Anteros rubbed a lazy, concentric path along Frankie’s back as she slept. They hadn’t gone to bed until late in the morning, fucking like animals on the floor until they’d passed out sometime near the sunrise. Now the sun was high in the sky, room glowing the color of whiskey. Her body shone too, as if from the inside.

A blanket snaked haphazardly around one of her legs, doing nothing to cover her naked body. Her slim waist, her petite yet curvy ass, the delicate line of her spine, the tiny dimples in her shoulder—it all had his already hard cock raging. She breathed an easy rhythm against him, though, so he wouldn’t wake her.

Anteros’s chest grew tight as Frankie slept, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as she dreamed. There were so many things that needed his attention. A soldier would find the Wolves’ bodies soon and would realize Anteros was missing. People would assume he was also dead. They would turn to Lucia for guidance and the war would definitely tip in her favor. He should have cared, everything he’d been working for his entire life was coming to a head.

Frankie sighed, turning her head deeper into the crook of his shoulder, and he drew her closer. She was so serene in her sleep, so trusting. With a nearly imperceptible exhale, he ran a hand through his tangled, dark hair.

He watched her a moment longer then looked out the window. The sun was already dipping back down into the sky, blazing a trail of golden fire through the snow-drenched forest. The color was familiar, too familiar. The trees began to blur, vision getting lost in the radiance as memory took over.

The sun was bright in the sky when Anteros followed the man. Rays dripped down, painting the Venice streets gold and making the man’s black shoes shine even more. He was important, that was obvious. Anteros had followed him a few blocks, hoping to find the right moment to pick his pocket, but the man had come to a stop in a discreet neighborhood almost an hour before. The sound of a woman in labor rang through the small street and Anteros was close to giving up. Any other time, Anteros would have left to find another mark, but something about the man said he should wait. He crouched behind tables and flower pots, hoping the man would reappear soon.

“Congratulations, it’s a beautiful, healthy baby girl!” Anteros heard drift through an open window.

“A girl?” The man in the suit’s outraged voice followed seconds later.

“Lucio wait—” a woman said, sounding panicked. Anteros had no idea what was going on, but he listened anyway, drinking in the conversation like good wine.

“A fucking girl?” the man yelled. “You promised it would be a boy, a son to continue my line! I don’t want anything to do with this. Get rid of her.” A baby cried and some rushed Italian was exchanged, too hurried and quiet for Anteros to decipher, and then a door flew open. The man in the suit stomped out and a woman in pajamas flew after him, crying. Anteros’s legs hurt from bending down for so long and he wanted to stand up, but he crouched lower so they couldn’t see him.

“I thought she would be!” the woman cried. “I…but we…you can’t mean this! She’s still your blood—our blood! It will still work. She can still lead!” His view was obscured, but he could still see the man, and bits and pieces of the woman—her feet, a bit of her nightgown, the way she clung to the man in the suit, trying to get him to turn around.

“I will not turn into the De Lucas—emasculated, having other men take my name to carry it on.” The man pushed her off and she stumbled backward, nearly falling into the tables shielding Anteros. He crouched farther, hoping to stay out of view, but the woman was not focusing on anything else. Anteros opened his eyes, able to see the woman’s back clearly now—her silk nightgown, stained with blood, the backs of her thighs, also stained.

“Lucio!” the woman yelled. The man, or Lucio, turned around and slapped her across the face. Anteros couldn’t see it, but he heard the sound it made against her cheek from behind his perch. She gasped, but he couldn’t see her face.

“Don’t ever speak of this again,” Lucio hissed. “Get this childish idea out of your head. I can’t believe I traveled all the way here for this shit.”

“Lucio—” The woman’s words were cut off as Lucio stepped toward her, out of Anteros’s line of sight.

“Kill it,” he said. “You kill that baby—or are you forgetting what will happen if people find out?” Her feet lifted off the ground and her legs shook. “Do you understand?” He dropped her and tore something Anteros couldn’t see from her neck. She ran back inside before Lucio could say another word. Lucio backed up a few steps, straightened his shoulders, wiped the wrinkles from his suit, and walked away.

That was the first time Anteros ever saw Lucia Pavoni, but he hadn’t realized it was her until the letter. He’d never even had suspicions when all the Pavoni Princess shit was coming out. Like an idiot, he’d bought the lie Lucia and Lucio spun. When he’d thought about that day, he’d brushed it off as Lucio having an affair. Even when Lucio had given him the pendant for safekeeping, he hadn’t pieced together that it was the same one torn from the woman’s neck—he’d never gotten a good look.

