BEAST (A Dark Mafia Romance)

Aurora

“You.” PUNCH. “Mother—” PUNCH. “Fucking.” PUNCH. “LIAR!”

I open the door at the last slap and peek through the narrow gap. Downstairs, my father’s raised fist makes my heart beat faster as he shakes the blood off his knuckles.

“I swear, we didn’t know,” the man on his knees in front of him says.

His face is bloodied and mauled.

“Disgusting.” My father spits on him. “I should’ve known better than to trust you with this fucking shipment.”

“We were ambushed!” the man replies.

WHACK!

The hit is so hard and fast that the man’s whole body turns sideways, and his eyes meet mine.

I gasp and close the door for a second, calming my speeding heart.

But I can never fight the urge to look.

“I’m sorry,” the man mutters as I peer downstairs again.

“You should be. Do you know what this will cost me?” my father yelps. “EVERYTHING!”

“I’ll get it back,” the man says. “We have the weapons. We can fight them.”

“You’ve done enough,” my father barks. “I want you out of my sight. NOW!”

The man hurriedly gets up and runs outside, leaving bloodied handprints all over the door. My father wipes the back of his hands on a napkin. Then his eyes connect with mine.

I hold my breath, close my eyes, and shut the door.

“Aurora.”

Too late.

Sighing out loud, I frown, slapping my forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I mutter to myself.

“Come here.” My father’s monotonous voice forces me to open the door again and take in the full brunt of his disappointment in me.

His eyes narrow when they meet mine, and I swiftly close the door behind me and walk down the stairs.

“Didn’t I tell you not to eavesdrop on my business?” he says.

I nod. “Yes, Papa. I apologize.”

“Save it. I know you’ll do it again.”

I avert my eyes and play with my hair to ease the tension. “I just want to know what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“To run a business like yours,” I reply.

He snorts and then begins to laugh so loudly my face turns red. “You think you still have a shot? After what happened the last time I involved you in my business?”

I wish I could hide, but there is no hiding from the ridicule of my father.

What happened all those years ago still haunts me.

Yet all he sees is a mistake.

“Oh, you innocent little girl.” He turns and throws the napkin onto a table in the hallway. “For someone with such a way with words, you really don’t understand much about this world, do you?”

My lips part, but I don’t know how to react.

Suddenly, the housekeeper steps inside the hallway and stares at us.

My father clears his throat. “Never mind.”

“Sir, your guests have arrived,” the housekeeper says.

“Where are they?”

“I told them to wait in the foyer.”

“Offer them a drink while I clean this up.” My father rubs his hands and gazes up at me. “Get ready.”

I nod. “Yes, Papa.”

I quickly close the door again, but my heart is still going a million miles an hour. Even though I’ve seen him use violence so many times, I never get used to it. Not in my heart nor the many gruesome pictures floating through my mind.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want me to watch.

Past, age 7

“I told you not to cross me!” My father’s voice booms through the living room as the door to the apartment smashes open.

BANG!

My eyes close from the loud noise, but they instantly pop open the second I hear a piercing howl.

My father’s personal bodyguard shields me while my father’s men step inside the apartment and hover over the man crawling across the carpet in a desperate attempt to get away.

BANG!

His movements stop. All that’s left is blood pooling below his belly.

And I stare without making a sound.

Just as my father told me to do.

Watch and learn.

Maybe then you’ll be useful someday.

So I force myself to watch as they pick up the man and empty his pockets until they find his phone and toss it to my father. “Let’s see what that fucker’s been up to.”

The sound of whimpers coming from across the room draws my attention … along with that of the men.

I suck in another breath.

They line up, guns at the ready, slowly stepping over the man’s body to get closer to the bedroom door in the back.

My father presses his finger to his lips, signaling me to keep quiet.

My legs begin to tremble.

The door slams open.

A woman steps forward with a gun in her hand, roaring out loud with tears staining her eyes.

BANG!

A shriek cuts off in my own throat at the sound of her body hitting the floor.

She didn’t even have time to shoot.

And I knew from the moment they heard her that she’d be dead within seconds.

Even though I’ve never seen her. Even though my father has never seen her.

All it takes is a single mistake by a family member, and everyone is done in my father’s eyes. And the man lying in a pool of his own blood, his hands reaching for the very same door the woman just burst out of, paid with his life.

His family.

Blood for blood.

I swallow as the men swarm around the woman to check her pulse and sift through her things. It’s all so surreal to me. I can barely stomach it, and once the adrenaline wears off, my stomach starts to flip over.

I run out of the guard’s safe arms and head for the toilet, throwing my head inside as I empty the contents of my stomach.

The men in the other room haven’t even noticed I’m gone, and I doubt they care. They’re far too busy searching the apartment for evidence and stolen money. Not even my father seems to have taken notice of my absence as he cusses while rummaging about the apartment, kicking furniture to rid himself of his unkempt rage.

