Page 7 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

I shake my head. I don’t know anyone in his “employ” who might want to hurt me, but that said nothing for those he kept tethered to him through means other than money.

Desperation is a funny thing. It can make a woman reckless.

Reckless enough to sell a priceless, designer shawl that may have matched this particular outfit.

Reckless enough to spend the money through dark underground channels someone might only learn of after having lived with a man like him for five years.

Reckless enough to screw up and manage not to die before Vinny’s men could come to the rescue.

He knows. I wait for him to say as much and dole out my punishment. I’m resigned to my fate like a good little lamb.

“Hmph.” Vinny shrugs. “You haven’t seen Nicolai, have you?”

I cringe at the change in subject, and my brain struggles to process the new information.

Nicolai? I vaguely recognize the name of one of the guards and a shaky mental image forms. Blond hair.

Dark eyes. He’s the same one who routinely drags me back whenever I leave the hotel for longer than three minutes. My stomach sinks.

“N-no,” I say hoarsely. “I mean...yes? I mean— ”

“Hmph.” Vinny sits back, but his eyes lose their shark-like gleam. Within seconds, he’s bored. Placated.

He snaps his fingers and the band begins to play in earnest, filling the enclosed space with music.

Chopin, I think—one of his more obscure pieces.

It’s lovely. It’s haunting. The joyful notes provide an ominous backdrop for the tension seeping through the muscles of the man across from me.

I can’t help it. My hand shoots out, and I risk taking a sip of water without his permission.

His eyes miss nothing, but he lets me rebel this once. I can’t help but feel like it’s a gift, and my pulse picks up speed, churning blood through my system. Something’s wrong. He’s smiling now, and even Vinny’s moods aren’t this wild. He’s angry. In the same breath, he’s...excited.

“What would you like?” he asks, gesturing to the menu.

“Whatever you think would be best,” I croak out in response.

The exchange is just for show, of course.

He claps his hands after setting the menu aside, and a waiter appears with our food already cooked.

Vinny is served a steak, medium rare to his exact specifications: a pinch of salt, a hint of cloves, no pepper.

He cuts into it and hums with satisfaction when it bleeds, leaving a bloody trail across his porcelain plate.

I’m served a salad, Caesar—also prepared to Vinny’s specifications.

No salt. No dressing. A splash of olive oil.

Two tomatoes cut lengthwise. A handful of Parmesan cheese.

Three olives. Four croutons. Twenty leaves of lettuce.

Alongside it is a small serving of pasta marinara with exactly a quarter cup of noodles, a serving of sauce, and three mushrooms.

“It’s good,” I insist after taking a wooden bite.

Vinny nods. “Good. Good...” He watches me eat, his gaze unusually intense.

It’s like he’s memorizing every motion of my fork. Every twitch in my throat. By the time I finally choke the last crouton down, he’s barely touched his steak .

“Is...is something wrong?” It’s a struggle to even get the words out. I shift my gaze over to the people trying to ignore us on the periphery of the room.

They’re eating slowly, chewing mechanically, and averting their eyes from the man I’m with and me.

It used to hurt, this feigned ignorance.

I’d never known how alone in the world it was possible to feel until the first night he made me dine with him like this.

There we were, amid at least a hundred people who were all desperately trying to forget my face.

Back then, I was na?ve enough to feel anger.

Now, I only feel pity. These people are no different than I was.

For however long Vinny needed them, they were prisoners.

“Everything is...perfect,” Vinny says. His smile widens.

My heart skips a beat—even more so when his right hand slips underneath the table. No. No. No. I hold my breath, clenching my hands into fists, my nails cutting into both palms.

“I wanted to wait until after dessert,” Vinny says, his voice uncharacteristically warm.

Oh, God, no. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but fear holds them open. I’m forced to watch as his hand returns in slow motion and carefully sets a small, black box onto the table.

He flicks it open, and my world ends. “It’s finally time.”

Time. It slows to a crawl for me. I can’t breathe.

I can’t take my eyes off the object perched on a pillow of black velvet inside that box, either.

The light of the chandelier overhead glances off the expertly cut face of a small, polished bit of material.

A diamond , my mind supplies. It’s attached to a metal base that forms a delicate circle. A ring.

“You’re speechless,” Vinny says, grinning. He’s happy.

I’m...crying. My vision blurs. I blink too rapidly, and the tears fall, striking my cheeks. I can’t even lift my hand to wipe them away, and they slide down my face unchecked, wetting the collar of my blouse.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”

He holds out his hand expectantly, but I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the ring. It really is beautiful—a beautiful shackle. At the thought of putting it on, pain sears through every inch of my body.

After years of studying Vinny, I know better than to let him catch me off guard, and even this “surprise” was anticipated, in a sense—the inevitable end to the songbird’s captivity.

I just hadn’t expected it to come now. I had another year left, at least. One more year before I had to take his name, become his wife .

“Tell me how happy you are,” Vinny commands.

I’ve been silent for too long—emotionless for too long. His fingers flex impatiently for my hand.

“I’m ha...” The words stick in my throat. My arm won’t budge.