Now with the letter, he couldn’t believe he’d been so fucking stupid, so fucking arrogant to not see outside his own truth to that of another.

It had all been right in front of his face.

Sleeping in his bed.

On his chest.

“You destroyed me too,” Frankie murmured.

Anteros looked down, surprised that she’d spoken. For a moment he was certain she would see the thoughts inside him. A few seconds passed, her head down and still in the crook of his shoulder, then she slowly turned to him.

“Earlier at the docks, you said I destroyed you.” With her chin in her hands, hands on his pectorals, she studied him with full blue eyes. “You destroyed me too, but you did more than that.” His brows drew in, waiting for her to elaborate. “You rebuilt me.”

Frankie’s chocolate curls cascaded down his chest as she gave him everything in her look—all of her self, all of her trust—and all he could think as he stared into those perfect crystal eyes was that he wanted to protect her from every hurt.

Even if that meant destroying the letter.

“You know, I’ve been searching for family for as long as I can remember? Even before Gabby pointed out that was why I had the hole inside me, I was searching for something to fill it.” Her eyes fluttered down briefly, eyelashes like feathers, before locking on his. “I think I can stop searching.”

Luckily he didn’t have to respond because she climbed up his chest and kissed him, but he couldn’t kiss her back. It was like a stone weighted his gut. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he didn’t like it. Slowly, she pulled back.

“Is something wrong?” She tilted her head, lines eroding her forehead in concern.

“No,” he said gruffly, pulling her to him. She wound her hands into his hair as he worked his tongue into her mouth, but in the back of his mind, the letter was a bright, blaring sign.

* * *

“So, what is this place?” Frankie asked some hours later when the moon was up. She’d fallen asleep again and slept a surprising amount, but Anteros had been content to just lie with her. She’d looked damn near perfect sleeping on his chest in the shirt he’d lent her, and he’d wanted to be awake to watch her, to protect her. It wasn’t until around ten that she really woke up.

“A safe house,” Anteros responded. “Only I know the location. It was the first place I bought when I started earning with the Family. You hungry?” Standing up, Anteros pulled her off the floor, leading her to the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was a mix of modern and rustic design. State-of-the-art appliances were set in wood and an elaborate antler chandelier hung over the island, flambeau light bulbs twined in the bone.

Anteros went to the freezer as Frankie took a seat at the island. To his left, a window spanned the entire kitchen, opening the room up to a horizon of shadowy trees. Just outside the lake was black as night, and snow covered the once sandy beach like diamonds under the moonlight.

“I still remember the last time you cooked for me,” Frankie said to his back. He raised a brow as he pulled out ingredients.

“What do you remember?” Turning around, he set the items on the island next to the built-in stove and leaned on his elbows, waiting for her response.

“The way it tasted.” She rubbed both her arms, an action Anteros knew meant she was nervous. She shook her head and looked away, hair shielding her face as if ashamed about something. Lifting himself off the granite counter, Anteros went to her.

Anteros gripped her chin, forcing her blue eyes to lock with his. “No secrets.”

She hesitated but spoke. “Before you, the fanciest meal I’d ever had was brand name macaroni from the box.”

Anteros rubbed his thumb back and forth against the soft skin of her chin. He’d grown up never knowing when his next meal would be. His mother and father had been unreliable and when Lucio had taken him to America, his meals weren’t any surer. He got by on whatever he could scavenge. It wasn’t until he cooked for himself that he’d learned how food should taste.

“What are you thinking?” she whispered.

He coughed and released her, walking back to the ingredients he’d picked out. “I’d better start cooking.” It was always a little iffy using flash-frozen ingredients, but there was no other way when at the safe house.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Frankie watched in silence as he cooked, head in her hand. In only his t-shirt, her eyes were wide and a waterfall of curls fell down her arm, a small smile lifting her cheek. She looked at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world when he poured the wine into the pan. He’d never had anyone watch him like that, with total, unabashed affection. It made him uncomfortable, but he never wanted her to stop, and Anteros had to fight the urge to stop cooking and take her on the kitchen island.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you thinking?” His voice was rougher than he’d expected. Through the smoke and heat of cooking, her face was blurry. The aroma of the wine reduction wafted into the air, muggy and delicious.