I sigh and flush the toilet, rinsing my mouth in the sink before tapping the towel against my lips. The very same towel that must’ve touched those people’s faces mere hours ago.

I drop it and stare at the girl in the mirror, with her shoulder-length black hair and almond-shaped eyes, feeling like she aged years today.

Another wave of nausea overcomes me.

Until I spot two glinting eyes in the corner of the mirror staring straight back at me.

My heart stops.

Fingers clenched around the sink, I hold my breath, wondering if I’m hallucinating.

Until he blinks.

The second I move away, he does too, hiding behind the curtain rail of the bathtub. My gaze shoots to the door, checking to see if anyone’s watching before I make a move.

I step closer, heart pounding out of my chest, curiosity fueling every muscle. My brain is telling me not to do this, to go back to the living room and tell the men there’s someone in here.

But my heart … My heart aches the second I carefully peel away the curtain to reveal a boy, probably the same age as I am, huddling in the corner of the tub.

Shivering.

I’m overcome with fear.

Fear of what might happen when they come inside.

Anger at the mere idea they could kill an innocent boy.

That my father could make that decision.

Instinct tells me to stay away, but my heart forces me to reach for the boy, despite my hesitation. My fear. His.

Because I can see the terror in his eyes. The hope lost with every passing second.

How do I make it go away?

He must’ve heard what happened out there to his mom and dad.

I pluck at my hair and take out the single pink flower my personal assistant put there when she did my hair, and I offer it to the boy as a gesture of peace.

He glares at me without saying a word.

I push it into his hand and fold it over, adding a gentle smile.

I know it’s not a lot. In fact, it’s not anything when faced with death.

But I want to give him something.

Anything.

Even if it means nothing to him now.

It could mean everything later. When the dust has settled and all that’s left is the silence of the dead … At least there will be life in his hands.

“What’s going on in there?” My father’s harsh voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I yank the curtains to quickly close them again. “Nothing!”

My father peers inside. “Someone in there?”

“No, I checked. I’m on my own. I’m just sick.” I cover my stomach with my hand. “Had to vomit from all the blood.”

My father’s face contorts at the sight of the sickness on the toilet seat. “Well, finish up. We’re leaving.”

I nod and wait until he’s gone before I peek at the boy over my shoulder, who has remained silent all this time.

My lips part.

I don’t know what to say.

Nothing I say could ever undo what just happened.

Nothing I do will ever stop my father from handling his business exactly the way he always has.

Violently.

Present

Papa never took it kindly that I tried to save that kid from his wrath.

Once he found out, he returned to the apartment, of course, to no avail. The kid was long gone, along with my father’s patience for me.

One attempt at making a choice, and already I had all of them taken away from me just like that.

“AURORA!” My father’s booming voice makes me step on my own dress.

“Fuck,” I mutter, stumbling across the carpet. I really wish he wouldn’t scare me like that, but nothing I say will ever make him change his mind. I learned that a long time ago.

I open the door while also putting on the straps of my heels.

“Come downstairs. The guests are here,” he hisses. “You’re taking way too long.”

“Yes, Papa. Coming,” I say, and I hurry down the stairs.

“Where are your gloves?!” he mouths. He grabs my shoulders, spins me, and pushes me back up. “Get them. Now.”

Sighing, I run back upstairs on my heels, clutching my little black dress with one hand while I open the door to my bedroom with the other. I fish my favorite pair of gloves from my closet—white with a rose embroidered on top—and put them on.

I run downstairs, sliding my hands down the banister just as my father’s guests enter the hallway.

“Oh, how lovely. Is that your daughter?” says a woman with puffed-up brown hair and a voluptuous body. Next to her is a suited-up man with a chiseled jaw.

But all I can stare at are her red fingernails with such intricate details that they’re almost like a painting. And it makes me jealous.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, young lady?” my father says, wearing a fake smile.

“Hi, my name is Aurora Blom.”

“Walter Janssen,” the man says. “And my wife, Dana.”

I offer them both a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, and so well-mannered too,” Dana says, nodding at my father.

My father seems chipper at the compliment, but all it does is make my lip twitch.

If only they knew what it cost me.

I ignore the little voice in my head.

“Let’s head toward the coffee room to discuss this new venture, shall we?” my father says.

The two follow him through the hallway, and we all sit in the coffee room where our housekeepers have placed three steaming hot coffees and a plate of expensive cookies filled with cream.

Everyone takes a cup, except me, because no cups are left.

For a reason.

My father doesn’t like it when I drink coffee. It makes me spirited. Happy.

He doesn’t like that either.

I grab a cookie and chomp it down just like my feelings.

“I heard your daughter is an excellent pianist. Is that true?” Walter asks.

“Absolutely,” my father says, and it momentarily makes me smile. “Though she can definitely still learn a thing or two from her instructor.”

