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

  I make it back to my car, my leg burning more with each movement. It’s like someone is sticking a hot poker under my skin. My arm aches under this fucking cast, and I have to sit for several minutes to catch my breath. I punch the steering wheel in anger and frustration.

  The whole drive home, I curse Beatrice. Because I can’t get her words out of my head. Things would be different with me being higher up in the organization than where I am. It’s been my whole goal to rise up in the ranks. Not just for me, but also—damn my mother for being right—for Francesca.

  At what cost, though?

  Chapter 7

  Francesca

  * * *

  Donatello’s smells like home.

  Pierce used to bring me here all the time when I was younger and our mother was in one of her moods. Which was more often than not. We’d sit in this same booth closest to the kitchen while Rosa Donatello would let me pick out the dinner special of the day for the following night.

  I love eating here, and I’ve missed the place more than I thought. It’s been far too long since I’ve come in. It’s small and intimate with dark wooden walls decorated with pictures of all the celebrities that have visited over the years posing with Luciano, the owner.

  My fingers pIuck at the red and white checkered tablecloth, and I look around at the few patrons seated at the tables. It’s in between the lunch and supper rush, which is how I like it. It’s quiet and not crowded so I don’t have to deal with a lot of people.

  “Francesca, cara mia, welcome back,” Luciano greets me with his usual joyful smile. I’ve never not seen this man happy.

  “Thank you. It’s so good to see you again.” It is, too, even if it’s hard being here. It’s a reminder of better times. Before. “How’s Benito doing?”

  He shakes his head, but his grin remains. “I’ve tried teaching him some of our family’s recipes, but I don’t think I passed the cooking gene on to him. He’s spending more time doing deliveries for me than he is in the kitchen. Which is probably for the best.”

  The last time I saw Luciano’s son, he’d been a gangly teenager tripping over legs that had grown too long, too fast. He must be almost eighteen by now.

  “I’m sure he’s a lot of help to you.”

  The bell over the door rings, and I turn toward it. In walks Giovanni, his powerful frame taking up quite a bit of space. He’s not as tall as Pierce, but his build is similar to Jacob’s. My gaze travels over him, and my belly flutters. We lock gazes, and without looking away, he crosses the restaurant, his gait still off, until he slides into the booth opposite me.

  There’s this familiar awareness that makes its presence known. It’s been growing stronger and louder over the last couple months. From the moment I learned he’d been shot and nearly died.

  “Hi,” I say shyly.

  His dimples appear. “Hi, yourself.”

  A throat clears beside us and jerks my attention away from him. Luciano still stands there with a huge grin on his face. Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot about him.

  “What can I get you two to drink?” he asks.

  Flustered, I mumble that I’ll take a water.

  “Same,” Giovanni says.

  Luciano nods and leaves us alone.

  “Did you do something different with your hair?”

  I glance swiftly up and pat my head in a self-conscious gesture. “Oh, um, I just curled it a little bit. Thought I’d try something new.”

  Gio smiles, his dimples deepening further. “It’s nice.”

  My cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

  I study him. Despite his grin, there’s a tightness around his eyes and lips. I don’t want to be that annoying friend, but I’m worried.

  “Have you gone back to work, yet?” I ask for the lack of something better.

  His expression shifts and his teeth seem to clench. “No. I’m still being made to wait until the doctor clears me. It should be in the next week, I’m hoping.”

  “That’s good, at least. Give you a little more time to heal. You know it hasn’t been that long since you were released from the hospital. You need to take better care of yourself,” I say despite telling myself only moments ago I would stay quiet.

  “Not today, Francesca. Please,” he says a bit sharply, his expression closing off.

  That icky feeling hits my stomach, and I cringe, my whole body burning. “I’m sorry.”

  Gio reaches across the table. His hand is warm over mine. The warmth travels through me and settles low inside. “I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just have a lot on my mind, right now.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I offer cautiously, still recovering from the sting of his scolding.

  He sits back in the booth with a shake of his head, taking the heat of his touch with him. My skin tingles from the contact.

  “Not unless you can change the past.”

  I smile sadly. “I wish I could.”

  Gio’s eyes meet mine, and he winces. “I’m sorry. That was an asshole thing for me to say. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I drop my gaze to the table. It’s no secret within the organization what happened to me, but the fact that he, specifically, knows what the Russians did fills me with shame. Even if it wasn’t my fault. It makes me feel flawed. Like I’m not worthy of someone.

  Of him.

  “Look at me,” Giovanni demands.

  My eyes dart upward.

  “I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but whatever it is, stop it. The past doesn’t matter. Not for either of us. Today and the future is what counts. Okay?” he says.

  I nod stiffly. Luciano returns with our water, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

  “Are you ready to order?” the older gentleman asks.

  “Go ahead,” Giovanni prompts.

  “I’ll take the lasagna, please.”

  “And I’ll have whatever the special is.”

  Luciano picks up the menus neither of us looked at. “It’ll be out shortly.”

