Beautiful Monster : A Dark Stalker Mafia Romance (Dark Lies Duet Book 2)

  Copyright © 2022 by Bleeding Heart Press

  Cover Design: C. Hallman

  Cover Image: Wander Aguiar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  CONTENTS

  Blurb

  Prologue

  1. Siân

  2. Christian

  3. Siân

  4. Christian

  5. Siân

  6. Christian

  7. Siân

  8. Christian

  9. Siân

  10. Christian

  11. Siân

  12. Christian

  13. Siân

  14. Christian

  15. Siân

  16. Christian

  17. Siân

  18. Christian

  19. Siân

  20. Christian

  21. Siân

  22. Christian

  23. Siân

  24. Christian

  25. Siân

  26. Christian

  27. Siân

  28. Christian

  Epilogue - Siân

  About J.L. Beck

  About S. Rena

  BLURB

  I thought I knew the truth.

  I thought he was my savior.

  I’d spent my entire life running from him, only to become trapped in his web.

  He says I’ll become his wife, that I’ll provide him an heir.

  I'll do both of those things under one condition.

  His father must die.

  PROLOGUE

  CHRISTIAN

  Eavesdropping is never an acceptable act. At least, that’s what my father has always told me. But what am I supposed to do when he doesn’t tell me anything?

  All the secrets. The whispers and conversations that end the moment I enter a room.

  If I want to know something around here, this is the only way to make that happen. I lurk in the distance, listening in on every discussion. He says I’m not ready, that I’ll need to prove that I can handle what it means to be a Russo before he lets me in on things. Yet I’m months past my fourteenth birthday, and he still treats me like a kid.

  I’m not a fucking kid, and one day, I will make sure he knows it.

  “E sei sicuro che questa sia la strada che vuoi intraprendere?” And you’re sure this is the route you want to take? my father says while tugging his pants legs up and then sitting behind his desk.

  I stand in the hall on the other side of the door, watching him through the slit between the wall and the hinges. It’s late, and most of the staff have retreated to their quarters. The lights are out except for what shines in from the moon and many lamp posts around the property.

  From this angle, I can't see who is in my father’s office, but by the soft timbre of her voice, I know it’s a woman.

  “Marco ha chiesto questo.” Marco asked for this. she says, and when she inches a little to the right, I can finally see who it is.

  My father stares at her for a moment, contemplating her offer. I observe his features and can sense that he’s interested. I should be surprised, but Samuele Russo is a greedy man, and we’ve been at war with the Guilianis for as long as I can remember.

  I didn’t catch the entirety of the conversation, just the end, and apparently, we’re joining forces. What does that mean for our families? Why isn’t Marco here to make this deal?

  “Va bene. Ma chiariamo una cosa.” All right. But let’s get one thing clear. Samuele leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk and boring his sight into the woman.

  She’s nervous if the stiff roll of her shoulders is any indication. Something is off about this, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Why now, after all these years, is my father entertaining this?

  “Non si torna indietro. Ottengo ogni centimetro di territorio. E prova ad attraversarmi, e farò in modo che ognuno di voi desideri non essere mai nato.” There’s no turning back. I get every inch of territory. And try to cross me, and I’ll make every last one of you wish you’d never been born.

  “Finché manterrai la tua parte dell'accordo, non avremo nulla di cui preoccuparci.” As long as you keep your end of the deal, we won’t have anything to worry about.

  “E la ragazza?” And the girl?

  “Dipenderà da te.” That’ll be up to you. The woman grabs her person from the corner of the desk and slowly turns toward the door.

  My father is up on his feet and rounding his desk a second later. “Piacere di fare affari con lei, signora Giuliani. Devo dire che questa offerta non poteva arrivare in un momento migliore.” Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Guiliani. I must say, this offer couldn’t have come at a better time.

  She shrugs. “Meglio tardi che mai. Sono sicuro che il mio amato marito avrà molto da dire.” Better late than never. I’m sure my beloved husband will have a lot to say.

  Samuele laughs, his thick bravado echoing through the hall. The two inch toward the exit, and I scurry away so as not to be seen. Curiosity stirs inside me, and I find myself needing to make sense of what’s going on.

  Our families have hated each other for ages, yet Marco sent his wife here in the middle of the night. For what—a truce?

  As they leave the office and head toward the front of the house, I hide around the corner, peeking around the wall until she’s gone. My father stands with his back against the floor-to-ceiling door and digs his phone from his pocket. After undoubtedly punching in the number to Carlo, his underboss, he brings the receiver to his ear.

  “Carlo, riunite tutti. Dobbiamo parlare. Dopotutto, sembra che stiamo ottenendo lo scambio di Guiliani.” Carlo, gather everyone. We need to talk. It looks like we’re getting the Guiliani trade after all.

  Something about the deal intrigued me. It’s been days since that woman left our estate, and I haven’t been able to get the whole ordeal out of my mind. I also knew that asking my father to fill me in would be pointless. Besides, that would let him know I was snooping.

