Page 23 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

"Got anything on the original police file for Isabella's mother?" I press. Franco's head shake doesn't sit right with me. "Finding the truth isn't just about clearing the air. It's about ensuring he doesn't walk this earth anymore."

I notice Franco scribbling away. "You jotting down 'kick him off the planet'?" I ask, half-amused despite the gravity of our situation.

He looks up, "That, and a reminder about rewarding our guys for their loyalty and hard work."

"Always," I confirm, understanding the underlying message. "I haven't forgotten. They're the backbone of everything we do." It's not just about revenge. It's about building something stronger from the ashes. Something that can withstand whatever her father throws at us next.

"Yet, there've been grumbles."

"I know, but this goes deeper now." My voice stays steady but edged with authority. "This vendetta of mine has to be more than just a personal crusade. We can't have our guys so tunnel-visioned on revenge they slip up." I've seen what happens when men let emotion cloud their judgment. I've been guilty of it myself. "Speaking of slip-ups, you brought up how some of them feel about Isabella."

"More like outright hatred," Franco corrects, a bit too casually for my liking.

My jaw tightens, and anger seeps through my tone. "I want eyes and ears open. Any whisper, any hint someone's gone rogue to frighten her, or worse, I expect you on the phone to me. No delays."

The Beast in me roars at the thought of anyone else harming what's mine to break. Isabella is my revenge, my pawn, my...

Fuck.

"Understood, Boss," Franco says, recognizing the dangerous edge in my voice.

I wave him off, plunging back into the grind until the clock hits way past midnight. The only interruption comes from Signora Martha, dropping by to say Elena's already in dreamland, thanks to Isabella's bedtime story, and Cerberus is standing guard.

It eats at me, wondering if I'm making a misstep letting my daughter grow so fond of Isabella. Letting Elena become attached to a woman who may be just as treacherous as her father. A woman who helped destroy the life I had before.

But Elena laughs with her. Dances with her. Looks at Isabella like she hung the fucking moon. I've never seen my daughter light up like that for anyone else. Not even me.

That's partly why Isabella's under closer watch now. Speaking of which, as I head back to my quarters and secure the door, curiosity piques. Is she asleep too? Hearing about that shard hidden under her mattress had me picturing all kinds of scenarios. Was she planning to slice my throat and watch my blood drip, drip, drip into these ancient stone floors?

Leaving that shard on her nightstand when we moved her was both a challenge and a warning. I know what you're hiding. Nothing escapes me.

Is she tossing and turning, cursing my name? Or is she awake, thinking of all the ways to get under my skin?

Thinking about her brings me back to our wedding night. The way she looked at me with trust and abandon as I entered her. I rub the back of my neck, reminding myself she's the enemy. Her father had my mother killed. Had my face carved with fire and blade. Isabella is part of that equation, no matter how my body betrays me around her.

And yet... when my fingers dug into her skin as I plunged into her, she moaned my name, and that sound has haunted me ever since. Seeing my cock slide in and out of her, knowing that I made it possible for her to not only take me like she was made for me, but also to fully lose herself to the moment? It made me feel like the king of the fucking underworld.

Lucifer has nothing on me. I'll rule Hell with those images and those memories.

I'm not her hero. I'll never be.

And yet, what I really need now is an ice-cold shower, because knowing she's right there, separated by just one door, has me harder than stone. It stirs a fire inside me that I can't extinguish no matter how many times I remind myself of what she did.

Paola cajoled me the other day. Her hand ventured south, but there was no fire. While my cock did stiffen, I wasn't in the mood for her. Or for anyone else but my damn wife, for that matter.

Does Isabella have any idea what it does to me, knowing she's just beyond that door? It's like being caught in a storm of pure craving, setting my blood on fire. Anger and desire, they're tangled up, a twisted knot inside me. Longing battles with rage, while fury's laced with a resentful need.

Even after my shower, brushing my teeth and slipping on my sweatpants, I still think about barging in and maybe showing her some of the data we've gathered on what happened to my mother.

It's not about spending more time surrounded by her honeysuckle scent. It's about getting to the truth.

I don't doubt her father was responsible for my mother's death. But he didn't murder her with his own hands, and if Isabella didn't intend to betray her, if she didn't rush to her father with the information or the letter, someone else did.

There are still holes in this story that don't add up. Pieces that don't fit, no matter how I try to force them together.

"Tonio!"

Isabella's voice cuts through the silence, not with fear, but with a moan that drips with pleasure. Is she dreaming, calling out to me, or is this some siren's song designed to lure me to my destruction? A battle rages within me, curiosity clashing with caution. Yet, my decision is swift, almost beyond my conscious control. I move toward the connecting door, every part of me on edge, primed for whatever lies beyond.

---