The Beast I Can’t Tame: Brooklyn Kings, Book 3 Read online

  “I heard from Marino.”

  That has me standing at attention. My heart races and the nausea returns to my gut. This is it. Whatever he says next will change my life. Hell, both of our lives. I swallow hard before responding. “And?”

  Jacob’s jaw tightens. It’s the only indication I get regarding his emotions. His expression is blank. Completely unreadable. Even his eyes don’t give anything away.

  “It would appear your mother may be telling the truth,” he finally says.

  Just like that my whole existence seems to explode. “May be?”

  He nods. “Marino said there’s a margin of error with the results, but they came back ninety-seven point some percent conclusive that we share the same DNA.”

  I rub my hand over my cheek and exhale. I’m not sure what to say. Does this change things? “I see,” I say, almost stupidly. What else is there?

  It seems like Jacob isn’t sure what to say either, because he remains rigid and still.

  “So, you’re my half-brother, then.” I meant it as a question, but it doesn’t come out that way.

  “It would seem so,” he replies in a flat tone.

  I nod, absently, a few times, trying to process the news. I’ve always wanted a brother. Someone to help ease the loneliness I felt growing up with an absent, and unloving, mother. I’m not sure he’s the one I would have picked, though. Especially not under these circumstances. It makes everything that’s happened over the last year surreal.

  All this time I’ve been working for my father. My brother. Wanting to be like him. To be a part of this family. Wait.

  “Do you think your—our—father knew who I was?” I ask. “When he hired me, I mean.”

  “Maybe. I have no idea. We’ll probably never know for sure.”

  The senior Mr. Ricci never gave any indication that he was aware of our relationship. I hate the fact I’ll always wonder.

  Shit. What does this mean about Francesca and me?

  “How are you and Pierce related?” I ask quickly, the nausea returning for an entirely different reason.

  Jacob raises a brow. “Don’t worry that you’re in love with your cousin or anything. She’s related to me through our mothers, not our fathers.”

  Thank God.

  Of course he knew I was really asking because of her. It’s not as though I haven’t made my feelings obvious. At least to everyone else.

  “I take it you haven’t shared this with anyone?” I ask.

  “Jesus, no. Not until I figure out what to do with the revelation. As well as your mother.” Jacob stares pointedly at me. “I’m still not entirely convinced you knew nothing about this.”

  I try not to take offense. Given the circumstances, I might think the same thing. “How can I prove to you I had no idea?”

  He studies me. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s next?” I ask.

  “I don’t know that, either,” he repeats with a heavy sigh.

  Chapter 5

  Francesca

  * * *

  Soren pulls to a stop in front of the cute single-story house smashed between a two- and three-story one on either side of it, both of them having seen better days. The little cottage seems weirdly out of place. He opens the door for me, and I climb out into the warm, early summer air. The days are beginning to get hotter. Soon, Brooklyn will be a humid mess.

  I open the short, wrought iron gate and stride up the sidewalk and four steps to the porch. The front door opens before I can knock.

  “You made it,” exclaims a smiling Mila, who waves me in and gives me a quick hug.

  It smells wonderful in here. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “You know you’re always welcome,” she says.

  We cross the entryway and into the living area. It always feels weird to show up empty-handed, but any time I’ve offered to bring something, Mila argues, saying my company is enough. My gaze travels toward movement in the back yard. Anya, her younger sister, is out there working on the lush garden. She’s got on a floppy hat, and despite the heat, she’s wearing long sleeves and pants as she clips some branches off a bush. My heart breaks a little for her. She and I have gone through what no young girl—what no woman—should, period.

  “Anya is struggling a little,” Mila says quietly.

  “I could talk to her, if you think it would help,” I offer.

  She swivels her head in her sister’s direction and watches her for several minutes. “I’m not sure if talking about it makes it better or worse. Theresa has been great, but Anyusha is still having a lot of difficulties re-adjusting. It’s only been a few weeks since Pierce got her back.”

  I’d been a captive of the Russians for five days before my brother and Jacob rescued me. I can’t imagine going through the torment and pain I went through for months, like Anya had. “I think the best thing you can do is be patient and let her heal at her own pace. Don’t push her. Just let her be, but make sure she knows that you’re there for her.”

  Mila nods. “You’re probably right. Let me go see if she is ready to come in for dinner. Pierce is in the kitchen.”

  She sends me a smile and heads out the open French doors while I go find my brother. He’s standing at the oven, pulling something out of it. He glances over his shoulder. “Excellent timing. Will you get the breadsticks? There’re more potholders in the drawer next to the fridge.”

  I cross the kitchen, grab what I need, and set the cookie sheet on top of the stove, the scent of bread and tomato sauce making my mouth water. “How come you never cook for me?” I joke.

  Pierce brushes a kiss across my temple. “I don’t think putting a pre-made dish into the oven counts as cooking.”

  He smiles the tiniest bit. It’s the most I’ve seen from him in years, though. The expression seems to be coming easier. Mila is good for him.

  Just then, she and Anya join us. The latter barely glances up. Instead, she stands a little behind her sister, as though hiding from view. My eyes dart in Mila’s direction and she sends me a quick, but sad smile.