  Instead, I decided to figure out for myself what it’s all about. My father thinks I’m too young to understand, too naïve, but the truth is, I see and know more than he thinks. After years of watching in the distance, I can recite every plan of attack or pinpoint the flaws in the plans he’s too proud to admit he has.

  For the last week, I’ve snuck out at night, stealing one of my father’s many cars and parked it at the top of the hill just yards away from the Guiliani residence. Like I have every night, I kill the lights and roll the car into park, careful not to slam the door as I exit.

  The trek down the short path between a row of trees is uneven. So I take my time to ensure I don’t slip down the small mountain and plummet to my death at the bottom. It’s close enough to the property that I can hear anything that goes on inside, but it does sit at the perfect angle for me to see inside. And with a pair of binoculars and thanks to the wall of windows, I get more than a glimpse of the things that happen in the Guiliani’s household.

  You would think that as a man of his status, with enemies near and far, he’d want more privacy, as opposed to giving the world a full view of his life. Windows cover every inch of the back half of the house, the half that faces the woods. Maybe that’s why he did it, thinking that no one would possibly dare to spy on them or that the trees and mountains would shield him and his secrets.

  But that’s the thing about secr
ets. Nothing can ever really keep them under wraps. No matter what you do or how many people you kill, nothing stays hidden forever. And at only fourteen years old, I learned that early on.

  Pulling my binoculars from my backpack, I squat low to the ground and settle into my spot. Coming here has become one of my favorite things to do. Not because of what happens in that house but because I know everything there is to know about this family while they are none the wiser to my presence.

  It’s addicting.

  Adjusting my vision, I search through the house. The interesting thing about people is that they are creatures of habit. They’ll do the same thing over and over, despite the consequences. It’s a comfort, I guess, or selfishness, maybe. In one room, there’s the woman who visited my father. She’s sitting on her bed, her legs spread wide with her hand between her thighs. My body reacts, my dick twitching at the sight of her touching herself.

  I let my gaze linger for a moment before breaking my concentration and searching the rest of the house. It appears quiet. There are no other lights on, at least not until I reach the end. My movement is quick, and I miss it at first, but double back.

  There they are. Marco and a woman who is not his wife are locked away in another room. And just on the opposite side of that is a little girl.

  She sits on the floor, playing with her dolls without a care in the world, oblivious to the things happening around her. Just next door, her father is betraying her mother and is balls deep in the cunt of one of his workers.

  This isn’t the first time, and if I had to guess, he enjoys being with her more than he does the woman he’s married to. In the short time I’ve watched them, he’s touched his wife maybe once, while just about every other night, sometimes two and three times, he’s with this woman. She’s his favorite.

  And while this happens—while the adults betray each other—this little girl is in her own world. So innocent. So pure. Observing her is probably the best part of all. And not in any creepy way. She’s a child. But maybe that’s what I like about her.

  She reminds me that I’ve never had this. A loving home where I could be a kid and play with toys until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It’s as if I get to live vicariously through her. I get to be a kid again until it’s time for me to pack up and return to my world. And at the end of each night, I’m reminded of just how different our lives are.

  Our fathers may both be ruthless, cutthroat criminals who lie, kill, and cheat, but none of that touches her. Like now, she’s a ball of joy and doesn’t even know that things are haywire around her.

  She’s everything I’ve never been. She’s happy and loved, which is why this whole thing doesn’t make any sense to me. Why would Marco agree to give up everything he worked for to my father? It’s supposed to be a truce, but I know Samuele better than anyone, and that’ll never happen. Once my father gets what he wants, he’ll surely put a bullet between Marco’s eyes, and the world this precious little girl knows will be over.

  A car pulls up, the sound of tires over the pavement breaking my thoughts. A man gets out, slamming the door and racing toward the house. A second later, I see him through the window moving through the bottom level of the home. Even though I can’t hear what’s happening, his hasty movements tell me that something is about to go down.

  When I refocus on the upstairs areas, I notice that Marco and his mistress have finished their rendezvous, but I couldn’t pinpoint when since I’ve been so focused on the girl. Now, he’s rushing through the halls, meeting the man at the top of the stairs. He wears a frown on his face as he listens to the man.

  Whatever it is, it pisses him off because his face is now a bright shade of red, and his fists are clenched at his side. Needing to make sense of it all, I adjust the focus again, but it only does so much. The ability to read lips would come in handy right about now.

  The only thing I do know for sure is that he’s yelling. Shouting is more like it. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the girl standing with her Barbie in hand. The mistress is at her side, covering up both of the child’s ears with her palms. And once again, I’m reminded of how different we are. Even from her father’s rants, the girl is shielded—protected.