She sat up straight, face red, and put her hair behind her ear. “I, um…” She pointed to the wine. “Can I have a glass?” That wasn’t what she’d been thinking, but she hadn’t pressed him and he wasn’t going to give her a reason to.

“This is cooking wine,” he explained, turning to the cabinet. Below he had a small wine cellar, but there was at least one bottle of good cabernet in the kitchen. “This is for drinking,” he said, pulling out the bottle. Placing the lid on the pan and the meat on simmer, Anteros poured a glass and brought it to her.

“I wouldn’t know the difference,” she said.

A small smile broke his lips. “You will. I’ll teach you.” Frankie put the glass to her lips, ready to drink it quickly, when he covered her hands. “It would be such a waste to drink it without savoring the flavor. Take a minute, let it come to you.” He spun her around, pushing her against the counter until her back arched. Her eyes grew wide when he bent down and spread her legs.

Fuck.

She was fucking perfect. Wet. Open. He would always be stunned by her. There wasn’t a better position to be in than between her thighs. His hands roamed up and down her still bare legs, gripping the flesh. When he bit inside her thigh she gasped, but she still hadn’t taken a drink. Her hand shook, red liquid wobbling in the glass.

“Taste how ripe it is on your tongue,” he said, taking a long lick from the inside of her knee to the crease of her groin. She tasted so goddamn amazing. Skin, sweat—uniquely and tauntingly Frankie. With a low sound in his throat, he pulled her outer lips into his mouth one at a time, sucking deeply. In his periphery, he could see her free hand clench the granite.

“Note how bold the flavor is when it first hits you,” he said, voice hoarse. “How when it finally slides down your throat, the sensation is intense.” He pushed her thighs wider and slid his tongue along the inside of her wet cunt. The hissing food and her sharp inhale was an intoxicating melody.

He devoured her, lost himself in her flavor. She was so fucking good. Frankie watched him with half-mast eyes, bottom lip tugged so tight between her teeth it was practically bloody. Wine half drunk, lips wet with juice, she was hypnotic.

“It’s sweet,” he growled, going back in. “Creamy, stunningly…” A groan stuttered his words when she arched up to meet his tongue. “Stunningly eager.” He stroked down her folds until he reached her entrance, dipping deep inside her, tasting her from the source. At the same time, a droplet of wine fell on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw the glass at her lips shaking.

Frankie was on the edge, Anteros just had to tip her over. Letting go of one thigh, he replaced his tongue with a finger and thrust deep inside. At the same time, he pulled her clit between his lips and sucked. Almost instantly she pulsed, thigh shaking and vibrating underneath his palm as his name left her lips on a prayer.

When the final throb had settled, Anteros licked her clean. He drew his tongue along the inside of her thighs, sucking Frankie’s taste off her skin. Then he went back to her pussy and flattened his tongue on the folds, soaking up the flavor. She trembled and he looked up, catching her hooded stare. He tightened his grip on her thighs, about to go for round two, when the timer went off.

Anteros stood to his feet. Frankie’s chest echoed her orgasm in heavy, shaky breaths. The glass was empty, only a few beads of red on her lips. He stepped between her legs, pressing deep into her, needing her to feel him, needing to feel her. Eyes locked, he placed two fingers to her core. Her mouth parted, a small sound escaped, but she didn’t break their stare. He kept his touch between her thighs longer than necessary, loving how she trembled and the way her eyes betrayed her need. Then slowly, he pulled his fingers away and painted the taste of her on her lips. He dipped his head down, devouring her and the wine off them.

“Wow,” she gasped when he was done. “I really like wine.” He laughed, gave her one more furious kiss, then adjusted her shirt and walked back to the meat. He could still feel her wet in his beard, just another fucking perk to having the thing.

“I’m…” Her voice was breathless in the way he loved, and he looked up, cheek quirking when he found her flushed. “I’m kind of a lightweight. I never really drank before—obviously.” She raised the drink for emphasis. “That night I was drunk with you was the first time ever.”

Anteros paused with the herb he was about to throw in, the night she was talking about coming back to him in a rush. He wasn’t very proud of how he’d acted that night. Quickly he threw the mint into the pan and continued cooking.

“There were a lot of firsts with me.” He said it as a statement, though he wanted to know the response.

“Yes,” she said.

“There will be a lot more.” His eyes were still down, focusing on the bubbles in the simmer.

