Page 42 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

“Don’t you get it?” I slam my fist against the table, hammering the sick, twisted mindset of Vinny into my bones.

“Don’t you realize by now? You were never in control, not really.

You were just part of...” I snicker and have to clutch at my stomach with one hand just to find the breath to speak.

“You were just part of my punishment .”

The first game we ever played was hide-and-seek.

He started it, sneaking up behind me on my way home from school and yanking my notebook right from my hands.

I gave chase with all the gusto of an energetic eight-year-old already hardened from a few months of starting school in America, where the kids snickered and the teachers cordoned me off into my own section of the class. Integration, they called it.

I was angry when I finally caught up to the grinning boy with brown eyes.

“ Vai te foder ,” I told him, using the same words my father would shout at the vendors in the market who dared to overcharge him.

Part of the fun came from the childish knowledge that he, like the other American children, couldn’t understand me.

But he laughed. “Say it in English,” he challenged, holding my notebook high above his head, where no amount of jumping would ever allow me to reach .

I licked my lips, already well aware of what the words translated to in English. “G-go...go fuck yourself.”

He chuckled again and nodded. Sunlight glanced off his chestnut-brown hair and reflected in his eyes. “It sounds stronger in English,” he said. “And I’ve done you a favor.” He shook my notebook once.

I flexed my fingers, eager to run them over the glossy image of a unicorn on the front, speckled with glitter. At that moment, it was my most prized possession, and as if knowing that, the boy waited nearly five extra minutes before finally lowering it within my reach.

“You should thank me,” he said.

At the time, I was able to pick out only pieces of what he’d said, still learning English, but I used the strange syllables and strangled vowels almost as a guide to drive my suddenly fervent desire to learn the language of my new country.

Eventually, I was able to decipher every word, and I tucked them away within myself like a hard-fought trophy.

“I’ve given you back your purpose,” he told me. “Just minutes ago, you were pouting and defeated because those kids made fun of you and made you feel bad. I made you remember why you went there in the first place.”

“Your name?” I demanded afterward, clutching my notebook to my chest.

“Vincent,” he said, “but you can call me Vinny. Okay?”

I nodded, only catching the gist of the request. Pride blossomed in my chest and seared through my skin. An older boy was willing to let me call him something that I suspected only a few people were allowed to.

“My name is Danny,” I said, testing out one of the few English phrases I had known before immigrating.

The boy frowned. “Danny? That’s a man’s name.”

I flinched, stung by his rejection of my own precious nickname. “Daniela,” I clarified, trying again, but he didn’t seem to like a name that even my American teachers told me was “beautiful,” using the opportunity to teach me a new word.

“You deserve a prettier name.”

“Pretty?” I perked up at the mention of another word I knew. Bonita. “Like...Lyndsay?” I wrinkled my nose, mentioning the name of one of the girls who tormented me.

The boy nodded. “Yeah. Lynn. That’s cute. Can I call you that?”

I glanced down at my navy jumper, feeling my cheeks flush. An older boy thought I was cute . He wanted to give me a pretty name to match what he saw on the outside.

“O-okay,” I told him, tasting yet another new word on my tongue. “Lynn.”

It’s funny how hindsight can taint the most treasured memories with the harsh truth of knowledge gained since then.

Fifteen years ago, I was nothing more than a stupid child falling beneath the subtle manipulation of a boy who—even I could admit—wasn’t entirely evil then.

In one instant, I gave up my name, with little idea that I would eventually be forced to give up so much more.

It’s a pain that cuts deep—and never truly stops cutting.

“Look at me.” The voice slices through the memories and drags me back to the present. Lucifer’s eyes pin me in place, keeping me here when all I want to do is just surrender already. Vinny already won. “Look at me.” He waits until my eyes focus on his lips before speaking again. “What do you mean?”

He isn’t skeptical like the red-haired man. Lucifer is worried. He doesn’t underestimate the cunning of another devil.

I shake my head. “It was too easy.” Maybe, underneath the pain and the torture, I’d known all along. These men plucked me from Vinny’s car, on the way to meet him. Of all places. Or all times. I was dressed “pretty,” anxious by his days of silence.

Nothing good ever followed when Vinny had the chance to brood. Just like when he’d goaded me into chasing him all those years ago, Vincent Stacatto did nothing without motive—only, this time, I was the unicorn notebook dangled for his benefit.

“He let you take me,” I say, smiling while the devious nature of his own sick plan unfurls inside my head.

I dared to hesitate when accepting his ring, and like a true teacher, Vinny aimed to show me the folly of my decision. He let me be taken by men who hated him. He wanted me to be used and abused. He wanted me to remember my purpose . It seemed too twisted, even for a madman.

But hell, he’d planned similar lessons before.

“What do you mean?” Lucifer asks. He speaks every word crisply while the red-haired man rants and raves behind him.

“Stupid bitch. I nearly lost two of my men trying to grab her—”

“How did you know where I would be?” I ask.

The car was late that night by nearly fifteen minutes.

Even in his madness, Vinny was always punctual.

Someone else must have orchestrated this little plot on his behalf.

