider.