Page 88 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

I turn without bothering to note the direction he heads in.

With only the sound of sirens to guide me, I run—straight through the upscale neighborhood and to the smoking ruins of Vinny Stacatto’s fucking castle.

My gaze latches onto an ambulance as it starts up the driveway, and I pounce on the first paramedic who leaps out.

One look at the woman in my arms is all it takes for the man to call for a stretcher.

I don’t bat an eyelash when a cop appears just outside the door of the girl’s hospital room a little after midnight.

Apparently, “car crash” could only explain away some of her injuries, like the broken arm and four cracked ribs—but the lie doesn’t cover the burns or her partially missing ear.

And, given how close she was “found” near Stacatto’s burning manor, I’m not surprised that some skittish nurse called the police.

I’m surprised by which cop has shown up, however.

Meeting his gaze, I shake my head once before he can even take a fucking step over the threshold.

Then I rise to my feet, making sure not to jostle the kid dozing beside me.

Nothing short of an earthquake could wake the woman lying in the hospital bed with “safe and legal” drugs flooding her system through an IV.

Somehow, I still feel her gaze on the back of my neck as I cross the room without taking my own off the man lurking in the hallway.

“Vialle.” Van Hallen jerks his chin toward the room, his expression gruff.

“Isn’t it funny that, not even a minute after you called, we got a tip about a house fire at that very address?

Yeah, very funny indeed,” he grunts though I don’t say a damn thing.

“But you know the part I find interesting?” He hesitates for a beat as his eyes pierce my own like a laser homing in on its intended target.

“That fire was a clear-cut case of arson, but I assume you know that already, huh, Vialle?”

“Are you trying to insinuate something, Detective?” I wonder, keeping my voice down as a nurse scurries by with a clipboard clutched to her chest. “That’s what I thought,” I reply when he responds with only a lift of his eyebrow.

“Well, I guess those Dick Tracy detective skills have paid off for you after all, huh? So, let’s just put the case to rest once and for all then, shall we?

You’re right... I did it.” I step forward, kicking the sliding door to the room shut, and then I hold both hands out, baring the wrists. “You got your fucking wish—”

“You can knock it off with the smart-ass ‘detective’ shit, Vialle,” Van Hallen snarls.

“And it’s Interim Police Chief Van Hallen now.

” He shakes his head, unused to the weight of the figurative crown that’s just been shoved on top of it.

“Those girls you sent my way had interesting stories to tell. Some of them claimed to be smuggled over state lines for ‘parties.’ That makes it the jurisdiction of the FBI.”

I bristle at the news of FBI involvement. This shit isn’t going to go away easily now. Van Hallen nods as if he can read my mind.

“Of course, none of this is official until the press conference tomorrow, but you can cut the fucking heroic act now. I know she did it— I know she set that fire. And I’m not going to do a goddamn thing about it, so you can take a step back, Vialle,” he warns.

I say nothing, and I don’t move a fucking muscle, either.

“I am planning to reopen the Manzano murder case though,” Van Hallen continues after a second’s pause.

“Why? Stacatto’s dead.” I spit the words out, though I’m not even sure if I really believe them. At least, in the girl’s case, he was alive and well. Killing a monster doesn’t erase the scars they inflicted—I know that for a fucking fact.

“Yes,” Van Hallen says with a nod. “Dead, but not off the hook. The bastard’s organization will feel the legal ramifications of his crimes for years to come—you can bet your ass on that.

And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Stacatto had some powerful criminals in his fold who were complicit in his crimes.

It’s only a matter of time before they pick up where he left off.

..like your friend Arno. Let’s hope he has seen the light and the Gardai will all suddenly become upstanding citizens— ”

“So, if you aren’t here to arrest anyone, why the visit, Interim PoliceChief ?” I cut in. “Sending your condolences?”

“Look, I only came here to let you know that she’s safe, Vialle,” Van Hallen says, his tone softer, and hell, I think he might even mean it.

“At least from me. As far as the hospital knows, she’s still your ‘ sister, ’ Gabriella Vialle, who was in a terrible ‘car accident.’” He scoffs at the lie, shaking his head.

“I guess they didn’t teach creativity one-oh-one in prison.

” He starts to head down the hall, but only a few yards away, he stops.

“Oh, that reminds me... About your case... I did some digging.”

A heartbeat later, I’m stone, already contemplating which part of the bastard I’ll break first. “Is that so, Detective?”

“Yeah. I looked into the victim’s background,” Van Hallen admits, oblivious to the darker note in my voice and the way my hands are shaking.

“I dug up some old allegations—very old—from a son he had. Seems none of it was founded or even investigated—things like the boy not wanting to strip down for gym class or being jumpy in the showers. Small stuff, but it’s clear the system screwed that kid over.

In my opinion, if that boy did eventually take a whack at that man with a hammer, no one could blame him—in theory .

But, even then, something still didn’t add up. ..”

Nearly a full minute passes before he finally shrugs and inclines his head to the door to the girl’s room.

“I know the kid did it, Vialle. And ,” he adds before I can even start toward him, my fists drawn, “the case is closed. Sealed. Done. The debt to society was paid...by you .” He turns on his heel, tugging at the collar of his jacket.

“I would say ‘see you around,’ but quite frankly, I don’t want to. ”

I watch him go, my hands still clenched.

The heat surging through my fingertips doesn’t fade no matter how fucking tight I grind them together.

When I turn and throw the door to the girl’s room open, she’s still unconscious, but Espi isn’t.

He’s watching me from the bench beside her bed.

