Chapter 3: Lovely Beast: Chapter 3

I stand in the lobby of the Hilton at seven on the dot, adjust my knee-length skirt, check my flowy blouse in a mirror, and think about getting the hell out of there.

I’m not sure why I showed up. If I’m going to take on this case for Carmine, I’m going to do it my way, which means the official way. I’ll hire a couple defense attorneys for consultations, I’ll brush up on the pertinent laws, I’ll do deep, obsessive dives into the case itself and all the important witness testimonies and evidence, and I’ll crush this thing before it even goes to trial.

Under no circumstances will I run around Dallas with a mobster looking for something that might not even exist.

There’s no silver bullet. There’s no easy fix. This case is going to crack the old-fashioned way, and a guy like Angelo’s only going to make my life harder.

I have to be honest with myself: Carmine might be Brice’s husband, but he’s still the Don of a powerful mafia family. That’s bad enough and I don’t love turning a blind eye to a criminal like that, but actively getting involved in his activities is way too far.

At least it’s too far for the Sara I’ve always been.

I’m not sure what’s too far for the Sara that slept with Angelo that night at the wedding. For a few hours, I was someone else, someone that wanted to take risks, that wanted to live a little bit. Someone that wanted to feel for once instead of constant pressure.

But I left that Sara behind with that last kiss and I’m only ever going to be me.

“You look perfect, you know.”

I grimace and look over my shoulder in the mirror. It’s him, standing a few feet behind me, casually wearing a dark suit with his hands in his pockets, looking like an actor straight out of a movie about gangsters. Hair pushed back, lips in a smirk, tattoos poking out of his sleeves and up his neck. Angelo sucks the light into him like a black hole, and I can’t help but stare for a few beats as I try to calm my suddenly speeding heart.

This is him. This is the man that got me pregnant.

My heart starts racing. Nerves tingle down my arms and into my fingers. I shouldn’t react like this but I can’t help it.

This is Angelo, the guy I’ve thought about every day for nine weeks.

The father of my baby.

No, , not the father of my baby, is the father of my baby. This is my child and it doesn’t matter who happened to donate the sperm.

I straighten my back and tilt up my chin and meet his gaze. I’m wearing a very conservative and business-friendly outfit, just about as nonsexual as I could possibly manage, and he’s still looking at me like I’m sin incarnate.

“Hello, Angelo,” I say and extend my hand. “Nice to see you again.”

His eyebrows raise and my palm hovers there between us like a joke. I can still taste him on my lips and feel him between my legs. I’ve never been more vulnerable in my life, and I hate him so much for making me stand here and look like an idiot. But slowly, he steps forward, and we shake.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Sara.”

“Carmine told me to come meet you here.” I clear my throat. “I understand you know Nicolas?”

His grip on my palm tightens. “I’m the reason the kid’s in trouble.”

“Then I guess we should talk.”

He releases me and turns. I follow him into the hotel bar and we grab a table in the far corner. He gets us drinks: a glass of cheap champagne for me and a whiskey for him.

I can’t tell him I’m not drinking, so I place my glass in front of me and wait as he looks at me for a long moment. His eyes drift from my lips to my neck, to my chest, and back up again, and I know what he’s doing, looking at all the places he kissed and touched, and I wonder if he’s thought about me half as much as I’ve thought about him since that night. I highly doubt it—I know men like Angelo. Confident, selfish men, handsome and rich men, dangerous men. I’ve avoided men like him my whole life, and now here I am, sitting across from him with a secret.

The kind of secret that could ruin our lives.

This is such a mistake.

“Tell me about the case,” I prompt and try to keep my voice as steady as I can. I’m a lawyer and a professional. I can do this, I can keep it all business and get out alive. I have to keep going.

“Straight to business,” he says, eyes drifting down to the table. “Nicolas was sent down here to negotiate a business deal.”

“With a Mexican cartel?”

“Let’s assume someone like that. Do you really want to know the details?”

“Tell me as much as you can without incriminating anybody.”

“Right, so a business deal.” He takes a long drink and sits up straight. “It was supposed to be a simple meeting. I sent Nicolas because the kid knows Spanish and I figured that’d help with the talks. We’d already hammered out the deal on our end, and Nicolas just needed to get some details sorted, shake some hands, and get the whole thing moving. Except when he arrived at the motel where he was supposed to talk to the representative from our southern friends, he found something else entirely.”