  Marco throws something, shattering it against the wall outside the child's room. She and the mistress jump, then the woman kneels in front of her, saying something to her. By the encouraging head nods and the gentle rubs on the girl's arms, something tells me she’s trying to relax. And when the little girl joins in, I know that I’m right. They’re singing or at the least saying the same thing again and again until Marco and the man leave the second floor, and things seem to calm down. The mistress kisses the girl's forehead and mouths what looks like the words: andrà tutto bene. It’s going to be okay.

  By the time I make it home and sneak my father’s car back into the garage, the driveway is full of cars. Every member of the organization is here, causing a frown to form on my face. The only time everyone is in the same place at the same time is when shit is about to get crazy.

  No one hears me come in or sees me watching from the entrance of the great room. My father is in the center, his nostrils flared and gun in hand. Carlo and the others crowd around him, some staring at the floor, others at him, while the rest carry blank expressions.

  “Come cazzo ha fatto a scoprirlo?” How the fuck did he find out?

  Carlo shrugs. “Forse la puttana ha parlato.” Maybe the bitch talked.

  Samuele shakes his head, pointing his gun in Carlo’s direction. It never fails to surprise me how unfazed they are about having guns drawn and pointed in their faces.

  “Nessuno mi sfida. Li voglio morti. Ognuno di loro, e il territorio di Marco sarà mio in un modo o nell'altro.” No one defies me. I want them dead. Every last one of them, and Marco’s territory will be mine one way or another.

  Carlos nods. “E il bambino?” What about the kid?

  My sense perks up at the mention of the little girl. The hairs on my neck rise as I dread my father’s response.

  “Sembra che me ne frega un cazzo? Uccidila. Meglio ancora, prendila. Probabilmente prenderò un bel soldo per la figlia di Marco Guiliani.” Does it look like I give a shit? Kill her. Better yet, take her. I’ll probably get a good penny for the daughter of Marco Guiliani. He laughs and the others join him.

  “No,” I yell without thinking.

  The crowd parts, making way for my father to finally spot me standing in the entryway.

  “Vattene da qui, ragazzo.” Get the fuck out of here, boy.

  “No. Lascia che lo faccia io.” No. Let me do it.

  My father scratches his brow. “E cosa potrebbe essere?” And what might that be?

  I step forward, shoulders back and head held high. “Parli sempre della necessità di mettermi alla prova. Questa è la mia occasione.” You’re always talking about needing to prove myself. This is my chance.

  He stares at me for a moment. They all do.

  “Vuoi il territorio di Marco. Bene. Allora mi assicurerò che tu lo prenda, ma anch'io voglio qualcosa.” You want Marco’s territory. Fine. Then I’ll make sure you get it, but I want something too.

  “Vai avanti.” Go on.

  “Lo faccio per te. Ucciderò Marco e non potrai più trattarmi come un bambino. Mi lasci lavorare, rivendica un posto negli affari.” I do this for you. I’ll kill Marco, and you can’t treat me like a kid anymore. You let me work, claim a place in the business.

  “Non sei pronto.” You’re not ready.

  “Lo sono e lo dimostrerò. Non più nascondermi le cose, ma voglio qualcos'altro.” I am, and I’ll prove it. No more keeping things from me, but I want something else.

  “Sì?” Yeah?

  “La ragazza. Lei è mia. Non le faremo del male.” The girl. She’s mine. We won't hurt her.

  “Perché non dovremmo? Cosa diavolo dovrei fare con una bambina di dieci anni?” Why wouldn’t we? What in the hell am I supposed to do with a ten-year-old girl?

  “La tata.
Può crescerla e, quando sarà abbastanza grande, la rivendicherò.” The nanny. She can raise her, and when she’s old enough, I will claim her. I blurt out, my chest heaving with adrenaline.

  Samuele looks back and forth between Carlo and me for several minutes. It’s so long that I begin to grow restless. And just when I think he isn’t going to give in, he smiles.

  “Bene. Uccidi Marco, dimostra il tuo valore e ti darò la ragazza.” Fine. Kill Marco, prove your worth, and I’ll give you the girl.

  All I can do is nod. Not in a million years did I think that would work, but it did. He caved. He’s going to let me prove myself, something I’ve wanted for a very long time, and at the same time, I’ll keep her safe.

  “Conosco la sua routine,” I admit. I know his routine.

  “Come lo sapresti?” How would you know that?

  “Li ho guardati.” I’ve been watching them.

  “Hmph.” Samuele smirks. “Sono impressionato.” I’m impressed.

  “Lo faremo domani sera. Dovrebbe essere solo lui e la sua famiglia, nessuno dei suoi uomini.” We’ll do it tomorrow night. It should be just him and his family, none of his men.

  “Bene. Domani allora.” Okay. Tomorrow then.

  I tip my chin at him and turn to leave the room.

  “E Christian,” he calls out, finishing when I glance at him from over my shoulder. “Fai un casino e la ucciderò proprio di fronte a te.” And Christian. Screw this up, and I’ll kill her right in front of you.

  “Non lo farò.” I won’t, I deadpan and leave the room without another word.