“Yes.” He looked up. Frankie was staring intently at him. Two breaths passed, and then he went back to cooking. They said nothing else as he finished, but it wasn’t a cramped silence. It was easy and comfortable.

“Are you warm enough?” Anteros asked, setting dinner in front of her.

“Will you tell me about yourself?” she responded. Slowly he sat beside her, a crease forming between his brows.

“Please,” she continued, not touching her dinner. “I want to know what no one else knows.”

After a moment, he said, “I’ll give you three questions, on one condition.”

“What?”

“You answer all of mine.”

“That’s the worst deal ever!” she scoffed, leaning back. “It’s not even remotely fair. I’ve already told you so much about myself, I just want to even the scales.”

He shrugged. “I’m not a fair man. There, that was a freebie.”

“I already knew that,” she grumbled, poking at her dinner like a sullen child. When she finally put the food to her lips and a small moan fell from her lips involuntarily, Anteros smirked.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Deal. Hmm…if I only get three questions, they have to be good ones.” She held her fork up, waving it around in thought. “Okay. How did you get these scars?” She reached out and touched his bare chest, tracing the delicate lines on his chest before resting on the F she’d given him.

“Some were given to me as a slave, others I got under interrogation, some my parents gave to me. There are too many incidences to give you just one.”

“Your parents?” She sounded horrified. “That’s—how could they?” Anteros had never been ashamed of his scars. A scar was simply a battle wound, and in his life, the more battles you survived, the more feared you became. Anteros—the Beast—had survived more battles than anyone, yet for some reason the way Frankie stared made him want to erase his scars so he could erase the look of pity.

“That’s another question,” Anteros said with black humor, and she made a face. “Are you telling me your papa was the picture of parental affection?”

She pulled her hand back. “When you put it like that.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t easy like before, now sticky and cramped. Anteros pushed his food away and ran a hand through his hair, looking at Frankie, who wasn’t touching her food either.

It was such a stupid fucking idea to answer questions.

“Just so you know, I think they’re beautiful.” Frankie pushed her food around, eyes on the plate. “I was just startled.” Another few seconds passed and Anteros focused on Frankie. How could someone like her find someone like him beautiful? He reached for her fork, taking it from her hands.

“Eat before it gets cold.” He lifted the fork and put it to her lips. “My turn. Have you had sex with anyone else? Since you’ve been gone?” Her eyes widened and she swallowed the bite he’d just given her, almost choking.

“No,” she said, laughing. “Just, no.”

He glared, setting the fork down. “It’s a valid question.”

“Who was I going to have sex with? Nikolai?” She shuddered.

“You’re surrounded by soldiers. You’re young, beautiful.” He dropped his fork, carding his fingers through her hair, both hands gripping her skull. “You’re the most spectacular thing any of those men will ever see.” Her lids drooped, heavy lashes shadowing her eyes.

“Just you,” she murmured, licking her lips. His gaze dropped to them, plump, ready to be sucked and bitten. Knowing it was just him, knowing only his hands had been on her and only he inside her, drove him mad. She utterly belonged to him.

“Wait, have you?” she asked, snapping out of her lusty trance.

“No,” he said easily. He pushed her hair behind her ear, stroking it down her back, and placed his lips at the nape of her neck. “Just you.”

“That doesn’t count as a question,” she added quickly. “I was piggybacking off yours.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips from her neck to her shoulder. “Noted.”

“Do you remember what happened to the letter I gave you at the church?” He slowly sat up, looking Frankie in the eyes. The question caught him off guard, but years of training and multiple interrogations kept his face stoic. Of course she would be curious about what happened to the letter, and he’d been expecting her to ask about it when shit died down, but he’d thought he’d have a few more days to figure out how to continue lying to her.

“I think I lost it in all the commotion,” he said. “It may still be back there.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had almost lost the letter in the furor at the docks. It had been sopping wet and smudged when he’d realized it was still in his pocket. He’d locked it in the desk in his bedroom upstairs the minute he got the chance. “Was it important to you?” Anteros asked, if only to get the abject sorrow off her face.

“No.” She looked at her lap and worked the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. Lucia hasn’t told me anything about my family, about where I came from, about who I am. I was hoping it might tell me something. It was all I had, really.”

Anteros felt…guilty. That was the feeling. It was an odd resonance in his gut, one he’d never felt before. An urge to tell her everything overcame him.

