Page 89 of Crescendo (Beautiful Monsters #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Daniela

I’ve had a clear image of Heaven in my head since childhood, thanks to my parents. A devout Catholic, my father entertained this clichéd fantasy of a soul being greeted by angels playing the harp in a pool of white light—and, until now, I never had any reason to doubt that hope.

Reality paints a different picture, however. My heaven is black, and the only serenade I hear consists of angry, masculine voices.

“You think it’s that fucking easy?” someone snarls. “You just hand me the reins and I’m what? King for a day until Daddy decides to come back home?”

“No,” another man growls. “You fucking keep it. I never wanted it—”

“That’s not how it goddamn works, Dante! I know you’ve been on ‘vacation’ for a while, but there’s only one way the alpha stops being alpha. Just ask Dino...”

“Do you really want to try that method?”

The moment that dangerous tone resonates down my spine, I know where I really am. The pearly gates of Heaven must have slammed in my face; this is the devil’s domain.

From what I can gather, Lucifer himself and one of his trusted demons are arguing about who really owns the fiery pit.

“I should challenge you for it,” the first man starts— Arno? —but his voice doesn’t hold any real aggression. Just...pain? Hurt? Regret?

“You could,” the devil concedes. “I won’t fucking stop you.”

It’s more of a dare than a taunt. Tension builds, licking at the silence like flames. Higher...higher...until something has to give.

“Damn it, Dante... Fine,” Arno spits out finally. “Have it your fucking way. But, if you think for one second that you can just waltz back in and I’ll roll over like a good little boy, then you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been doing just fine on my own. I’m nobody’s fucking benchwarmer.”

“I don’t expect you to be,” the devil snaps, but his voice is softer and easily drowned by the thud of heavy footsteps.

What I assume is a door slams shut seconds later and my perception shifts once again. I’m in a room.

When I finally manage to peel my eyes open, I’m blinded by daylight streaming in through a nearby window—not hellfire. My searching fingers deduce that I’m on a bed, and even with my vision blurry, I have no trouble recognizing the dark silhouette lurking beside it.

When he’s awake, there is nothing about him similar to the fallen angel I watched sleep.

His bulk is glaringly out of place here, and his scars shape everything about him—how he sits, waits, breathes.

Scanning his worn expression, I don’t see any new scorch marks, however, so I doubt he walked through fire to find me.

But where are we now?

Without saying a word, he waits for me to notice the tubes snaking from my wrist and the bags of fluid hanging from a nearby IV, which answer the question I’m too tired to ask: a hospital room .

He’s not alone, either. Someone is sleeping on a small couch beside him, using their bandaged hand like a pillow.

Darcy ? No, this figure is way too tall, with an unruly mop of black hair. ..

A flurry of beeping pierces the air—an alarm sounding from the machine monitoring my vitals. It doesn’t like how quickly I sit up and struggle to regain control of my heavy limbs.

“Espi?”

The specter on the couch groans, turning his face toward the crook of his elbow. He sounds real enough... My brain warns me that it’s impossible, but when I blink, he doesn’t disappear.

“Is...is he all right—”

“He’s fine,” Dante grunts, gritting his teeth—but “fine” seems to be the operative word in this equation.

Guilt gnaws at my chest when I take in Espi’s bruised face and the mess made of his right hand. He might not be dead, but he survived his trip into hell with plenty of souvenirs.

The thought makes me glance down at my own hand, which is covered in gauze. My fingers seem to be intact, but when I flex them, a dull ache travels up the length of my arm, triggering a wave of memories: white-hot flames licking at my skin. Smoke. Burning. Death. Dying...

“How?” I look up while my tongue runs along my sore, cracked lips, tasting blood. “How did I...”

“Gino,” Lucifer grits out. “Turns out he wasn’t so loyal to your precious Vinny after all.” Anger rides every single word, searing hot—though the devil doesn’t even seem to understand why he’s furious as he stares down at his open hands. They’re bruised and swollen even worse than before.

Like an arrow to the chest, something warns me that I’m the reason. While maybe not through the actual fire, my devil did go through hell, if only to drag his new toy from a rival’s grip. Not that it did one damn bit of good.

Despite everything...I’m Lynn again, squashed beneath Vinny’s thumb. His death didn’t erase my memories. My lungs struggle beneath the weight of them. My limbs burn with the need to escape, but my body... Every cell is too heavy to move.