“Put it on,” Vinny urges, nodding toward the ring.

I can’t. I can’t. I won’t do it. I eye the scenery behind his head, chewing so hard on my bottom lip that I taste blood.

This is the part of the nightmare when I usually wake up, sometimes with a scream poised at the back of my throat.

I can’t seem to make any sound now, ironically. I can’t speak. I can’t cry out.

There’s a man at the table behind Vinny.

A woman is sitting across from him, but his eyes remain fixated on our table.

He sees me, and I wonder if he knows what’s happening.

If he can see what little life there is left drain out of me.

I certainly can feel it leaving. My limbs are heavier.

The artificial heat is sweltering. I’m suffocating beneath flimsy lace and luxurious cotton.

“Lynn?” Vinny snaps his fingers, the sound sharp and demanding—but I still can’t bring myself to look at him. Not yet. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. “Daniela...”

The man behind Vinny is still watching us.

He has short, black hair and a memorable face.

There’s a scar underneath his left eye, a sight my mind won’t let go of for some reason.

My gaze drifts downward to take in the rest of him.

He’s wearing a suit three years out of style.

The woman across from him is siting too stiffly.

It’s as if, even inside Vinny’s carefully crafted illusion, they don’t belong. ..

“Daniela, are you listening to me?” Vinny’s tone is an ominous growl.

I’m spoiling this for him. He’ll enjoy making me suffer.

But I can’t take my eyes off the strange diner; he definitely doesn’t fit.

It’s almost as if we’re playing a silent game, the two of us.

The moment he notices me staring, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a metal object that glints in the light of the chandelier.

He raises it quickly and aims it surely—but there’s a split second when he hesitates.

I could scream then. Alert Vinny. But I don’t.

He realizes that, his mouth twisting into a frown. Why? I can imagine him wondering that while Vinny utters something in a dark tone for my ears only. The truth is...I don’t care what the hell he does with that gun.

Just as long as he shoots me first.

“Mr. Stacatto! Get down!”

The shout from one of his thugs startles Vinny into turning around—just as the assassin pulls the trigger.

Bang!

The sound is mind-wrenching. World-splitting. It tears through my eardrums, and I can almost taste the resounding silence that comes after. I’ve never felt freer than in that one pathetic second. There’s no one in this narrow void with me. There’s only silence...

And then, like a freight train at full speed, reality slams back into me, throwing me out of my chair.

“Stay down!” someone growls into my ear.

Then all I hear is sound. Clashing, clanging, terrible sound.Four more gunshots echo off the walls, followed by shouts and screams that churn into a deafening hum.

I blink, struggling to make out my surroundings.

All I can see are polished loafers racing across the room.

Silverware crashes down from a nearby table.

There’s a dark, red substance forming a puddle on the polished floor a few feet away, and despite the confusion swirling around me. ..I pray to God that it’s Vinny’s.

“Get up.” A heavy hand seizes my collar and drags me to my feet.

I sway. The once beautiful restaurant is in shambles. The tables are crooked, some overturned. The chairs are empty. A few stragglers struggle for the exits, but the only people left are two men I recognize as Vinny’s goons and me. And Vinny ...

He’s behind me. I taste his cologne on my tongue, and my throat jerks to swallow it down. I’m choking on the flavor of him, even as he turns me around to face him. Despite a spot of dirt on his lapel, he looks none too worse for wear.

“It’s okay,” he grunts, pulling me in so that my face is pressed against his chest. “You’re safe.”

Safe. That word taunts me.

I hear groaning, and I pull away from Vinny and glance over my shoulder to find a man writhing in agony.

He’s the culprit of that puddle of blood.

At first, I assume he’s been shot—until I see the knife sticking out of the palm of his right hand, pinning it flat against the floor.

He tugs at it, but I know that the effort is in vain.

When it comes out, it won’t be pretty. The blade has a serrated edge, formed of the finest craftsmanship.

Vinny had it made especially with only one purpose in mind.

Sometimes he liked to take it out and tell me all the things he’d do with it to the people who pissed him off.

I’ll cut the bastard’s nuts off with this, he’d muse.

Slowly...fucking slow, Lynn. There’s no point in torture if it isn’t done carefully. Precisely.

“Take that fucker to the hotel,” he snaps, sending one of his men into action. “Put him in my office. I want to know who sent him.”

I shiver when he turns to me. He grabs my wrist fiercely and pulls me in close again.

For once, I don’t smother the pain I feel.

I don’t suppress the grimace that crosses my face or hide the way I bite my lower lip to trap the gasp threatening to break loose.

I feel... God, this fear is the only thing I have left.

I let it wash over me, and I pray that it’s enough to battle the numbness that encases my limbs when Vinny reaches for my hand and shoves something onto my finger.

“It’s fate, Lynn,” he growls near my ear, as if seeking to dominate the thoughts he isn’t a part of. “Nothing or no one can stop what’s meant to be. Mi Bella .”

He kisses me on the cheek and draws back, frowning at the taste of salt. And only now do I realize that I haven’t stopped crying.