“Did you get a chance to read it?” she asked, face turning to his, hopeful. Half her face caught the light, a soft glow painting her honey skin as her blue eyes glimmered like sun shining on a clear lake, and he cupped her cheek.

“Is that a question?” His tone was joking, but upon seeing her face fall, he switched. “No, mio cuore, I didn’t.” Unlike his previous answer, that one was a complete lie.

“Oh well,” she sighed. “I love it when you call me mio cuore,” she said, switching the subject and nuzzling against his palm. He tried to ignore the odd feeling of remorse in his gut. “It’s not very fair, I don’t have any nicknames for you.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought.

He didn’t want a nickname. Not from her. He’d grown up in a life where people disguised themselves behind their nicknames. The greatest pleasure was hearing her scream his name—his real name. He told her as much.

“Who were you before the Beast?” she asked.

“Anteros.” He smirked. “What a waste of a question.”

“That is not an answer,” she scoffed, pushing at his chest. Anteros slid the hand at her cheek to the back of her neck, keeping her still. “Who were your parents? Where did you live? I already know a little. You said you were an orphan, but not always. I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know the truth. From you.” The hand at her neck stiffened, his eyes hardened. Frankie must have picked up on the walls being erected because a second later she insisted, “Anteros, please.”

He brought his other hand to her neck, gripping her with both, forcing her to meet his eyes while he stared into her searching depths. No one knew the truth of his parents, the shameful secrets of his past. He’d come close to spilling that time with his Wolves, but not even Lucio had known. The man had tried, but he’d only been able to glean bits and pieces. Anteros had purposefully kept it that way.

“Please, Anteros,” Frankie whispered, cutting into his thoughts. “I just want to know you.” Her eyes danced back and forth, beseeching. Honest.

God fucking dammit.

“You first,” he growled, dropping his grip.

“What?”

“Tell me about Frankie.”

She blinked as if surprised, but took a deep breath. “I was a sick girl.” She looked down. “Nothing much interesting happened to me…until you.”

“I don’t believe that.” Another silence settled between them. Anteros was beginning to recognize the silence as unique to them. It meant they were putting up walls. Keeping each other out. He couldn’t be the one to tear them down, not on this. Frankie fiddled with her pinky.

“God,” she exhaled, exasperated. “Fine. I was diagnosed when I was in junior high and Papa couldn’t handle that since I was the one taking care of him. I was already kind of weird for reading books all the time so the illness just made me weirder.” She looked away, lost in thought.

“Go on,” he probed.

“I don’t want to tell you this,” she snapped.

“You don’t have to.” But I really fucking want you to, he added in his head.

“But you won’t tell me anything if I don’t.” He nodded, and she peeled herself off the chair and walked to the other side of the room, placing her hand on the big horizontal window that cut through the kitchen. With the lights on now, it was just black, impossible to see anything outside.

“Look, I don’t know how to tell my story without it sounding like a sob one, okay? It’s just my life, though. I don’t think it’s sad and I’m not telling it for pity. I was sick. Papa hit me. Kids didn’t understand me. That was my life.” Franke turned around but didn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was pulled between her teeth, her hand rubbing furiously up and down her arm. Anteros got up and walked to her, brought her against his chest. She let him, falling into his embrace, gripping his forearms. The hand that had been against the window was ice cold.

“I was so alone,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I always thought I would be alone. I had one friend, Jenny, but she left, and she wasn’t even really a friend. She didn’t know who I was on the inside. I often found myself talking to her and she would just stare at me like I was an alien. It’s not really a surprise the friendship ended when she changed schools. I just clung to her because I didn’t want to be alone. Pathetic, huh?”

Anteros spun her around and tucked her head under his chin. He let her bleed the words into him. Anything he said to her would be moot. Words couldn’t combat the loneliness echoing in her soul.

“I cried so much,” she said against his chest. “I hated myself for it, hated how weak I was. I wished I could shut off my tears or emotions or something, but I felt everything. I hated the kids who had the luxury of caring about things like homework or boyfriends. I resented my conversations with them, resented having to put a mask on and pretend I was like them.” She paused. “I hated everything they loved, hated how meaningless it was, and resented how they couldn’t see it. I put the mask on so much that the real Frankie screaming underneath it became deaf to my ears. Until…” She trailed off, nails digging into the muscles at his waist.

“Until?” he probed when she’d been quiet for some time.

She looked up for the first time since she’d started talking. “Now.”