  “Everyone have a seat,” Pierce says, breaking the silence.

  The three of us move to the table; Mila sitting to the right of the head of it and Anya next to her—in the chair closest to the entryway—leaving the seat to the left open. I situate myself in it while Pierce brings over all the food and sets it in the middle before taking his own place. He starts plating food for Mila.

  I lean just the slightest bit in Anya’s direction, keeping out of her personal space, but trying to pull her into conversation. “Your sister tells me that you enjoy fashion and sewing.”

  The young girl darts a glance in my direction. Her pale skin seems even paler, and there are purple smudges under her eyes like she’s not getting any sleep. She shrugs.

  “I guess.” Her voice is soft and barely rises above all the other noise. Mila picks up her sister’s plate and passes it to Pierce.

  “I’ve been thinking about getting a new wardrobe. Or at least a few things, to start. I was hoping you might be able to help me pick out some stuff. I’m not very good about knowing what’s currently in fashion. I’m mostly about comfort over style.” I chuckle softly.

  Anya is quiet for a moment, her hands wringing in her lap, like she’s torn about it. I can almost see her anticipation, but also her caution. “Would we have to go anywhere? You know, in public?”

  I shake my head. “Not if you don’t want to. That’s the beauty of online shopping. We can look at things, and if you think they’ll look good on me, I’ll order them. If they don’t fit right, I’ll just return the stuff.”

  “That seems like it would be a pain,” Anya says.

  “Not at all. Besides, you’d be doing me a huge favor. In fact, I sort of have another one to ask.”

  She looks over at me again, and this time the caution is even more evident.

  “I’m trying to get into photography. I did a bunch of research, and I have what I think is a great camera and o
ther fancy equipment I don’t really know what to do with.” I grin a little sheepishly. “I was hoping maybe you could put together a few flower arrangements for me. Lots of colors and different blooms that I can practice taking pictures of. Changing the lighting and placement or whatnot.”

  At last, a shy smile crosses Anya’s face. “Yeah, I could do that.”

  “You’re the best. Thank you so much.”

  Pierce has dished out my food as well, so I dig in along with everyone else. I glance up at Mila, who has tears in her eyes. She mouths, “thank you,” to me. I give her a quick nod and get back to the delicious meal.

  Mila, Pierce, and I sit out on the deck with a small fire going in the fire pit. I’m on my second glass of wine while my brother nurses his bourbon. Anya has gone inside, most likely to her bedroom, from hints that I’ve gotten.

  “Thank you again for talking to my sister at dinner,” Mila repeats. “That’s the first real smile I’ve seen from her in weeks.”

  “Everything I said was true. I really had planned on purchasing new clothes. My sense of style might be a little more current than I alluded to, but I thought it would give Anya something to focus on besides what happened.” I turn to Pierce. “I hope that you and Jacob are coming up with a plan to help the rest of the women.”

  My brother’s glass pauses at his mouth before he lowers it. “I thought we had a discussion already about staying out of syndicate business.”

  I jerk back in shock and quickly rising anger. “This isn’t just syndicate business, Pierce. We’re talking about women being bought and sold like they’re nothing but pieces of property. After what happened to me, you, of all people, should be trying to help them.”

  He has the grace to flinch. Mila shifts in her seat, avoiding looking at either of us. Pierce glances in her direction and then turns a flinty gaze back at me.

  “This isn’t the time to have this conversation,” he says, steel in his voice.

  I don’t back down, though. I can’t. “When is the time to have it? How many more women have to endure what I did—what Anya did—before someone says enough?”

  Pierce’s jaw clenches. “My hands are tied, Francesca.”

  “Then I’ll talk to Jacob,” I snap.

  “No, you won’t,” he barks back. “This is bigger than just him or me. It’s about honor.”

  I push away from the table with a jerk and jump to my feet, anger singeing my veins with its heat. “There is nothing honorable about knowing that women—girls like Anya—are being abused and you’re turning a blind eye. Maybe by me not talking about what happened, you don’t understand. Those women are raped. I was raped. Beaten.” My chest heaves with rage, and tears threaten. “Not just once or twice, but countless times. For days. By men whose faces still give me nightmares. It never stopped. I would have rather died than for it to continue. Do you know what that’s like? No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like being that powerless. I’m so disappointed in you.”

  With that, I turn on my heel and storm through the house and out the front door where Soren still waits at the curb.

  Jacob is the head of the entire Brooklyn syndicate. He has power. Why isn’t he using it?

  Chapter 6

  Giovanni

  * * *

  The minute I cross over Atlantic Avenue, the clouds disappear and the sun beats down on the neighborhood, as though trying to perk up an otherwise gloomy section of Brooklyn. I circle at least three blocks before finally finding a parking space four streets over from my destination. It’s in one of the most run down areas of Cobble Hill, with the buildings all faded and weathered-looking. I make my way down each street, my leg hurting more with every step I take, until finally coming to a stop in front of the four-story yellowed-brick row apartment.

  The door, which had been security locked at one time, hangs open, cracks running down the glass in a spider web pattern. The skunky scent of marijuana spills out onto the street. Sirens sing in the distance. I step through the darkened entryway and head up the narrow stairwell.

