Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw
Chapter 18
Giovanni
I collapsewith a loud exhale in the middle of my studio. Sweat pours down my face, and I lay my casted arm over my forehead as though I can absorb the wetness somehow. Since I can’t—or won’t, rather—go to Gallo’s to work out, I have to do it in my apartment. No way am I going to let the other soldiers see how weak I am. How out of breath I get with the simplest thing like fucking crunches.
My chest hurts like a son of a bitch, but I push it away. I lay there for a few more minutes to catch my breath, and then I start in on the next set. Once I’ve finished with them, I rise to my feet and start throwing punches at an invisible target. I imagine the faces of our enemies and my fists slamming into them, spilling blood.
Left jab.
Right jab.
Left uppercut.
Right hook.
Repeat.
On and on, I punch and jab, bouncing around on my feet, praying my leg doesn’t give out on me. Several times it threatens to, the pain shooting up into my thigh and groin. My knee nearly buckles, and I curse, bringing myself to a grinding halt. I hunch over, hands on my knees, as I draw in gasping breaths.
There’s a towel on the couch. I reach over and grab it and start swiping the sweat dripping off me. Unfolding my frame, I stand upright, pulling in deeper breaths, ignoring the pinch in my side. My soaking wet shirt sticks to me, and I pluck it from my skin.
Someone knocks on the door. I wrap the towel around the back of my neck and answer it. Fuck. Why didn’t I look through the peephole?
“How do you know where I live?”
The woman standing in the hallway looks like she’s been on a three-day bender. She probably has. “Well, hello to you, too,” Beatrice says, slipping past me without an invitation. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“I won’t ask you again.”
She waves her hand at me in a flippant gesture. “Don’t try to threaten me. We both know you don’t mean it.”
“Are you really willing to test me?” I warn her, hating that she’s probably right.
Like Jacob did, Beatrice takes the place in, assessing it. It may not be much to look at, but it’s certainly better than her apartment. Cleaner, for sure. No beer or liquor bottles in sight.
“It’s awfully small in here,” she notes, her nose wrinkled in disapproval, before she takes a seat on the couch and pulls a cigarette out of her purse.
“If you don’t like it, leave. I didn’t invite you. And don’t fucking smoke in here.”
She glances over at me and pouts but puts it back. “Don’t be like that. I was just making conversation.”
“Why are you here, Beatrice?”
“Aren’t you going to offer your mother a drink?” she whines.
That’s it. I’ve had enough. I reach out to drag her off the couch and throw her back out into the hallway.
“Jesus, you’re so sensitive,” she rips her arm from my grasp with a dramatic huff. “Fine, I stopped by to chat if you must know.”
I stand over her, glaring down. “Chat about what? And make it quick.”
“How’d your date with your little lady friend go?” my mother asks.
My head jerks back at the question. “How do you know about that?”
Beatrice sighs as though she’s putting on a performance, and I’m not playing my part. “I told you I know more about your life than you think I do.”
“Who is it?” I snap.
“Who’s who?” she asks with fake innocence.
“The man you’re fucking for information?” Because other than Jacob, no one knew I was heading to Francesca’s anyway. How the hell does Beatrice know about it, then?
She gasps with a hand to her chest. “You always jump to unfair conclusions about me. I’m not fucking anyone. At least not for information.” She winks.
“What else do you know?” I bark.
“Hmmm, let’s see.” She taps her forefinger to her chin and stares up at the ceiling before returning her gaze to me. “I know that a certain police officer visited Emilio about a couple of very bad boys who got in trouble. Then there’s some fancy charity event being held this coming Saturday that your girlfriend’s mother is heading.”
Christ. Someone is spilling the syndicate’s secrets. I glare at my mother. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Beatrice. One that is going to get you killed.”
She smiles that crooked smile of hers that, at one time, probably made her pretty. But time and hard living have taken their toll. I almost feel sorry for her. “What’s life without risk? Pretty boring if you ask me.”
“I won’t save you,” I caution her. I can’t.
“Now who’s the one being dramatic?” She rolls her eyes, not taking me seriously. I truly hope it doesn’t come down to me having to follow through with my threat.
“Is that all you came here for?” I ask. “To show off this knowledge you’ve managed to gain?”
The less time I spend in her presence, the better. For both of us.
Beatrice leans forward and props her elbows on her knees. “Have you given any more thought to what we talked about last time?”
“If you’re still under the delusion that I’m going to usurp Jacob’s position, then you might as well leave, because there’s nothing to discuss. I already told you I have no interest in ruling the syndicate. When are you going to believe me?”
“But what about her?” she asks.
“Francesca doesn’t care what position I hold, either.”
“But—“
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “Just stop. It’s never going to happen. Ever. Now, I think it’s time for you to go.”
I move to the door and open it keeping my gaze averted. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long for Beatrice to rise. She crosses the small space and pauses right in front of me, but I still can’t look at her. The scent of booze drifts off her breath.
“You ran away when you were fifteen because you wanted to make something of yourself. I held you back, with the drugs and alcohol. I know that.” She sighs with resignation. “And I accept the fact that you no doubt hate me. But this is your chance to be somebody, Giovanni. The somebody you always wanted to be. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”
Beatrice gently pats my chest before heading down the hallway and into the elevator. I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding and close the door. It takes a few more seconds before I can move again, her words ringing loudly in my ear.
I pick up my phone and hit the speed dial.
“Ricci,” Jacob answers.
“Beatrice just left my place.”
“Why was she there?”
“You mean besides to irritate me? Let’s see,” I sigh. “She’s still on this mission of hers wanting me to take your place. Tried to persuade me by appealing to my need for validation, apparently. More importantly, she talked to me about things she should have no idea about.”
Even without being in his presence, I can almost feel Jacob come fully alert, sitting upright in that black, throne-like office chair of his.
“Explain,” he barks.
“She knew about the date Francesca and I had the other night. When I left Empire after the meeting with your officer friend,” I tell him. “A meeting she also knew about. As well as the trouble you had with our two associates.”
“What?” Jacob bellows.
“She also shared with me about some charity event happening this weekend run by Francesca’s mother.”
“Goddamn it. How is she getting this intel?”
“I have no idea. But when I confronted her about who she was screwing to get it, she denied there was anyone.”
Jacob blows out a gruff breath. “Do you believe her?”
I think for a moment. She seemed too amused by my assumption. “Yeah, I think she’s actually telling the truth.”
He curses again.
“I think that unless she’s threatened with bodily harm, and maybe not even then, she’s not going to divulge her source. She’s having too much fucking with us.” I hate to admit that despite my threat to not save her, I’m not sure if I could allow harm to come to her. That’s how much her parting words messed with my head.
“And what if it comes to that?” he asks, as though he can read my thoughts. “Where does your loyalty lie?”
Beatrice cares only about herself. She’s shown me that my entire life. But she’s still my mother. Maybe at first, she tried to be better. Maybe this is her way of making up for everything. By wanting me to get the things she thinks I want. The crest inked into my chest almost heats like it’s sending me a reminder of what I swore allegiance to. Who I swore allegiance to. For a brief instance, I almost want to scrape the symbol off my skin. Obliterate it as though it never existed so I don’t have to choose. Because when it comes down to it, the choice is obvious.
“My loyalty lies with the syndicate,” I finally say. “I understand you’ll do whatever you have to, to ensure that our secrets remain secret and that no one, no matter who they are, betrays them.”
Jacob is silent for a moment. “If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t take pleasure in whatever I need to do if it comes down to it.”
It doesn’t, but then again, everything about this situation is fucked up. There are consequences to actions. It’s something my mother may learn the hard way before long.