Eyes locked, Anteros threaded a hand through the silky strands of her hair, holding the base of her skull. He wanted her to know that he didn’t just understand, but he would take her words and guard them with his life. One beat of sizzling charged silence passed then he pulled her to him, crushing their lips together. Anteros took Frankie’s tongue, licking the taste from her. Wine was still on her lips, thick and rich. He growled, tugging at the bottom one with his teeth. Anteros wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, but a question burned too bright. Reaching the depths of his willpower, he pulled back. Frankie moaned, nails going from his sides, up his back, and around his shoulders, trying to bring him back.

“And you’re better?” he asked, voice hoarse. She was breathless, swaying toward him, lips swollen and wet. Her nails scythed his shoulder, eyelids fluttering. A sense of satisfaction twisted inside him and the urge to throw her on the counter and fuck her nearly overwhelmed him again, but he focused. Gently pushing her hair from her face, he said her name.

“What?” She blinked as if waking up. He repeated his question, searching her eyes.

“Uh, yeah.” She briefly looked away before meeting his stare. “I, uh, I was going to school again by high school.”

“What made you sick?”

“Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.”

His brows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of that.”

She laughed. “Most people haven’t.” Then she added, “Quick, say it three times fast.” Relief flooded him and Anteros pressed her against the wall, assaulting her with kisses from her lips, to her chin, to her neck, needing the reassurance of her flesh.

“Wait!” she pushed him off. “You owe me. Tell me about your family. About you.” Dammit. He’d almost gotten away.

Anteros trailed his pointer finger from her cheek, along her neck, across her collarbone. Frankie closed her eyes, short breaths betraying her desire. He knew the way to get her to bend, saw she was on edge herself. He could tip the scales and push the conversation off, but he’d promised her three questions. With an exhale that sounded suspiciously like a growl, Anteros untangled himself and walked the short distance to the kitchen island.

“I guess you would say my mother and father were abusive, but that wasn’t a word I learned to use to describe them until much later. They died, I became an orphan. I picked the pocket of Lucio Pavoni, he brought me to America, I worked my way up the ranks from slave to soldier to Boss.” A few minutes passed, and Anteros didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on the gray granite countertop, watching the way the joints in his knuckles bent.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” Frankie finally said to his back.

“I don’t want your fucking pity,” Anteros snarled. “If you know this, it will change how you see me.”

“You think I’m going to judge you for having a sad story?” Frankie said. “After what I just told you?”

He turned around, met her eyes. “My father hit me.”

She raised her brows. “We should start a club. Get t-shirts.”

“My mother touched me.” That shut her up. Her mouth parted, eyes widened, but as if she could see what her pity did to him, she quickly made her face stoic. “They had a dance worked out. My father would beat my mother bloody, then he’d turn on Blue Christmas and mop up the blood while singing.”

“The song…” She trailed off, opening and closing her palm as if wanting to say something else, but she didn’t. She let Anteros bleed his past, as Anteros had let her.

“While the song played through the house, my mother would come for me, seeking the only affection she could find. They were twisted,” he continued. “It didn’t come from a place of sadism, at least not intentionally. Occasionally there were glimpses of us as a family. For my birthday they gave me a cat, but when I opened the box, the cat was already dead. One of them forgot to put holes in the box.” They had argued back and forth, ignoring Anteros and his dead cat. Anteros had pulled the cat from the box, hugging the foul-smelling animal, trying to curtail the argument.

“Everyone was punished that night,” Anteros recalled. “The record played and we continued our twisted loop.” Frankie’s breath hitched.

“But they died?” she asked.

“They were killed.” Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. “I turned seven.” His voice went frigid, recounting the memory robotically. “My father turned on the record player so my mother came for me. I started with her. I used the clock from my nightstand and bashed her head in. She didn’t expect it. Next I went for him. He didn’t expect it either. I took the record, snapped it in half, and stabbed it into his jugular.”

“The police?” she whispered.

“I was gone before they came. For a while I thought they would come for me, but they never did. Maybe they were corrupt, maybe they just didn’t give a shit about an orphan. Either way, I lived on the streets for a year before I found Lucio.” Frankie stepped toward him, trying filled the gap between them, but Anteros stepped back on instinct. After what he’d shared, he was too fucking vulnerable, like exposed, raw muscle. She paused, hand midair.

“No one knows this about me,” he said, eyeing her hand.

“No one ever will,” she said as she closed the distance, placing her palm on his chest.