  Cigarette butts decorate the blackened, threadbare carpet as I make my way up to the third floor, each stair creaking under my weight, as though warning me to turn back. The screams of a kid echo down the hallway. An open garbage bag sits in the corner, its contents half spilling out, and the flash of some rodent skitters behind it. I shudder in disgust. The place was a shit hole when I lived here. It’s gotten a hundred times worse in the fifteen years since I left.

  Finally, I reach apartment three-zero-six and knock on the door. I glance around at the nicotine stained walls and half the broken lights. It’s dark and lifeless in here. Almost like its residents. I’m not sure I’d still be alive if I hadn’t gotten out when I did.

  The door swings open and my mother stands there in a short white tank top with god knows what kind of stains on the front. Her pants look like pajamas. There’s a cigarette hanging from her mouth, and it doesn’t appear like she’s washed her hair since the day she showed up at the funeral.

  She takes a huge inhale and plucks the white stick from between her lips, blowing the smoke nearly in my face. Her laugh is grating. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up for a visit. Have you missed this place?”

  “Can I come in or not?” I ask, barely holding back my annoyance.

  My mother slowly steps back, opening the door fully and sweeps her hand in a welcome gesture. “Wouldn’t want the neighbors to see you loitering in my doorway, huh? They might think you’re here for something special.” She waggles her eyebrows.

  I brush past her and into the middle of the living room, wrinkling my nose at the place. Clothes are strewn all over the same couch that’s been there since before I left. Dishes are piled up in the sink. The trash is overflowing with beer and liquor bottles. At least some things never change.

  “What brings you back to my humble abode?” she asks, moving over to the sofa and snatching the stuff up and tossing the pile onto the dining room table. I eyeball the couch and have no intention of sitting there.

  “I want to know what you get out of this sudden announcement of yours,” I say, not wasting any time. The sooner I get answers, the quicker I can get out of here.

  My mother plops onto the couch, crosses her legs, and takes another drag from her cigarette. She holds it in for several seconds and then blows it out before she answers. “What makes you think I want anything?”

  “Because I know you, Beatrice. You’re still the same person you’ve always been. There’s something you want. Especially if you think Mr. Ricci can give it to you.”

  “I already told you. I merely want my son to know that he has a brother. Sal never should have kept you a secret. Or make me keep you a secret. It’s just not right,” she whines. “You deserve to be a member of that family instead of just an errand boy.”

  “I haven’t run errands for over a year,” I point out.

  She scoffs. “You’re a chauffeur. Barely above the bottom of the rung and you know it. Which means you’re still doing nothing but running. You’re at the beck and call of those more powerful than you. Driving them wherever they want you to take them. How is that any different than being an errand boy?”

  I straighten my spine. “Out of everyone in the organization, I was chosen to be Mrs. Ricci’s personal bodyguard.”

  Beatrice smirks and eyes me up and down, pausing at my cast before continuing her journey. “Look how well that turned out.”

  My face heats.

  She sits upright on the couch and leans onto her crossed leg, her cigarette-holding hand dangling over it. I watch as the ash crumbles off the end onto the floor.

  “Think of everything that comes with being the brother of the head of the entire Brooklyn Kings, Giovanni. Maybe, one day, you could take over. Have you thought about what that could mean for us?”

  There it is.“This has nothing to do with me, at all. It has to do with you.”

  “I’m your mother, Giovanni. If you took
over the organization, think of how powerful you’d be. I could live a different life than I’m living. I wouldn’t have to stay in this dump any longer.” She waves a hand around in a wild gesture.

  I stare down at her. “Your little plan is flawed, though. I have no desire to rule the syndicate.”

  She opens her mouth, but I hold up my hand. “And even if I did, you seem to be under the impression that things would suddenly change between us. As though I’m somehow going to forget my entire life. Forget everything you’ve done. Like it never existed and welcome you back with open arms.”

  “Fine,” she narrows her eyes. “What about that princess you’ve been lusting after for the last year? You’d finally be good enough for her. You’re the brother of the man who rules all of Brooklyn.”

  “You know nothing about my relationship with Francesca,” I bite out.

  Her smile is the fake, saccharine one she shows when she thinks she knows something no one else does. “Just because you’ve forgotten you have a mother doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you’re my son. You’d be surprised by how much I know about what goes on in your life.”

  “I’m surprised you’re sober enough to pay attention,” I snark, although her awareness of things makes me uneasy. Who’s been feeding her information?

  My mother doesn’t take the bait. She merely shrugs off my insult and pulls in another breath of tar and nicotine. “Regardless of what you think of me, I know how you feel about that girl. Just think about how things could change for you when the truth comes out.”

  Feeling the walls close in on me, I need to get out of here. “You may think you know all these things about me. And maybe you do. But I can promise you this. You do not know Mr. Ricci. He’s not someone you can play games with. He doesn’t make idle threats. He will kill you and not think twice about it if you do anything that will hurt his family.”

  With that warning, I turn my back on my mother and let myself out, trying not to slam the door behind me. I should have known that she wouldn’t stay out of my life forever. No matter how hard I tried.