Chapter 29: Lovely Beast: Chapter 29

The hotel lobby is empty. The girl behind the desk is busy looking at her cell phone and occasionally answering the phone while only a few guests hurry through on the way to the elevators. I watch each face, wondering if I’ll catch sight of Detective John or Mustache or some other cop here to put a bullet in my head for what I did.

Instead, there’s nothing.

No calls, no handcuffs. No shouting or violence or circling cars.

I knew that fucking coward would back down the second I pushed him like every other cheap high school bully.

The doors open again, and my heart skips a beat. She steps inside and looks around, wearing tight jeans and a dark sweater, her hair up the way I like. She scans the room and spots me, and her face shifts from her usual icy glare to a soft, almost apologetic smile.

Sara walks toward me and I stand to meet her.

“I’m glad you came,” I say and kiss her on the cheek.

She looks uncomfortable. “I’m the one that called you, remember?”

“I know that, but you did make it clear that you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Not like you gave a shit about that.”

I quirk a smile and shrug. “That’s fair. But you’re here now.”

“I’m here now.”

We linger and the tension grows. She didn’t tell me what she wanted to talk about over the phone and I’m not sure if it’s professional or something else. I don’t want to get my hopes up—I don’t think I can survive getting crushed again—so I’m here with no expectations. I’m here to listen.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask her as I guide her to the couches.

She sits down and crosses her legs. “Sure, go ahead.”

“I decided something recently.” I sit down in the chair next to her and turn slightly so I can see her face. “Back when I was in Philly, I never thought about who I am and how people see me. I was surrounded by the Famiglia, by men like me, women that are used to men like me, and nothing else mattered. I have my brothers, I have my friends, I have my work. That’s all I needed, at least until I met you and started questioning all that.”

“Angelo,” she says, panic in her eyes, but I hold a hand up.

“I decided I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. I care about you, and I care about that baby you’re carrying, and it doesn’t matter if I’m some lowlife criminal that has to fight for every scrap. You can tell me you don’t want to see me again, you can tell me you hate me, and I still won’t abandon you. I’m done pretending like being good matters. I am what I am, princess. And I won’t change.”

“I don’t want you to change.”

My eyebrows raise. “Then why did you run away?”

“Because I was scared.”

I stand and move toward her. I sit on the couch and she shifts closer. My heart’s racing, and tension and nerves tingle down my arms and into my core.

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I do. It’s not just about me anymore—it’s about this baby too. You’re right, you are what you are, and I can’t ask you to change. I won’t ask you to change, and that scares the hell out of me.”

“So why come back?”

“Because I want to be scared.”

I let out a soft grunt. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? I feel hope blooming, and I have to work to stomp it back out. No, no fucking hope. Not until this is done.

“I want you, Sara. I want that baby. And I told you, want can turn into more. I feel it turning into more. You can run back home and pretend like none of this is real, but I feel it, and I know you feel it too. I’m not letting go.”

“I don’t want you to let go.” She moves closer. “Angelo, I told the chief of police to fuck off last night.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “You did ?”

“My dad set me up. He took me to the Oak Club like he wanted to have a nice dinner but instead he sat me down in front of Chief Corvine.”

“That fucking bastard,” I say and rage simmers down my spine. “Your own father ambushed you.”

“Because the chief knows he’s screwed. There’s no way their flimsy charges will stand up to scrutiny and he’s scrambling. He offered me some bullshit deal to keep Nicolas in jail and he’ll become my patron or something like that, but I told him to fuck off. I told him to free Nicolas or I’m telling the world the truth.”

“Which is what?”

“The cops did it. I don’t know how or why, but they must’ve thought there were drugs in that motel room. Something went wrong, someone got spooked, and they started shooting. They murdered those five cartel guys, and under normal circumstances they could’ve played the self-defense card, and who the heck’s going to care about a bunch of dead criminals? But the cops panicked, they thought they screwed up, they figured public opinion would turn against them and there’d be riots, so they tried to cover it up. And the coverup is way worse than the crime.”

All that makes sense. It fits the story I have in my head about what really happened, and now I can see how Nicolas got roped into this nightmare. They were reacting, and reacting poorly, and grabbed Nicolas without thinking through the ramifications of how that would play out. Ever since then, it’s been damage control.

“I broke into Detective John’s house and beat him bloody and shoved a gun in his face.”

Sara sits up straight. “What? You did ?”

“It was fun. Fucker had it coming.” I laugh miserably. “I guess we’re more alike than I realized, we just go about things differently.”

She stares at me, her mouth hanging open—and she smiles. A beautiful, lopsided smile. “You’re insane.”

“He threatened you. He deserved it.”

“He did, but he’s a cop.”

“Fuck him. He’s a dirty cop doing dirty work for the chief. You know he won’t do a damn thing.”

“God, Angelo, how did we get here?”

I move closer and reach out. She doesn’t flinch back as I brush my knuckles against her cheek and run my fingers against her neck. “Slowly, step by step, but we’re almost at the end, aren’t we? They can’t hold Nicolas. They can’t risk you telling the truth about what happened. But mostly they can’t let the coverup get out.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“They’ll either kill us or cut a deal. Which do you think they’ll do?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I don’t think I care anymore. Let them figure it out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” I lean closer and brush my lips against hers. “I’ve got better things to do.”

I kiss her then, deep and slow, and taste her tongue and lips, and fuck, I wouldn’t let myself imagine this was a possibility, but now that she’s kissing me back and she’s making that lovely, amazing, earth-shaking whimper, I’m going to hold on to this. I’m not going to let it go.

Everything I’ve done until now has been for me and my grandmother. All my struggle, all my pain. It’s been for my family.

And now Sara is part of that family.

It doesn’t matter what the world sees in me. It doesn’t matter what her parents think I deserve, or what the people in power think should happen. I’m Nicolas, I’m Carmine. I’m Angelo, and I don’t give a fuck anymore.

I take what I want and I keep what I love.

I want to be a father, most of all. I’m not my parents. I’m better than that.

Sara is mine. This baby is mine. And I don’t care what I am—I don’t care what she is, either.

This is all I need.