It should have been awful bearing his truth like that, letting her know his deepest weakness, but instead it was emboldening. It was as if they became powerless so they could become powerful together.

“Enough questions,” Anteros said, pulling her in for a quick, fierce kiss. “It’s time you see the hot tub.”

* * *

“I wanted to try the hot tub at your place,” Frankie said, running her fingers along the fireplace adjacent to the tub. Stones crawled down the cobblestone fireplace to the floor, like a rockslide. The tub was set in the floor, overlooking a wall of glass. In the daytime, snow-covered beech and pine trees were visible, but now it was just black.

“You did?” He hadn’t realized she’d noticed the hot tub. She nodded, tiptoeing around the open water. Two rolled up towels sat next to the bubbling aquamarine tub that lit up the room in shimmering, uneven hues. Frankie dipped her toe in.

“I don’t have a swimsuit,” she said, shaking out her toe then looking at him. Frankie had thrown her curls atop her head, and even though Anteros loved them down, there was something to this too. He got to see her face.

“I wouldn’t have let you wear one.” Done watching her, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close. Her eyes never strayed from his as he reached for the hem of the shirt he’d given her and pulled it over her head, throwing it to the side.

He got in the tub first, holding his hand out for her.

“Salty,” she said when she was fully settled, bubbles kissing the tips of her perky nipples.

“Sea salt,” he corrected, and she rolled her eyes, but smiled too.

“We can’t do this forever, can we? Stay out here?” Frankie asked, voice a hum in the steam. Anteros could watch her for fucking ever, with her palms floating atop the water and her big eyes glued on his—but she was right. They couldn’t stay at the safe house forever. Eventually Lucia would find them.

“No,” he said. “We can’t.” Frankie nodded at his response, gliding around the tub. He never would have imagined his life to turn out this way. Never would have hoped.

It had taken finding Frankie to realize his greatest fantasy, the want lurking deep inside his heart, the one he’d never acknowledged: someone to rule with.

A queen.

But Frankie may never want that, and if she wanted to run, he would run with her.

“Will you give me one more question?” she asked, tilting her head. In lieu of response, Anteros reached out and pulled her atop him. He brushed his lips along her neck, underneath her chin, her shoulder, the swell where her breast met her nipple. In the water, her skin was slick, and the heat and the salt made her taste even better. He would never get enough of her. He would use her until she was wasted then he would use her more.

He gripped her face between his palms. She was damp from the steam, lips shining. He sucked the bottom one then plunged his tongue into her mouth, determined to mark every inch of her.

“Please?” she asked when they broke for air, breath fogging his lips. “Tell me the truth about Nikolai.” Frankie’s gaze slowly collided with his. Lidded. Heavy. Small curly tendrils stuck to her sweaty face.

“The Pavonis aren’t the only crime family in the world, Frankie. We’re just the biggest.” He went back to kissing her, neck tasting like saltwater and sweat and her. He groaned—it was so fucking good. He wondered if she knew what she did to him.

“Tha—” Anteros sucked on her earlobe and Frankie stuttered, the word getting lost in a sigh. “That doesn’t answer my question,” she finished. Exhaling, Anteros pulled back.

“Nikolai was heir to the Sokolov crime family,” he explained. “His family openly waged war on us and they lost. When you lose in war, you die. It was my fault for showing a boy mercy. I should have slain him like I did his father and mother.” He was bitter, angry—still pissed from the betrayal. He should have killed him. Mercy was for the weak, and showing Nikolai mercy had weakened him. Now his empire was teetering on collapse.

“He said you slaughtered his siblings,” Frankie murmured. “How old were they?”

“Babes,” Anteros responded, staring past her into the black window. Her gasp rose with the steam, and it pissed him off. “I could lie to you like Nikolai did, would you like that?” he snarled, turning back to her. He gripped her waist, tangled his other hand into the loose, wet bun at the nape of her neck. “I took the children and I made sure they were given to the best families. They are living happy, fulfilled lives.” He tightened his hold on her slippery waist and wet hair, made sure she had to see him. The way she looked at him, not disgusted, not angry, but nervous, pissed him the fuck off.

“Should I put on a mask, Frankie?” he taunted. “Should you?” He bruised his lips against hers, biting the top one, diving his tongue into her mouth. He demanded her submission, demanded she admit the truth of them. Of herself.

She moaned and he captured the sound. She tried to move but he kept his grip tight. Her hands scratched ardent lines down his chest before resting on his cock. She stroked him and he tugged her hair so her ear was against his lips.