Did you think it would be so easy, Mi Bella? my old friend taunts from the darkest reaches of my soul. Think again. I own you...

Trapped, I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my throbbing lip until it bleeds—anything to be distracted from that hollow, pulsing feeling in my chest. Is it fear? Agony? Or is it merely the knowledge that, alive or not, Vinny will never let me go.

“Look at me.”

My eyes fly open at Lucifer’s command, and Vinny doesn’t exist for the second his gaze homes in on mine—not that the devil’s rage is any easier to stomach. I have my own evil to answer for, and Lucifer frowns, both my judge and my jury.

I broke our promise.

I made a liar out of the devil.

I further corrupted his broken soul.

He tallies up my crimes in silence, and Espi’s snoring fills the space between us, mingling with the steady drip of IV fluid and the distant commotion of the hallway.

When what feels like an eternity has passed, I can’t bear the tension anymore. “Arno...is he okay?” I don’t know if I’m really concerned or if I’m just that desperate to say something . Either way, I chose the wrong topic.

“Mack wanted him to pay for your kill with his life, if that’s what you mean,” the devil says. His voice is as sharp as the blade we toyed with between us, drawing yet more of my blood.

“What—”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I handled it.”

He handled it, but I don’t think it was in a way Arno approved of. “I know you’ve been on ‘vacation’ for a while, but there’s only one way the alpha stops being alpha.” What did that mean? I start to ask, but a different voice cuts me off before the words leave my throat .

“You’re alive.” With one shift of his lanky frame, Espi sits upright, running his unbandaged hand through his hair.

“So are you,” I croak once I find my voice again. I can’t help the way my eyes dart from him to Dante. Side by side, it’s like watching a yin and yang symbol come to life.

Espi’s smile lights the room up, contrasting with the devil’s permanent scowl—but I’m not sure which expression I find more comforting.

They both eye me carefully, and I must make for quite the sight, because when a nurse peeks her head through the doorway, she makes a show of calling for the doctor.

In a blur of medical jargon, they throw a few terms around like poison darts. Broken ribs. Fractured arm. Months of physical therapy. Healing. Quiet. Peace.

When they leave, the only tangible piece of information I manage to decipher is that, after a few days of observation, I’ll be “free to go home, sweetie.”

Home. It’s been so long since I’ve applied that term to an actual place. Ironically, the only image that comes to mind is of a narrow room with a single bed dominated by a sleeping, imposing figure.

“You got banged up pretty good, Pyro,” Espi states with a whistle, drawing my attention back to him. His smile is as bright as ever, though the cut on his forehead ruins the carefree illusion he tries to cast.“The docs think you’ll be stuck in here for at least a week. After that...”

He lets the statement hang as if he expects me to dream up a plan of action on the spot. With Vinny’s domain in flames, I am “free,” after all. When I don’t answer, Espi glances warily at his brother.

“If you don’t have a place...you could stay with me,” Espi says. “Arno got me some digs outside of the city, and I have the extra room.”

He fiddles with his right hand while he speaks, rolling the fingers of his good hand over the bandages. I’m so fixated on the unconscious action that I don’t realize until he clears his throat that nearly a minute has gone by.

“I, uh... Thank you,” I croak out, “but I can’t.” I’ve tainted the devil and his angelic cohort long enough—though neither one seems to appreciate my guilt.

“Really, Pyro,” Espi starts. “It’s no trouble—”

“You have nowhere left to go,” the devil says, rising to his feet.

There’s blood on his shirt. And his jeans.

His hands... Noticing my expression, he doesn’t try to hide it.

He’s the beast from the cage again, bearing his battle wounds like medals of honor.

“Stacatto’s dead,” he adds. “Arno sure as hell won’t take you in.

So, unless you have a better option, I suggest you drop the stoic martyr act and take the fucking offer. ”

Without another word, he storms out, slamming the sliding door of the room behind him.

“Ignore him,” Espi says quietly, but for the first time, there isn’t any hostility in his tone when he refers to his brother.

“I offered him a spot to crash, too,” he admits, watching the space Lucifer left with an unreadable expression.

“He turned me down. Something tells me that he’ll change his mind though. ..”

Deep down, I know that, if he did, it would only be to keep an eye on Espi. His absence makes one thing clear: The devil himself wants nothing to do with me.

Three months later