Page 51 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

"Together," he growls, the single word both command and vow.

I nod as all eyes turn to us, scanning the room with practiced nonchalance while my heart performs gymnastics behind my ribs. Can they see through this façade? Can they sense the storm raging beneath my carefully arranged smile?

Naomi stands with Connor, her eyes lighting up when she spots me. Questions pile up in my throat—is she safe? Happy? Surviving?

But Antonio's fingers dig into my hip in subtle warning. "They're here," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

My gaze shifts to where the Greek brothers stand together in the corner of the room, and my mouth goes desert-dry. Pictures didn't do them justice—in person, they're like something carved from sin and temptation.

All three turn toward us in perfect unison, their eyes raking over me with such blatant hunger that I instinctively press closer to Antonio, seeking protection from the predators circling.

Alexandros, the eldest, exudes power with silver-threaded dark hair and eyes like arctic ice—calculating, piercing, stripping me bare with clinical precision. Each movement he makes speaks of controlled violence held in careful check.

Nikos, the middle brother, wears a smirk that says he knows exactly what I look like naked and has already planned twelve ways to make me scream. His emerald eyes dissect our performance like he's looking for flaws to exploit. His suit clings to muscles that promise both pleasure and pain in equal measure.

And Stefanos, the youngest—with his deliberately tousled golden hair and Mediterranean-blue eyes—watches me with the focused attention of a man who collects beautiful things and breaks them for sport. His smile is boyish charm wrapped around a wolf's hunger.

"Welcome to our home," Antonio announces, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade. His arm wraps more fullyaround me, fingers digging into my hip with possessive force. The message is clear to everyone watching:Mine. Touch her and die.

"We thought about meeting elsewhere—especially after what happened during our wedding." His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes my thighs clench involuntarily. "But my lovely wife reminded me we're stronger here—in our fortress."

Without warning, his mouth finds that sensitive spot beneath my ear, teeth grazing skin before his tongue soothes the sting. A gasp escapes me—not acting, not pretense, but pure, startled pleasure. My body arches into him before I can stop myself, heat flooding my cheeks.

"Sometimes, he actually listens," I manage to say, fighting to keep my voice steady when all I want to do is either slap him or beg him to do it again. "Perhaps marriage does change people after all."

His answering smile—genuine, almost boyish—catches me completely off guard. For one heartbeat, I glimpse the man he might have been without scars, without betrayal, without the Beast's chains. That smile hits harder than any physical blow could.

Everyone chuckles, and I exhale slowly, letting my perfectly manicured nails dig into Antonio's arm, a silent warning to behave.

We can do this. We can fool them all. We can—

Alexandros clears his throat, the sound carrying through the room like a thunderclap. My shoulders tense, preparing for whatever test comes next.

His ice-blue eyes never leave mine as he raises his glass in salute. "To the newlyweds," he says, his Greek accent making the words sound like both blessing and threat. "May your union be... productive."

The way his gaze lingers makes my skin crawl and burn simultaneously. What does he know? What is he implying?

Antonio's arm tightens around me, and I lean into him, seeking strength for whatever comes next.

Because something in Alexandros's eyes tells me this dinner is just the opening move in a much more dangerous game.

Chapter twenty-eight

Antonio

ThemomenttheGreekbrothers walk in, I catch them eye-fucking my wife. It's not subtle—the way their gazes drag over her curves before settling on her face like they've been goddamn hypnotized. They think they're being discreet, hiding it behind diplomatic smiles. Amateur hour. I invented that look before flames carved a permanent reminder into my face.

My fists clench at my sides, knuckles white, the battle scars from last night's session with the punching bag still raw. Every predatory instinct I've honed over the years roars to life, blood singing with the need to claim what's mine. To throw her over my shoulder, carry her upstairs, and remind her exactly what my cock feels like buried deep inside her until she's screaming my name like she did on our wedding night.

But she's not mine. Not really. Sure, she wears my ring, bears my name, sleeps one fucking door away. But I shattered whatever was growing between us the morning after I made hermine. I made damn sure of that, didn't I? Ripped out whatever softness was left in both of us, leaving nothing but honeysuckle-scented ashes.

It's this fucking weakness spreading through me like cancer. Every time I breathe her in, every time she smiles at Elena, every time she defies me with those eyes that see too much, I feel myself cracking open. The Beast, tamed by a ballerina who can barely walk a straight line some days. It's like standing on the cliff edge outside my fortress with the ground crumbling beneath my feet, the Mediterranean waiting to swallow me whole.

I drag in air that tastes like expensive champagne and her perfume, trying to focus on the strategic importance of this dinner instead of how the silk of her dress clings to thighs I've tasted, hips I've gripped, curves I've mapped like territory I was claiming.

Alexandros leans forward, elbows on my imported mahogany table, voice dipped in authority I recognize because I've cultivated the same fucking tone.

"We've heard rumors," he says, and I can already tell he's a man clawing his way to the top while keeping his family in line. Not an easy balance. Respect for that, at least.

---