  A familiar uncomfortable silence settles between us. The kind that had been present before he’d been injured. It’s my fault, but despite what Gio said about the past, old memories threaten to push their way to the front of my brain.

  “I saw my mother earlier today,” he says quietly.

  That has my attention. “How did that go?”

  He makes a noise; a cross between a snort and growl. “As well as I figured it would. She’s still the same negligent, selfish woman she’s always been.” He pauses and slumps a bit in his seat. “Do you ever think people can change? Or hope they’ve changed?”

  “It’s funny,” I say without humor. “I asked Pierce this exact question recently.”

  “And?”

  “His answer was no. He said that people can pretend for a while that they’re someone else, but in the end, they’re always going to be who they truly are and who they will forever be. The whole concept makes me sad.” I sigh. “Maybe I’m an optimist, or perhaps just naive, but I don’t want to believe that. I want the think that if someone really wants to, they can become different. Better.”

  Giovanni doesn’t say anything for several minutes, but I can tell from his expression he’s thinking about it. His eyes meet mine and he smiles softly. “Don’t ever lose that positive outlook, Francesca. I think it makes you someone special. You’re a much better person than those of us who have grown too cynical.”

  I flush at his compliment. “Thank you. I’ll try not to.”

  Our food comes out and we fill in the silence with inconsequential things. Luciano returns to refill our water.

  “Will this be one check or two?” he asks.

  “Two—”

  “One—” Gio says at the same time.

  “You don’t have to pick up my tab for me,” I tell him.

  “One,” he repeats firmly.

  Luciano nods and heads back into the kitchen.

 
; “Thank you for lunch. But it’s not like this is a date.”

  Giovanni stares intently at me. “What if I say it is?”

  I blink at his suggestive tone and butterflies suddenly start flapping in my stomach. “A,” it comes out on a croak. I clear my throat. “A date, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  That’s it. Just a single word. “Oh.”

  I haven’t been out on a date in over seven years. Have never wanted to. “Does this have anything to do with what your mother said? About you panting after me?” I ask quietly.

  “Her choice of words was poor,” he says. “But if you were wondering about my interest…then yes, it might have something to do with it.”

  “Oh,” I repeat. I’m not sure what to do with this information.

  “I’ve been patient over the last year. Or at least as patient as I could be. Waiting,” Gio says.

  “Waiting for what?”

  “For you.” He casually drops the bombshell. “It wasn’t but a few months ago that anytime I got too close, you increased the space between us.”

  I flush, because he’s not wrong. “I’m sorry.”

  Giovanni shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I understood. Still do. But ever since the accident, things have changed between us and you know it.”

  It has. The second I heard he’d been injured, it’s as though I finally realized that I could lose him. Even if I hadn’t really had him to begin with.

  “I’m scared,” I admit.

  “Of what?” Gio asks.

  “Everything. I’m scared I can’t be who you want me to be. I’m scared I can’t be who I want me to be.”

  Once again, he reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb rubs across the back of it. My skin sparks with the caress. We’ve touched more today than ever before.

  “Who do you want to be?”

  I look up from where our hands meet and into his eyes. “I want to be the old me. The me who didn’t run away when things got tough or scary. I want to be that happy, bold, fearless me. The me before. Before she had all those things stolen from her.”

  “I don’t think any of us can ever be the old version of ourselves. We grow as people. For better or for worse, our life experiences shape and mold us into someone new. That doesn’t mean you can’t be happy or bold or fearless again.” Giovanni gently squeezes the hand he still holds. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are.”

  My smile is shy, but I don’t drop my gaze. “I like who you are, too.”

  Chapter 8

  Giovanni

  * * *

  I stare at my reflection in the glass door of the six-story building in front of me. The sun beats down on my back, and a bead of sweat follows the path of my spine. More of them appear along my forehead. That’s how long I’ve been standing here. I’m sure the security guard has already called upstairs about the loiterer who hasn’t moved for the past twenty minutes.

  Go inside for Christ’s sake.

  I take a deep breath and force myself to enter the air conditioned lobby. The scent of fresh flowers assaults me. It’s like that every time I’ve been here. The soles of my shoes slap across the marble floor echoing in the cavernous space. For once, the sound of construction isn’t present. An unfamiliar security guard mans the desk.

  “Can I help you, sir?” he asks as I head toward the elevator.

  “Mr. Ricci is expecting me,” I tell him over my shoulder just as the doors open. “Giovanni Saccone.”

  “Sir, you can’t just—” The metal panels slide closed, cutting off his words. I’m sure he’s already frantically on the phone letting Jacob know I’m coming.

  It’s been weeks since I’ve been to the townhouse. The last time was the night I picked up him and Brenna and took them to Divine. The night everything went to shit.

  The elevator dings with my arrival, and after a slight hesitation I step out into the private space outside their suite. I’m already here—I can’t turn and run, no matter how much I want to.

  I cross the short distance to the door that I wish was a lot farther away and knock. Before I’m ready, it opens, and I’m face-to-face with Jacob. My gaze darts over his features. Am I imagining the similarities to mine? Or have they always been there and I’m only just noticing them because I’m looking for them?

