Page 1 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

CHAPTER ONE

Daniela

We used to play tic-tac-toe as children, in the dirt with sticks.

Now, our game consists of the lives of the two bloodied men standing naked on the ornate rug before us.

One can barely see on account of both of his eyes being swollen shut, so he frantically eyes the wall a few inches away from Vinny, while the other stares at the floor, muttering prayers under his breath.

Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, Vinny calls it.

Dressed to kill in a tailored suit, Vinny takes his sweet time observing them both while caressing the pistol he’s holding in one hand.

“Eeny, meeny, miney, motherfucker,” he murmurs in a guttural tone.

“Which one should I kill first?” He inclines his head in my direction, ever the gentleman. “Lynn?”

I swallow hard and tug on the sleeve of my sweater. Two hours ago, it was a neatly hemmed number in soft pink. Now, it’s bloodstained, the ends of the sleeve ragged and torn.

“Really, Vinny. You don’t have to—” I break off and try again. No one tells Vinny what to do—ever. Not even me. “I’m fine. Really. ”

It would take more than this to ruin my night. This beautiful, perfect night, which should have ended with a nice bubble bath. Not here in Vinny’s office, with the scent of blood in the air and the inevitable promise of death tainting the atmosphere.

I glance down at my throbbing hands, surprised by the numerous scratches that mar them. They contradict my lie, and I curl them up into fists, even though I know that it’s already too late. I’m fine.

Regardless, Vinny doesn’t even look in my direction. His thumb greedily traces the trigger of his gun, eager to let a bullet fly.

He’s in a mood. Something must have happened even before he caught wind of my little adventure tonight. My heart picks up speed, my spine tensing.

“Really,” I croak out against his back. “I’m fine—”

“Sit down, Daniela.”

I flinch. My full name is a dangerous sound coming out of his mouth. Lynn is his puppy, his favorite toy. Daniela is just a little girl in danger of disobeying her master.

My jaw snaps shut, and I stagger a few steps past him to collapse onto one of the plush armchairs that is positioned to face his desk.

His office is one of the few places I hate most in the world.

What, in a normal setting, would be designated for stuffy business meetings takes on a broader purpose in Vinny’s hands. It’s his arena. His showroom. My cage.

I warily scan the oak-paneled walls. They’re polished to shine and reflect the rest of the room back to me: hardwood floors and exactly two windows, each one framed by black curtains.

There is another leather armchair across from mine, flanked by Vinny’s massive desk, which takes up the center of the room.

Vinny’s reflection is like a dark smudge over the scenery, while the two men before him flicker the way a candle flame does when it’s in danger of going out .

“Let’s play a game,” Vinny declares in a voice that makes me shiver.

I know that tone all too well. Bile creeps up the back of my throat, and oddly enough, the thought of ruining my sweater with puke is even worse than what’s already staining it now.

“Tell me again what happened—from the beginning,” Vinny says. “The bastard who tells the least amount of lies wins.”

There’s this painful moment of silence. The men share a look that resembles the wary expressions of two animals shoved into a cage and forced to fight to the death. Which one is the lion, which one the gazelle?

The one with the busted jaw speaks up first, or at least he tries to. “We were just screwing around. We didn’t—”

“First lie,” Vinny interjects.

I can’t breathe. My throat contracts in an attempt to choke down air, but the action doesn’t relieve the pressure building in my chest. Lying was another one of our childhood games.

It wasn’t played quite as often as tic-tac-toe or red rover, but often enough to recognize the way Vinny crouches forward, bracing both hands against his desk.

He’s got that cold, dark gleam in his eye.

The same one that made him seem so powerful, even as a child.

His parents may have been immigrants. His family may have been dirt poor.

He may have had a slight limp on his left side and a lisp that affected his speech.

None of that mattered when you met his gaze head on. His eyes held a darkness that swallowed you whole. And the worst part? A part of you wanted to be swallowed. You were stupid enough to be comforted by the shadows.

“That was the first lie,” he repeats. His fingers dance on the surface of the gun until they find the safety. He noisily flips it off so that they hear the clip engage. “Let’s make things interesting. Next one to lie gets a bullet through his eye.”

The two men don’t look at each other this time. They shift on their feet. The one with the busted jaw glances at me as if he wants me to say something. They were just playing around, after all. When they cornered me in an alley and tried to rip my shirt off, it was all just fun and games.