“Should we pretend to be like everyone else?” he asked on a hiss. She groaned, a choked sound low in her throat. He took her hand from his cock, replacing it with her cunt. He forced her to sit on him, to feel how hard he was, to rub herself against him.

The water was cold compared to them. Sweat dripped down his chest, trailing into the lines of his muscles. With one smooth motion, Anteros spun Frankie around, pinning her to the tub’s edge. He thrust inside her without pretense and she groaned when he broke through.

“Rip it off.” Pound. “Keep it off.” Pound. “Stop. Fucking. Pretending.” Pound. Pound. Pound. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, over the stone, drenching the towels laid at the side. Frankie cried out his name and he let go of her hair, gripped her face with both of his hands, and craned her neck so he could kiss her. She took his tongue, sucked him in.

“Revel in the darkness I know you have,” he said against her lips.

* * *

Afterward, Anteros carried a tired and sated Frankie to the bedroom upstairs. She curled into the blankets and fell asleep immediately.

She slept on her side, wet hair making a spot on the pillow, chocolate strands black in their wetness. Her mouth parted and her breaths were almost musical in her sleep. She grasped the pillow with small, slender fingers.

Fuck.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, getting it out of his face. He wasn’t sure what god he’d blown in a past life to get her, but he wasn’t letting her go. Ever. He wanted to get into bed and pull her to him, but first, he had to take care of something. Frankie’s question about the letter had reminded him how important it was to get rid of the fucking thing.

Anteros quickly unlocked his desk, grabbing the piece of paper from inside. Then he went to the other side of the room and sifted through a stack of books. Years ago, Anteros had acquired the journal of Sofia De Luca in hopes of using it for leverage. He’d gone looking for it a few days after Frankie escaped but hadn’t been able to find it. There were a few pages Anteros had torn and kept hidden in various places, though, ones he thought might be important and needed to be kept separate. Most were just business shit, but one had always stuck out in his mind. He’d never been able to figure out the reason, but now he knew.

After sifting through a few books, he found it in a faceless, leather-bound book. It was stuck in the middle: a ripped, yellowing entry from Sofia’s journal. The entry had started with Sofia overhearing Lucio talking with Lucia. She’d feared for her life over the conversation.

They spoke in hurried, angry whispers. Lucia said a child was coming and there was no way to stop it. Lucio struck her and said the bastard could ruin everything he’d built. I ran away, worried for my own safety. I cannot believe what I have overheard, am too disgusted to write it down, worried my pen will make it true.

This child will change everything.

When Anteros had first come into possession of the journal, Lucio had been at the height of power, years away from showing signs of the poisoning that would take his life. Anteros had yet to learn the truth behind Sofia De Luca’s demise, as her journal ended abruptly before the start of the First Blood War. He’d been fed lies as Frankie had been. Since whatever child Sofia had overheard them discussing clearly hadn’t ruined anything, he’d brushed it off as more Sofia De Luca drama, something in the past and not relevant to him.

As Anteros had gained more power, he’d only thought about Sofia in terms of her widower, Dario. Lucio had been dying and clearly wasn’t a threat, so he’d diverted his attention to more obvious ones. To Anteros, that day in the street all those years ago had been about Lucio and some random woman. When people called Frankie the princess, he’d just thought it was another rumor. For as long as he could remember, the rumor had always been alive, even before he came to America.

Now he knew the truth. Once Lucio had realized Lucia hadn’t killed Frankie, he’d concocted the rumor to distract everyone, and it fucking worked. Anteros had held all the puzzle pieces, but he’d been too busy putting together the wrong puzzle to wonder why his pieces didn’t fit.

Holding the letter and the torn journal entry in his hand, he stared into the barren fireplace. He needed to burn it. This was a secret that could never come out. As much as he tried to prepare her for the inevitable, Frankie was still searching for a happy, normal family. If this got out, it would crush her.

“What are you doing?” Frankie’s sleepy voice called to him. “What’s in your hand? Why are you lighting a fire now?”

He turned around to find Frankie looking at him, rubbing her eyes and tilting her head. Quickly he stuffed the letter and journal entry back into the book and shoved the book in the middle of the pile.

“Nothing,” Anteros said, sliding into bed. “Go back to sleep.” He pulled her close and she fell right back asleep, breaths heavy against his arm. He looked to the stack of books, where one was like a beating heart.