  “You’re late,” he says, moving back to let me in.

  Seriously?

  “Traffic.” I stride past him and into the living room.

  It looks completely different from when I moved Brenna’s stuff in here on her wedding day. There are signs of her everywhere, from the colored pillows on the couch to the bright abstract paintings on the wall to the large vase of flowers in the middle of the coffee table.

  “I don’t think there’s much traffic on the sidewalk. I assume you are the suspicious-looking young man Frank called up here to notify me about over twenty minutes ago,” Jacob notes with a dry tone as he steps around me and heads toward the wet bar. “Drink?”

  Not even caring that it’s the middle of the afternoon, I nod. “Sure.”

  He looks over his shoulder. “What’ll you have?”

  “Whiskey.”

  Jacob raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything before he turns back and picks up a half empty bottle. He pours two glasses and hands me mine.

  “Let’s go up to my office.”

  He heads back through the living room and up the stairs leaving me to follow. We enter his private domain at the end of the hall. A massive cherry wood desk takes up more than half the length of the room. There’s a matching bookcase against the wall nearest the door. The floor-to-ceiling windows give the perfect view of the Williamsburg Bridge and Manhattan.

  “If you’re done sightseeing, have a seat,” Jacob says.

  I jerk my gaze back to him and glare before taking the opposite chair. I’m not sure why I’m here. We stare at each other, neither opening the conversation. Is this some technique he’s using to rattle me? I hate to admit it’s working. I refuse to let him see it, though. Jacob is a shark. Any scent of blood and he’s going in for the kill.

  “I assume I’m here for a reason.” With as much nonchalance as I can manage, I lean back and rest my ankle on my opposite knee. I take a slow sip of the whiskey that burns a path down my throat before its heat settles in my gut.

  “Have you talked to your mother?” Jacob asks.

  “I went to see her yesterday, actually.” If he wants more information from me, I’m going to make him work for it.

  “And?”

  “And what?” My tone is only barely on this side of respectful.

  “Do you really want to play games with me?” Jacob narrows his eyes.

  “You asked. I answered. If you want to know what we discussed, then you only had to say so.”

  He takes an answering sip of his own drink before mirroring my position. “Has the news that we’re related somehow given you bigger balls? Because I don’t remember you being this mouthy a week ago.”

  I smirk. “Are you really asking my ball size?”

  “Don’t be such a smartass,” he warns, but there’s amusement in his voice. “Tell me about this discussion you had with your mother.”

  “Apparently her big plan is for me to rule the syndicate.”

  Jacob cocks his head. “I’m certain that position is already taken.”

  I nod. “It’s also not one I have any interest in.”

  He studies me. “Most men would be vying for the money and power that comes with it.”

  “I’m not most men,” I tell him. “Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to be a part of the inner circle. To have the men of the organization look up to and respect me. But I’m not looking to take anything from you.”

  Jacob barks out a laugh. “As if you could.”

  I lift a shoulder. “You’ve only been back in town a few months, after a seven year absence. You’ve also only recently taken over and still have much to prove to the families.
Can you be entirely sure that some of the men wouldn’t be willing to take a chance on me? I’m the one who’s been here, working alongside them, while you were gone.”

  His expression darkens, and I hold up a hand. “Don’t worry. I told you, I have no desire to take over or cause dissent between your men.”

  “What do you want, then?” Jacob asks tightly.

  “A chance.”

  “A chance for what?”

  I take another drink. Before I walked through the door, I didn’t know what I wanted. But sitting here, with my brother, it hits me. I could finally have the family I always wanted. A brother. A sister. It’s why I initiated into the syndicate in the first place. The brotherhood of it. The sense of having people at my back. People who actually gave a fuck about me.

  “To be your brother. To earn my place at your side,” I confess. “I don’t want to be a chauffeur, or even a bodyguard. I want to be a man that our enemies fear, because of the family he belongs to.”

  Jacob watches me with the intense expression I’ve seen him use on others. I casually sip my whiskey as though I’m not intimidated by him. If I want all the those things, then it’s time I started acting like someone more than who I was before those tests results came in. I’m not just Gio, a nobody. I’m Giovanni Saccone. And I’m the half-brother of the most powerful man in the Italian syndicate on the entire East Coast.

  “Are you sure you have what it takes? Our captains aren’t going to just respect you because of your sudden lineage change.”

  “I understand,” I tell him. I do, too.

  “No doubt there are going to be some who think that you’re reaching beyond what you deserve.”

  “Then I’ll prove to them I deserve it.”

  “And your mother?” Jacob asks.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s playing a dangerous game. How far do you think she’s willing to take it?”

  “The only thing I know about my mother is that she cares for nothing but herself. When I told you I haven’t seen her in years, it was the truth. So, I have no idea how far she’s willing to go to get what she wants,” I admit. “What I do know is that her wants and mine don’t align. I have no use for her.”