I should be thankful for what will come next. There’s a cut on my chin and blood dribbling down onto my scalloped collar. I can taste dirt and grit from when they tried to hold me facedown and pull my pants off.

I should want Vinny to blow their brains out all over his priceless, antique rug. Maybe, a few years ago, I wouldn’t have cared—back when I’d been younger and stupid enough to mistake his aggression for love or kindness.

But, now, I know the truth. Men like the two sniffling before me are nothing more than predators. They hunt and stalk and gleefully devour their prey in the shadows—but not all predators deserve to be torn apart by the Big Bad Wolf.

“Any takers?” Vinny gives them another five minutes to decide.

The seconds tick by like hours, long enough for stupid, irrelevant concerns to take precedence. I’m tired. All I want to do is crawl into bed and blast Bach until I fall asleep. I want to eat my leftover Thai food with extra hot sauce. I want...

“Time’s up.” Vinny pulls himself upright to all six feet, two inches of his height.

The movement displays the muscles that ripple in his forearms, straining the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“This isn’t very sportsmanlike.Daniela?

Would you like to give us an idea of what really happened? ” His tone is crisp with impatience.

“Vinny...” I trail off. My side hurts from having connected with the pavement. There are dark circles under my eyes, I know, from staying up all night and playing until my fingers bled. I’d give anything to play now, to lose myself in the cadence of the music.

“Daniela?” Vinny points the gun in my direction—not at me, exactly. Instead, he trains the barrel over the framed photograph of an Italian villa hanging behind my head. It’s a warning. “What happened?”

I fold my hands over my lap, and I try to look anywhere but at the men who are crowding the room.

There’s a beautiful view of the city from the window across from Vinny’s desk, silhouetted by the gap between the curtains.

I can see everything highlighted by neon lights and flashing street signs.

Against the black backdrop of the night sky, it almost resembles diamonds.

“Daniela—”

“They followed me from the subway,” I say, my voice detached. “One of them took my purse, while the other grabbed me. They held me down and tried to... Vinny, I’m fine .”

“No.” The flat of his hand strikes the surface of the desk with a sound that has me jerking upright. “It’s not fine .”

Two quick pops muffled by the silencer and it’s over. Two bodies hit the floor with a thud, and Vinny puts his gun down. There’s a noticeable release of tension in his shoulders. People like me prefer bubble baths to relax. Men like Vinny go for murder.

“Your cello came,” he tells me while wiping something from his chin. “Next time when I send you a fucking car, you be in it, too. The subway .” He shakes his head, perplexed by the idea of me being so indignant as to shun his hospitality.

In a way, I suppose it’s ironic. I cared enough about my cello to have it delivered to the hotel in the town car Vinny had sent for me, but I couldn’t bear to climb inside it myself. I walked, traveling two blocks before taking a bus and then the subway.

If I were lying to myself, I’d claim I’d wanted the exercise. In truth, I just wanted to prolong the moment. That freedom. That soothing silence of being alone with my thoughts for once. A world without violence or vengeance or Vinny.

“Lynn?” Vinny snaps his fingers to draw my attention. “Go to bed. Get some rest. We’ll do lunch tomorrow. How does Capellas sound? ”

“Great,” I croak.

Capellas is a restaurant on Fifth, firmly under Vinny’s control. The chef’s name is Tony. His wife is Maria. For a share of their profits, Vinny ensures their establishment’s “protection.” Out of gratitude, Tony always serves him one hell of a chicken marinara—on the house.

“Good.” He motions for me to get up while he circles the desk to stand in front of me.

I try not to flinch when he touches me and trails a thumb along the corner of my mouth. He observes me like that for two seconds. Then he leans forward and brings his mouth to my forehead, leaving a chaste kiss.

“ Mi Bella .”

His hand runs down my spine, sensing the curves of my body through the fabric of my sweater, but I don’t react. I don’t cringe.

I inhale. In and out. Out. In. There’s a noticeable tremor in my hands when he finally pulls away. His dark eyes don’t miss it and they narrow, homing in on the rebellious fingers.

“Those bastards better have not hurt you,” he growls with an intensity that makes my stomach churn.

Fear has a bitter flavor that settles on my tongue. Or maybe it’s love?