Chapter 14
Isabella Marchetti did not summon her sons lightly. When the text came through, all three of them knew it wasn’t a request.
MOM: My sitting room. Now
Dimitri arrived first, he’d taken a shower and put on fresh clothes, his knuckles wrapped in white gauze. Killian came second, his massive frame filling the doorway, concern etched into his face. Nico was last, looking like he hadn’t slept either.
Isabella sat in her armchair by the fire, her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable. “Sit.” she said quietly.
The silence stretched. Isabella studied each of them in turn, her eldest son with his bleeding knuckles and haunted eyes, her middle son with his barely-contained violence, her youngest with his fractured composure.
“I’m going to tell you something,” Isabella said finally, “and you are going to listen without interruption. Do you understand?”
Dimitri’s jaw tightened. “Is this about Bea?”
“Yes.”
Killian leaned forward. “Is she okay?”
“No,” Isabella said bluntly. “She hasn’t been okay for a very long time, and you three are going to understand why.”
Nico’s hands curled into fists. “What happened?”
Isabella drew in a slow breath, her hands folded tightly in her lap. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but there was an ache in it that made every word land harder.
“Beatrice lost her father when she was only seven years old. He was part of this world, and that life took him from her far too soon.” She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before lifting back to her sons.
“Her mother never truly recovered from it. Grief hollowed her out. She turned to alcohol, and after a while… she stopped being the kind of mother Bea needed.”
Dimitri’s jaw tightened.
Isabella continued, quieter now. “Men started coming in and out of that house. Too many of them. Too many of the wrong kind. And Bea was just a little girl, trying to survive in a home that had stopped being safe.”
Killian’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
“When she was fourteen, her mother married one of those men. Carl.” Isabella said his name like it was something foul on her tongue. “He moved into their home, and from that point on, Beatrice learned what it meant to live in fear.”
Nico went very still.
“He hurt her,” Isabella said. “Not once. Not in passing. Over and over again. He was cruel, and she was young, and there was no one there to shield her from it.” Her expression hardened, grief giving way to quiet fury.
“So she learned how to cover the marks. How to smile when she needed to. How to make herself smaller and quieter and easier to overlook, because that was the only way she knew to get through the day.”
The room had gone deathly silent.
Isabella’s voice dropped lower.
“But men like that are never satisfied with fear.” Her eyes found each of her sons in turn. “When Bea turned eighteen, he went into her room one night while her mother was drunk downstairs and useless to her. And he tried to take from her the one thing he had not yet managed to steal.”
Her throat worked, but she did not look away.
The room exploded.
Killian surged to his feet, his chair crashing backward. “I’ll fucking kill him—”
“Sit down,” Isabella said sharply.
“If he is still alive—”
“Sit. Down.” Her words were sharp but still polite.
Killian sat, trembling with barely restrained fury.
Dimitri hadn’t moved. He sat perfectly still, his face drained of color, his hands gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles had gone white beneath the gauze.
Nico was staring at the floor, his jaw working.
“Beatrice did what she had to do to survive,” Isabella said. “When he came for her, like she knew he would, she killed him.”
Silence.
Isabella continued, her voice soft but relentless. “She watched that man die. Then got her mother out of the house to a safe location, went back and burned the house down with him inside.”
Dimitri’s breath came out in a shudder.
“She was eighteen years old,” Isabella said. “And she has carried that weight alone ever since.”
Killian’s voice was hoarse. “Where’s the mother?”
“Bea left right after the fire broke out and never went looking for her.”
Nico finally looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Does she… does she think we will be upset about what she did?”
“She thinks,” Isabella said carefully, “that she is broken. Not because of what happened to her, but because she has been alone with it for so long. She thinks she is too damaged to be loved.”
Dimitri stood abruptly. “Where is she?”
“Her room.”
He was already moving toward the door.
“Dimitri,” Isabella called after him.
He stopped, his hand on the doorframe.
“Be careful with her,” Isabella said softly. “She’s never had anyone care before and she’s afraid to open herself up to be loved. Her humor is a shield, just try to see who she really is.”
Dimitri didn’t answer. He just walked out.