My breath hitches in my throat. “What did he find?”

“Bodies. A lot of bodies. Blood everywhere. I only know what he told me, but I believe him. I brought that kid into the crew and I’ve been working with him ever since, and I can swear to you, the kid doesn’t have it in him. Not that sort of killing. No way in hell. Not many people can slaughter a room full of living, breathing humans and walk away from it without losing their minds.”

I shift in my seat and raise my glass to my lips. A terrified shiver runs down my spine. I’m about to drink—but I stop myself. God, I’m not used to being pregnant. I fake a swallow and put the glass back down. “How many dead?”

“Five men. All of them with connections to our southern friends. There weren’t supposed to be that many to begin with, much less all of them with bullet holes and cut throats.”

“Spare me the gore, please.”

“You’re about to get knee deep in some filth, Sara. You better start strengthening your stomach.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s right, but he doesn’t need to be a prick about it. “What did Nicolas do after he found the bodies?”

“He did what anyone would do: he got the fuck out of there. Cops caught him an hour later as he was driving to the airport freaking the fuck out. He called me losing his goddamn mind the second he saw all that shit, and I could barely make sense of it, but I told him to get on a plane and get the fuck home, and we’d sort it all out from there. Instead, the cops caught him before he could reach the airport, hauled him in, and accused him of doing it. The lead detective said they got fingerprints or DNA or some shit, and now here we are.” Angelo leans forward, staring into my eyes, and I get a flash of him pulling my hair as he slides deeper and deeper between my legs. A shiver of lust and fear rolls down my back. “I’m telling you right now, he’s innocent. If you heard him when he called me, there’s no way in hell you’d think he did it.”

“I believe you,” I say because I don’t have any other choice, but it does seem implausible that one guy managed to murder five Mexican cartel members. “The question is, why don’t the police?”

“That’s where you come in.” He sits back and finishes his drink in one long gulp. “I have no clue what they’re thinking.”

“I’ll start the process of getting the evidence from the prosecutor’s office and I’ll build a defense from there, but I need to make sure Nicolas is going to be entirely forthcoming with me. Which means a visit.”

“Whatever you want.”

“And as for you—” I raise an eyebrow. “You can go back home.”

That surprises him. He tilts his head in confusion. “Carmine said you’d need help.”

“Carmine’s wrong. I need help from experienced defense lawyers, not from street thugs. You’re not needed, Angelo. Go back to Philadelphia.”

He stares at me for a beat before he bursts out laughing. I grind my jaw, frustrated and annoyed by his reaction, but I’m not backing down. Angelo is only going to get in the way and potentially make my life that much more difficult, and I’m not interested in having him hovering over my shoulder.

Besides, the longer he’s here, the more likely it is he’ll find out about my baby, and I can’t let that happen.

“There’s no way in hell I’m heading back to Philly without Nicolas.”

“Like I said, you aren’t needed. If I have to hire a private investigator to aid us with gathering evidence and following leads—”

“You’ll have me do it,” Angelo says, his smile disappearing. “You really are a frigid princess, aren’t you?”

I sit back for a second like he knocked the wind out of me. That’s what he called me the night of the wedding, his . I have to steady my racing heart and gather myself—I won’t take this bait and let him mess with me until I say something stupid.

“I’m doing you a professional courtesy by taking this meeting,” I say and keep my tone as neutral and serious as I can, “but I told Carmine and I’m telling you, I don’t want you getting involved.”

“Too bad, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” He swirls his drink and keeps on staring at me like he’s waiting for me to get up and come sit in his lap. My stomach’s twisting, half with rage and disgust, and half with a strange and sickening desire. “You know, I keep thinking that you’re playing some kind of game, but it really isn’t. You’re really not going to talk about it, are you?”

I grimace and lean forward. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s to talk about. That night at the wedding—”

“Angelo—”

“You whispered my name just like that if I recall correctly. I’ve been thinking about you for the last couple months, Sara. Every night before bed, I close my eyes and picture you in that fucking cheesy bridesmaid dress looking absolutely fucking perfect, dripping with sin and sex and damp with sweat, face flushed, excitement in your eyes, and you’re sitting there now dressed up and looking like the most fuckable lawyer in existence—”

“I did dress up for you, asshole,” I snarl at him. “I wore the sexy outfit I could find.”