“You had a man on the inside,” I guess, thinking out loud.

“Someone who gave you the intel...only you merely thought he was working for you. He was really Vinny’s all along. ”

I rack my mind and frown as the answer becomes clear. There’s only one man with that kind of clout. Only one man Vinny would trust to spin a web around his naughty, disobedient Lynn.

“Gino.” I glance up, scanning both men’s faces for recognition. “Big man. Polish accent. Blond. Maybe he approached one of your men. Maybe you approached him. For a hefty price, he’d tell you what time Vincent Stacatto’s fiancée would be leaving the hotel and where you could intercept.”

No one tries to disagree with what I’ve said, so I keep talking.

“You thought it was too good to be true, but you needed your revenge. How could you pass it up? Little did you realize that Vinny had men following you, seeking out every bit of intel he could use to wipe you out.”

It’s a plan Vinny himself gloated over to one of the men he was torturing—how he’d let a rival drug dealer steal from him once, just to watch him“scurry right back to his doghouse. It’s like catching a fucking rat in a trap.”

Lucifer’s face reveals nothing, but the red-haired man’s face hardens. “How did you—”

I laugh again. I can’t help it. “Too easy,” I say. “Vinny doesn’t make sloppy mistakes.”

Such as hiring a man who arrives late or allowing his fiancée to travel unguarded.

I was such a fool not to realize it until now.

The fun part of his game is that I knew without a doubt that Arno Mackenzie wasn’t even his true target.

The man may have tried to have him killed, but there was no insult greater than rejecting Vincent Stacatto’s hard-earned name.

“He wanted you to hurt me.” Not merely to cause me pain—oh, no. To serve as a reminder. A lesson delivered every bit as well-intentioned as when he first taught me those words of English I’d guarded in my heart for so long. “You might as well kill me now... We’re already dead.”

“She’s a psycho little—”

“What next?” Lucifer asks. His hands grip my shoulders on either side, forcing me to face him. “What will happen next?”

My tongue flicks out to wet my lips. The next part of the game?

He won. Checkmate. The naughty pawn would be brought back to her master, and another one of his opponents would be swept off the board.

There is only one way I can save myself and at least take some of his fun away.

I slide my hand along the floor, scanning the room in search of the knife.

“No.” Lucifer catches my chin in the flat of his hand, wrenching my head around to face him again. “ Think .”

My gaze drifts over to the cell phone and I read the time.

7:49—I know without even having to check that the message arrived at seven on the dot.

“You...you have ten minutes,” I tell him.

Even when he plotted murder and revenge, Vinny liked to run a tight schedule.

“By eight. They’ll be here, though he probably already has men watching all of the doors—”

“Do you have any way out of this shithole that doesn’t open directly onto the streets?” Lucifer demands of the red-haired man.

Arno blinks. Then he snaps his fingers and jerks his chin toward the walls. “Yeah. There’s an old tunnel that leads into an abandoned warehouse across the street. I’m not stupid enough to box myself in. I learned my lesson after the last time, eh, Dante?”

The two men share a nod, referring to some event in their past. Fools. I shift onto my knees and spot something gleaming from the corner of my eye. My fingers tremble when I reach for it only to have them batted away seconds before brushing the handle of the knife.

A sharp sting flares through the uninjured side of my face. It’s nothing like the brutality contained in the hands of the red-haired man. A single slap. Confused, I glance up and find Lucifer standing over me, his hand outstretched. So he does have the potential to hit me after all.

“You have a choice,” he tells me, his voice inspiring shivers that threaten to shatter my body into a million pieces.

“Give up now. Kill yourself.” He kicks the knife over to me, and I have to dig my nails into my palm to stop from reaching for it.

“Or you can do something the bastard wouldn’ t expect. ”

“Like what?” I croak. I’m too tired for this; there’s a war raging within myself. Lynn is quivering with fear, while Daniela is resigned and exhausted.

He doesn’t even get the point—Vinny wouldn’t expect me to kill myself, not his precious, scared little Lynn. But I’m curious as to what knowledge of my beloved fiancé he’s already gleaned. His dark eyes brim with countless horrors I can only pray that I never have to fully experience .

“You fight back,” he says as if it were that simple.

Maybe it is. My little stunt with the camera pushed Vinny beyond his limit, just enough to make him tip his hand so that I’d feel him coming for me. His arrogance has bought us ten minutes. During the childhood games we used to play, I could turn one of his inevitable wins around in ten seconds.

Numb, I reach for the knife, curling my fingers around the dull blade. Lucifer watches as I carefully shove it into the pocket of my borrowed shorts. “You’ll need guns,” I say. “Not that it will matter.”

“Arno,” Lucifer snaps, but the red-haired man already seems to be thinking along the same lines.

He reaches into his waistband and withdraws a pistol, which he slams onto Lucifer’s outstretched palm. “I have more upstairs.”

“Good. Get everyone out. Then pick your best men and find positions on the outside.” The smile the devil’s lips form is as beautiful as it is chilling. He looks at me, his gaze full of an expectation that makes me shudder in anticipation. “It’s time to play a little game. Pick one.”