Bea was sitting on the edge of her bed when the knock came.
She’d showered again after leaving Isabella’s sitting room, scrubbing her face clean of the ruined makeup, pulling on soft black leggings and an oversized sweater. Her hair was still damp, curling at the ends. She looked younger without the armor. Softer. She hated it.
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened.
Dimitri stood in the doorway, wearing sweats and a white shirt that clings to his chest. His hair was messy and his eyes tired. His knuckles wrapped in white gauze. He looked like he’d been through a war.
“Hey,” Bea said quietly.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at her like he was trying to memorize every detail.
“Your mom told you,” Bea said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Are you here to tell me how sorry you are? To say you understand?”
“No.”
Bea blinked. “No?”
Dimitri crossed the room, knelt before her.
He gently held her face. “I needed to see you, to be near you, and let you know we’re here for you.
We aren’t heartless men Bea, even though you have been a pain in our asses, especially Nico’s.
” Bea huffs out a laugh. Dimitri smiled and continued, “We are starting to care about you Beatrice. You have proven yourself time and time again how strong you are and that you don’t need anyone to ever fight for you, but we will. ”
Bea’s throat tightened. “How do I know you would? It’s not easy to let my walls down.”
“We grew up watching our father treat our mother like a chess piece, he would use her to gain favors for deals.” His voice was soft but his eyes were hard.
“He was unfaithful, he was a narcissist, hated hearing her cry so he would lock her in the closet. I was thirteen the first time I told him what a piece of shit husband he was. That was the first time he beat my mother in front of me, and then he beat me.”
He paused and looked at her, like he was really looking at her.
“We are not evil men Beatrice. we do know what a childhood is like when one parent hates you for existing. No child deserves that. You didn’t deserve that.
” His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones.
“I’m sorry for unloading that shit storm on you but I needed to make sure you knew how I felt, how we all feel. ”
Her voice barely above a whisper, “how do you feel?”
“Like we are under your spell, like I want nothing more than to protect you…keep you.” His breathing had picked up as he looked directly into her core.
She stared at him, this dangerous, powerful man on his knees in front of her, and something in her chest cracked open. Her hands rubbed up his chest to rest on his shoulders.
“Dimitri—”
“I won’t take advantage of you,” he said quickly. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I just… I needed to be here, to feel you in my arms.”
Bea let out a shaky laugh. “Take advantage of me?”
“You just told my mother—”
“I told your mother about something that happened years ago,” Bea interrupted. “I’m not some fragile little victim who needs to be handled with kid gloves. I just had a moment where my past came back and slapped me in my face.”
Dimitri’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re acting like it.”
He took a deep breath before saying, “I’m acting like someone who gives a damn about you.”
“Then stop treating me like I’m going to break, I understand I had a breakdown, I expected this would happen when I let old wounds open up.” Bea said sharply. She leaned forward, her hands covering his. “I’m a grown-ass woman, Dimitri. I know what I want…and I want you.”
His breath hitched.
“I want you,” she repeated, her voice low and fierce. “Not your pity. Not your careful handling. Not your guilt. I want you, the possessive asshole who gets so upset when I flirt with his men and let his suspects go free.”
“Bea—”
“I like it rough,” she said bluntly.
Dimitri’s eyes darkened.
“I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” Bea continued.
“I don’t need you to treat me like I’m made of glass.
What happened to me was a long time ago, and I survived it.
I’m still here, and I’m telling you, right now,” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “that I want you to fuck me like you hate me.”
For a moment, Dimitri didn’t move. Then he surged forward, his mouth crashing against hers.
Bea gasped, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. He kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, desperate, consuming, relentless. His hands slid into her damp hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy with it.
“You’re sure?” he growled against her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I want you,” Bea breathed. “I want this. Fuck me.”
Dimitri pulled back just enough to look at her, his blue eyes blazing. “Then you’re going to get exactly what you asked for.”
He stood, pulling her up with him, and kissed her again, harder this time, his teeth catching her bottom lip. Bea moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. He walked her backward until her legs hit the bed, then pushed her down onto the mattress.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.