Now that I was close enough to the princess, I saw red stained the edge of the gold foil wrapping paper. Dread filled my gut. The princess had tears in her eyes, was mouthing something to a soldier as two more approached her.
“You don’t like pretty dresses?” Someone breathed into my ear, pulling me against him. “I can get you pretty dresses.” His breath was stale, like his lunch was digesting and he hadn’t bothered to brush his teeth.
“You must be new here,” I said, peeling myself from him. No one touched me. Lucia had a rule about it, I assumed. The men watched me—they all watched me—and sometimes that felt awful, but then I remembered the basement, and I shut my thoughts the fuck up.
“I thought the rule was you girls didn’t fight.” Be more obvious you are the scum of the earth, I thought as he tugged me against him. You’d think the asshole would get thrown out, but not in this club. In this club, his perversions would merely be redirected to the right caste of women.
I looked beyond him as he pawed me, into a mass of sequins, satin, and tuxedos, where the princess held the box. She was being shepherded to the basement and if she went down there, she would be lost forever. I couldn’t lose this opportunity. I shoved the man, knocking him off kilter, and ran through the club. Everyone was always too stuck in their debauchery to notice anything other than a good temptation, but I definitely caught the eyes of the soldiers as I reached the princess.
“You can’t be here,” a soldier said, but I ignored him.
“Please,” the princess begged, gripping the box until flesh turned white. “I didn’t do this. Someone delivered it. It’s not my fault.” For a second I was trapped in her despair, forgetting the reason I’d rushed to her. I believed what she said, but it wasn’t going to change her fate. Then a soldier grabbed my collar and dragged me backward. I quickly looked into the box while I had the chance. The gasp that escaped my throat was involuntary.
Blood, so much blood. I’d only ever seen something similar at the butcher. Now I understood what the stain on the corner was. I put a hand to my mouth.
It was someone’s heart and eyes.
I should have been disgusted, but I chewed on my bottom lip, mesmerized like Pandora.
I was so entranced that I almost missed the card—gold like the present, with lace on the edges. It was beautiful, feminine, and that somehow made it much more sinister when contrasted with the box’s contents. As one soldier dragged me back into the club, two others closed the gap I’d made, and I just barely read it.
I’ll catch you, mio cuore. Be my queen.
A few hours later, I sat in the courtyard. Even though it was cold as fuck, I wasn’t alone. On the opposite side, a man pawed a princess. A whore—no, that wasn’t right. A whore got paid. A whore could leave at the end of the night. She was no more than furniture, to be forgotten and ignored unless someone wanted to use her. As if she knew I was thinking about her, her eyes traveled across the maze of hedges, catching mine. Like a coward, I looked back at my closed book.
I skimmed the soft, linen pages and thought of the one I’d left outside Anteros’s club. Not only had he read it, he’d responded. Maybe I should have been disgusted by his response, but I was enthralled. The contents reminded me of that brilliant moment when my knife had slid into Big O. But of course he knew that. I pressed a finger to my lips, eyes wandering over the razor flat tops of the hedges, the memory of Anteros still scorching.
Once I’d started searching, I hadn’t had to look for him long. It started with a picture, a square Polaroid that ruined everything. One day in the kitchen, I overheard a few soldiers having a conversation. Until then I’d been able to pretend. I pretended the deep chasm in me didn’t exist. When I went to bed, I pretended I didn’t dream of him every night. That picture shattered everything by reminding me how shattered I was.
“He’s the Beast again,” one had whispered, holding the photo between his hands so tight he practically wrinkled it. Not just the mafia nickname, but what had instilled fear in so many men. When they’d left, I’d picked up the photo. It had showed Anteros as I’d found him the night I’d killed Big O, having shed his bespoke suits for skin and muscle and blood. It awoke something in me.
I’d listened to the soldiers, the De Lucas who hung around all the time—anyone, but it wasn’t until I went back to the hotel where I’d lost myself to him on New Year’s that I’d pieced it together. I hadn’t expected to find anything, but the minute I’d walked inside, the concierge called me over. He was nervous, looking left and right before reaching his hand beneath the desk to place something in my hand: a chess piece. It was the black king, the onyx triangle I’d used when I’d beaten Anteros at chess. Underneath it numbers were etched, longitude and latitude—a map from Anteros himself.
I thought if I just saw him, I could take back control. I could just see him and let go, but truthfully I was following the tug, and it only got stronger the closer I got.
I ran my touch along the worn edges of my paperback, feeling the fuzzy, frazzled white edges. Everything around me blurred like paint running down canvas, leaving me with nothing but the memory of my night with him. I couldn’t see the green hedges, or the snow, or the stone walkway, or the way the girl stared into my soul as a man pawed away bits of hers. I pressed my thighs tight together, holding my breath. The breeze settled.
Big O’s blood—red and spilling onto the concrete—popped into my mind. I opened my mouth on a long exhale, closed my eyes, and slid two fingers between the pages. The book was hot on my lap, thighs sticky with sweat.
Say you fucking need this.
I wondered whom the heart and eyes belonged to, but I didn’t think it was particularly important—at least not for me. The who belonged to Lucia; the statement was for me. He’d wrapped up his Beastly nature and given it to me, offered to share it with me.
I need this.
“Mistress Pavoni.” I jumped at Nikolai’s voice, book falling to the snow and making a shadow in the powder.
“What did I say about calling me that?” I snapped before quickly grabbing the book off the ground.
“All right, princess.” There was a dark, mocking tone to his voice. It was hot, poking, and it hurt. I folded my arms, shoving the book under one. That wasn’t what I meant and he knew it. People might call me princess, but that didn’t make me one. I was surrounded by people who lived and breathed this darkness, who’d grown up in it. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.
Lie with your mouth all you want, the truth is between your legs.
The memory came crashing back and it made me hot and confused. I got tongue-tied. I opened my mouth, but only squeaks came out.
Nikolai smirked. “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe some other animal?”
“What do you want?” I hissed. Nikolai was a fucking snake. He was working both sides, and though he swore he was only a double agent for Lucia’s team, I didn’t believe a word of it. The only side Nikolai was on was his own.