My smile instantly vanishes.

Why do I ever think it’ll be different?

“Nevertheless, I’m quite eager to hear her play,” Walter says.

“She’d be happy to.” My father eyes me down. “Right, Aurora?”

“Of course, Papa,” I reply, putting down my half-eaten cookie on a plate and making my way to the piano. Sitting on the bench makes my heart slow as I stare at the keys. I carefully plant my fingers on them, making sure my gloves won’t get caught between the keys when I start playing the notes.

Like a melody coming alive, my soul sings to the music I play, the notes pulling me apart at the seam like a string from a dress. And even as a tear begins to form in my eye, I continue to play as best as I can.

A single tear rolls down my cheeks as the song comes to an end and my fingers leave the keys. I quickly brush it away.

“Wow,” Walter says, his approval making me turn and smile. “That was amazing.”

“And all that with the gloves still on?” Dana says. “Darling, why don’t you take them off? You must be able to play easier without them, right?”

I clutch my hands, a blush forming on my cheeks. “I, uh …”

My father’s stern eyes watch over me. Threatening me.

Don’t.

Not ever.

The same eyes he uses on me each time I cross his line.

Each time I destroyed my last chance at a semblance of a life outside these walls.

But I have no one to blame.

No one but myself.

“In any case, beautiful,” Dana mutters.

Beautiful.

I gaze down at these hands.

These hands can bring beauty into the world.

They are anything but beautiful.

BANG!

Shaken, I sit up straight, eyes widened. I’m not the only one.

That almost sounded like … a bomb.

Both Dana and Walter peer down the hallway where the sound came from. “What was that?”

My father seems incensed. “I have no idea,” he mutters, quickly getting up.

Two guards run through the hallway toward the front door, guns pulled and all.

BANG!

The room starts to fill with smoke.

Dana’s eyes fill with horror, and she begins to scream.

I quickly get off the piano stool and crawl onto the floor. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know it can’t be good.

“Peter, get my guns!” My father’s voice echoes through the halls as he calls our best guard.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunshots.

Oh God.

Coffee drops to the floor, spraying the carpet, as Walter grabs Dana’s hand and runs into the hallway toward the bathroom. Within seconds, their bodies are blasted right back into the foyer with a giant hole in the middle of their chests.

My eyes widen.

It’s happening. It’s really happening right here in this house.

They brought my father’s business right to his doorstep.

Several guards come into the room, covered in holes and bullet wounds. They stumble and fall, smearing the carpets in blood. One of them makes their way toward me before he collapses right in front of me, his arm flopping down onto my leg.

Panicked, I shove it off, nauseated by the thought of a dead man’s body resting on top of mine. My heart beats in my throat as Peter runs in and hands my father his guns, and they both begin to shoot at whatever comes down the hallway.

I can barely see a thing other than the bursts of fire emanating from the guns being fired.

But the sounds—good God, the sounds—of screeching metal upon stone, lumbering footsteps like those of a giant, the splattering of flesh and blood … those are nightmares come to life.

Within seconds, a figure in cargo pants and thick protective gear appears through the fog, barely visible but immense, towering over everyone here.

My father points his gun at the giant.

BANG!

The bullet bounces off his chest like there’s metal underneath.

And it makes my entire body shiver.

The man moves lightning fast. With one quick jab, my father is on the ground, crying out in pain. There’s a visible cut on his arm, oozing blood. And his gun has been kicked far away.

“No, please, don’t kill me!” my father begs.

Oh God. This can’t happen. Not him too.

Without a second thought, I crawl out from under the piano and slip my hand underneath the dead guard’s jacket until I find his gun. I swallow away the fear and shoot without thinking.

BANG!

The strong recoil throws me back against the piano, and I instantly lose my grip on the gun.

OOMPF!

All the air is knocked from my lungs, and I collapse on the floor.

Our eyes connect as the intruder barges straight past my father. My breath hitches in my throat. Eyes like an emerald dream but with the face of a monster, he’s scarred from top to bottom and wearing a thick, metal collar around his neck. He’s bigger than anyone I’ve ever seen. Just one of his shoulders is larger than both of mine combined. And every step he makes reverberates through the ground.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Just like my heart, he quickens his pace until he’s right in front of me, staring down at me like a hellhound ready to kill anything in its sight.

His hand lowers and grabs my throat before I realize it, and he manages to lift me off the ground with ease.

“No, p-please,” I gasp, unable to form a single sentence from the sheer pressure around my neck.

He lifts me to meet his gaze, eyes narrow and darkening. Until they suddenly open wide, pupils dilated.

His grip around my neck loses all force in an instant. I’m dropped to the ground, coughing loudly. “Please, stop,” I mutter, tears staining my eyes as I look up.

But the figure gazes over his shoulder instead, searching for something—or someone—who is no longer there.

Father?