So far, he hasn’t complained about being forced to share the same space as me—apparently, his concern over the girl overrides his hate for me.

Still, I don’t expect him to speak to me directly the moment I cross the room.

“What did he want?” His gaze cuts over to the doorway. Apparently, an ingrained suspicion of the police is an inherited trait.

“Nothing,” I grunt. “But I will say that your little antics with Arno haven’t gone unnoticed—”

“I had an audition,” Espi blurts out, shifting to sit upright. “At an art school up north. Arno gave me the money for the application process, but I wasn’t going to take his charity, so I did the tagging stuff for him as payback. The placement stuff was this week. That’s where I was.”

I don’t move, processing each bit of information. An art school. It’s a big leap from“joining the traveling circus,”like he’d claimed he would do back when he was a kid. Placement stuff.

“So...you got in?”

He shrugs. “Of course I got in. You know anyone else with a colorful, though maybe not entirely legal, portfolio like mine?”

I don’t miss the way he glances down at his bandaged hand and winces.

Still, I assume that means he used Arno’s tags as part of his “audition.” I don’t know whether I’m impressed or...relieved?

“So, that’s it?” I risk asking. “You’re done running with the Gardai?”

“For now,” Espi says, but he puts an edge on his tone that warns me not to push the issue.

Talking him out of criminal activity—like a goddamn hypocrite—could come later.

I didn’t realize until now just how much I’ve missed this.

.. talking to him. Not having him run from me or take a swing.

If I had a soul, I might put a name to the emotion swelling in my chest, but I don’t have the fucking time.

“She’ll be out for a while,” I say, nodding to the woman between us. “If you wanted to go back with Arno... ”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’ll stick around until she wakes up. It’s the least I could do for her...”

I don’t challenge that, but I take up a position on the opposite wall so that he won’t change his mind, either.

In the dim lighting, I just watch him. Little Espisido’s all grown up.

Five years have stripped away the little punk who slept with a nightlight to reveal someone who acted like a man.

One who talks about getting into art school while sporting a mangled hand.

I know I’m partially responsible for the stern set to his jaw and the weariness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

I spent years protecting him from whatever I could, but it still wasn’t fucking enough.

Apparently, of the same mindset, Espi stares me dead in the eye, crossing his arms over his chest the best he can. “Damn it, Dante, let’s cut the shit. I heard what that guy said. The cop.”

I don’t say a damn thing. I can’t. The therapy sessions we sat through in prison were more about learning how not to smash a bastard’s face in than confronting the past.

“You...you never asked me what happened,” Espi goes on. “Not...not even when you saw. You just did what you do best.” He swallows hard, and when his eyes widen, I know he’s looking back five years ago. All of that fucking blood. “You never even fucking asked me—”

“I didn’t want to know,” I say before he can even go there. It’s the truth.

After all that time...I finally got the phone call I’d been dreading—Espi so fucking incoherent that all he could do was cry into the goddamn phone. I had never experienced that fear—not even for myself. When I got to the house, the bastard was already dead, and Espi was covered in blood.

“I couldn’t let you go to... I had to protect... I couldn’t protect you from him...”

“He didn’t, you know,” Espi says softly. “He didn’t touch me.”

Suddenly, I’m leaning against the wall. When I finally manage to exhale, it’s like five years of fear blow out through my nostrils, and my fingers unhook out of fists, numb for once. “Good.”

“He...he was drinking, and...he started talking about you.”

I barely recognize the sound of the voice that continues to speak.

“ Dante. How he deserved to have you hate him. All the...all the shit he did to you. How he—” He breaks off, and the kid can’t fight one of his old habits back.

Tears slip down his chin, and he grits his teeth like he does when he’s fighting the urge to cry.

“You never told me. I never knew. I thought maybe he just hit you a few times—that’s why you were always around.

I thought you had it rough when you ran away.

That’s why you used the drugs and why you fought all the time.

I thought that was why you looked like you were dead every time you came around.

But...I knew. I knew right then that it was because of me . ”

“Bullshit.” Shaking my head, I pull away from the wall. “Espi, what the fuck are you talking about—”

“It was my fault.” His gaze is on the floor, but he holds his good hand up when I start to circle the bed toward him, and I stop dead in my tracks.

“It was my fault. You went there because of me. You tolerated that asshole because of me . He was sitting there, wondering if you would ever be able to forgive him, when I couldn’t even forgive myself .

You spent my entire life trying to protect me, and.

..it was killing you. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to do it,” he croaks.

“I just remember shouting at him and s-slapping the bottle out of his hands. The hammer was just lying there, and...”

He stares down at his own hands, flexing his still-attached fingers.

“I thought you’d be angry when you saw. I wanted you to yell at me.

Hit me. I’d fucked up, and once again, you had to clean my mess.

But all you fucking did was make me change my clothes, send me to Arno, and I didn’t even know until the next day that you were in lockup.

” He glances up at me, his eyes shining with hatred.

“Even then, you put me first. You confessed without even knowing what the fuck happened. You gave up the rest of your life for me, and you didn’t even ask me why . ”

“It didn’t matter,” I snap. “I would do it again.”

Espi watches me for so long that at least three nurses have crept into the room to check on the girl only to dart right back out by the time he finally sighs.

“I know you would...and that’s what pisses me off.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to be pissed off, then,” I counter, not giving a fuck if that makes him hate me even more. “So, you better go to fucking art school and stay out of trouble. You fuck up and I’m the one who will take the fall for you, whether you like it or not.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, but when I approach the bench and sit beside him, he doesn’t run off, either.