“You really think we can ignore what happened?” he asks and his voice softens. “You really think you’re capable of that? Because I promise, my frigid princess. I’m not.”

“Stop it,” I say sharply and take a beat to gather myself. This is how I wanted this to go, but I can’t let him get the upper hand. This is what Angelo does: he pushes my buttons, teases me, drives me crazy, tries to beak me. It won’t work this time. “I told you then and I’ll say it again: whatever happened, we left it behind. It’s dead and buried. Understood?”

His smile is sharp. “I understand that’s what you want, but you’re not so easy to forget.”

“Try harder.”

“Frigid princess.”

“Massive asshole.” I shove the full glass of champagne away. “Thanks for the drink. This meeting is over. You’re not needed and you’re not welcome. Go back to Philadelphia.”

“You still need my help,” he says as I get up.

“No, Angelo, I really don’t.” I adjust my bag and straighten my skirt and ignore the way he’s looking at me like he wants to drag me back into some empty storeroom and fuck me all over again.

.

“Who do you think is going to keep you alive through all this?”

His words stop me in my tracks.

He’s not smiling. That’s not some tacky joke. His head is tilted and he’s looking at me intently like he really wants to know who’s going to protect me, and for a second, I start to panic. The weight of this whole thing starts to push down on my chest and I have to lean against the table. I start thinking about my life, and about the life that’s growing in my belly, and I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking getting involved with gangsters and drug cartels. There are and whoever did it might still be out there, and they won’t be happy if we start looking for them.

What’s a dead lawyer compared to a bunch of cartel men?

Angelo’s right—who the hell is going to keep me safe?

“Easy,” he says, getting up and coming toward me. He puts a hand on my back and steadies me as I take gulping breaths. “All right Sara, you’re fine, you’re okay. Shit, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t get it. I’m not losing it because I’m afraid for myself—I afraid, but I wouldn’t react like this if it were only me.

I’m terrified for my baby.

“I’m fine,” I say but he doesn’t let me go. He stays there, standing close.

“You’re not fine. Fuck, I meant to scare you a little, not make you spiral into a full-on panic attack.”

“I’m not having a panic attack,” I hiss at him, although I kind of am. “It’s just a lot to process.” I don’t fight him as he helps me sit back down and he stays hovering at my side.

“Look, I know you don’t want to see me. We have a complicated history that was meant to stay history, but—” He leans closer and his voice lowers. “Nicolas is innocent and we need a lawyer we can trust. That’s you, ice queen. And you need a man like me to take care of you.”

“Don’t call me that.” I fan myself as sweat breaks out on my back. “Can you just back off? I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to fall over on your face.”

“Angelo.”

“All right, understood.” He sits back down on the other side of the table. “I mean it though. Carmine sent me here to do your bidding, but also to make sure you don’t get hurt. I’m not going anywhere.”

I do my best not to groan. I feel dizzy and lightheaded, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball on my couch and cry. This was such a bad idea but now that I’m here, now that I’m meeting with him and moving forward with this insanity, it feels like I’m trapped.

I’m already involved, and I can’t go back.

I have to remind myself why I’m doing this. I’m helping a friend. I’m helping myself move up at the firm. I’m saving an innocent guy from going to prison for the rest of his life.

I’m not doing this to get close to Angelo again.

“Boundaries,” I finally manage to say.

He looks amused. “What are those?”

“Don’t be an asshole right now,” I say and grip the edge of the table. “We’re setting boundaries. We’ll have a professional relationship and that’s all. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he says with a soft smile. “But do you?”

I push myself up again. “I’m going home.”

“But when will I see you again?” He’s trying not to smile, and I can tell he’s making fun of me.

“Never, hopefully.”

“Then I guess I have to follow you home.”

“Please don’t.”

“Goodnight, Sara.”

“Angelo, I need to know you’re not going to follow me home.”

He shrugs, takes my glass, and downs it. “No promises.”

I stand there and consider kicking him hard in the shin and screaming until the veins burst in my eyes, but I’m tired and scared and I want to go home, and there’s a baby growing inside of me now, which means I have to take care of myself before anything else.

Angelo isn’t going anywhere. I can accept that, even if I hate it.

But if he’s staying, there be limits.