Chapter 43 War
Chapter forty-three
War
Ihate walking into NovaRael.
Outside, it’s freezing. Inside, it’s worse.
Santo Amato’s technological empire. Bought with a marriage contract like it was still the fucking Middle Ages.
How archaic.
How tactless.
But what else do you expect from barbarians like them?
The glass lobby hums with quiet efficiency, polished marble floors, sleek chrome edges, people in suits pretending they don’t feel the weight of the Amato name pressing down on their necks. My shoes hit sharp against the tile as I cut straight to the private elevator.
By the time I reach his floor, the shadow of a guard steps into my path.
“Beaumont,” he says with a smirk.
“Goon,” I bite back, brushing past him toward Amato’s office.
His hand snaps out, fingers locking around my arm. My jaw ticks, fury biting up my throat. “Don’t touch me.”
He releases instantly, smile sharpening as he extends a hand instead. Up close, I see the bulge at his hip under the jacket. Gun. Obvious. Deliberate. He wants me to notice it. Wants me to think twice.
“I’ll play nice. Name’s Romeo Romero. And the boss doesn’t like unexpected visitors—especially when his wife is here.”
He rounds me, smirk lingering, his stance casual but his eyes anything but. “Since I’m one of her guards, I have to ask… what business do you have here?”
“Seriously?” My laugh is humorless, teeth bared. “Does it look like I’m carrying an arsenal? I need to make a deal. An exchange. It’s none of your fucking business, and I don’t plan on being here longer than I have to. So shoot me, or get the fuck out of my way.”
I shoulder past him.
Click.
The unmistakable cock of a gun.
“I choose option one,” Romeo says lightly.
Staff gasp, ducking behind desks, heels skittering against the floor. Papers scatter. Someone yelps.
Goddamn it.
“Romeo,” a voice cuts through the chaos, calm, even, but striking like a blade. “Put it away.”
I turn.
Santo Amato stands in the doorway of is office, all dark suit and darker eyes, the kind of monster who doesn’t need teeth bared to remind you he’ll eat you alive.
I step toward him. “I need to make a deal.”
He stares me down for a beat, silent, weighing. Then: “Fine. Come in.”
I walk away from Romero, jaw tight, and step into the office—
And stop.
A woman’s here.
Small. Delicate. Skirt with tights, highest heels I’ve ever seen on someone so short. Lush blonde hair, eyes too big for her face. Striking, sure, but not in the way everyone else probably thinks. No, this is the kind of girl you sell to a man like Amato. Fragile. Breakable.
Before I can make sense of it, Amato strides past, grabs her by the wrist, and pulls her into his lap like she’s a doll he just bought off the shelf. My gut twists. Definitely an arranged marriage.
She smiles at me, kind, like she doesn’t realize she’s sitting on the lap of a devil in a Brioni suit.
He gestures to the chair opposite. I sit, stiff, uncomfortable.
The office isn’t what I expected. Not wood and steel, not mobster chic. Shelves of books line the walls. Art; real art, hangs with deliberate placement. And in the corner, a smaller desk, fitted with its own chair. Like it was set up for her.
The Amatos are fucking creepy.
“What do you want, Beaumont?” Santo finally asks, voice flat, dangerous in its calm.
“Be nice, Santo,” the blonde whispers.
Amato sighs. Actually sighs. His eyes soften when he looks at her.
I’m fucking losing it.
“Yes, Dea,” he murmurs before turning his attention back to me, eyes sharp again. “This is my wife, Vasilisa. Dea, this is War Beaumont. His brother is my largest competitor.”
She gasps, wide-eyed. “Oh, Wesley is your brother? He’s very kind.”
As she speaks, Amato watches me like a shark scenting blood. I ignore her, leaning forward.
“I need you to let go of the Baker family.”
His wife’s head tilts.
Santo frowns. “Who?”
“The Baker family. They own Baker’s Inn and have been paying you off for generations. That stops today.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Beaumont. We don’t own an inn.”
“The Bake—“
“Yes, we do,” his wife interrupts in Russian, looking up at him.
His head snaps toward her. “No, we don’t,” he responds, same language.
Little do they know, I’m fluent.
I lean forward, my voice cutting through. “Da, ty delayesh.”
Yes, you do.
Both of them go still.
Vasilisa beams, eyes lighting like I just passed some secret test. She turns back to English, her voice quick, apologetic. “When I was going through files, I found the account. I didn’t realize it was still running funds through. I hadn’t gotten to the financials part yet.”
And that’s when it happens. Santo Amato smiles at her.
Actually smiles.
It rattles me more than his gunmen, more than his calm. Because Amatos don’t smile. Not like that.
“Vasilisa,” he says softly, still looking at her. “Give us a moment alone. Maybe paint me something new for the walls.”
She nods, rising gracefully, smoothing her skirt. “Of course.” She glances at me once more, politely. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Beaumont.”
Then she slips out, his eyes following her until the door clicks shut behind her.
The smile vanishes from his face like it was never there.
Now it’s just me and the monster.
He watches me.
I don’t blink.
I don’t back down.
I’m not about to break because some mobster glares at me.
“What is that Inn worth to you, Beaumont?” he asks sharply.
My jaw works. He studies me like he already knows the answer.
“You seem interested in the Baker family,” he adds, voice cool, probing.
I could lie. I should. But I don’t.
“It’s for Olivia. Her family owns the Inn and she’s mine.”
Something flickers in his eyes—brief, telling. He steeples his fingers, leaning back. Then a low, dark chuckle rumbles out of him. “You gave away your biggest weakness that fast?”
Heat spikes through me. My hands fist on the armrests.
“Your biggest weakness just left the room,” I snap. “Don’t act like we aren’t the same here.”
His jaw ticks. Just barely. But I see it.
Silence stretches, heavy.
Finally, he leans forward, voice colder than before. “What do we get in exchange for letting the family off our books?”
“How much do you want?” I grind out.
Santo shakes his head slowly, like I’ve offended him. “We don’t need your money. We have our own. You know what we want.”
My heart stutters.
The Parker Building.
“I can give you any other property,” I counter, grasping. “Any other building.”
“We don’t want any others.” His voice is final.
I stare at him, fury and dread clawing at my ribs. Grapple, calculate, fight; then finally, the word tears out of me. “Deal.”
Santo smirks, victory sharp in his eyes.
“But call off Ronnie,” I add quickly, leaning forward. “Send his ass back here. He doesn’t need to be a lingering reminder.”
Santo’s brow furrows. “Who?”
The door opens. Vasilisa slips back in, barefoot now, a smear of pale blue paint drying across her fingers. She drifts toward Amato like she belongs nowhere else.
“Ronnie is a guard,” she explains gently. “He’s the one who collects the funds.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking down before lifting again, sheepish. “I started painting, but then I came back… and I was eavesdropping.”
Confessing like a child who knows she’s done something wrong.
Amato exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a beat. His jaw clenches, then eases. When he opens them, he looks at her with something softer than I thought a man like him was capable of; like even her guilt is something he’ll forgive.
It rattles me. Monsters don’t look at women like that.
He turns back to me, expression shuttered, voice cold as stone. “Deal.”
And I don’t know whether I’ve just secured Olivia’s freedom… or made the biggest mistake of my life.
There goes Noah’s legacy.
And I don’t even know if Olivia will ever come back.
But I’ve got one more thing to do.