Page 11 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

“Sorry, dude. I don’t like it that much either.”

I stop at the second door on the floor and angle myself so I won’t scare Mrs. Stevens with the sight of my mangled face and the drying blood on my clothes. I rap my knuckles against the door, noticing the tender ache in them from fighting bare knuckled tonight. Well, not quite bare, but the wrap I put around them only saved them from getting scraped up during the fight, it didn’t cushion any of the blows.

I hear the shuffle of footsteps on the other side of the door, and the cat starts to squirm in my arms. Another few seconds and it finally swings open. Mrs. Stevens is wearing a fluffy bathrobe and a pair of house shoes that she’s probably owned since the war. She’s already taken her teeth out for the night, so the big grin she gives me is mildly unsettling, but I smile back anyway.

“Sorry to disturb you so late, but I found Gato prowling around downstairs. Someone left the door propped open, so I’m glad he didn’t make a run for it.” I let the cat leap out of my arms and flounce into the apartment.

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize he was missing. Thank you so much. You’re such a good boy.” She says the same thing every time I bring Gato back for her, and every time I nod and smile, not inclined to ruin her image of me as her heroic, cat rescuing neighbor by telling her I stopped being a boy a hell of a long time ago, and that most days, I’m not sure I’m all that good. “Let me make you some tea,” she offers.

“Thanks, but I actually need to turn in. How about tomorrow instead?” I suggest. Gato weaves between her legs and tries to dart out into the hallway again, but I stop him with a gentle nudge of my foot.

“That sounds lovely. Stop by any time.”

“Thanks, I will. Good night.” I breathe a sigh of relief when she closes the door without noticing my injury.

I continue on down the hallway until I reach the last door. The deadbolts groan as I stick my key in each lock to undo them. The door jams, and I wince as I put my shoulder into it to force it open. As soon as I step inside, I redo all the locks. There isn’t a hell of a lot in my apartment that anyone would want to steal, but the wad of cash in my pocket is certainly incentive enough. Of course, anyone who was at the fight and knows I walked away with the money probably isn’t stupid enough to come take it from me, but you never know.

The white noise of the traffic outside is faint, creating a soothing harmony with the hum of the old refrigerator in my kitchen and the muffled sound of a tv show I can hear through the walls. My ears are still ringing from the fight, from the noise of the bar, and, if I’m being honest with myself, from Elio’s parting words.

Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you around.

Were they meant to be dismissive? Were they a promise? A threat? I don’t have the first fucking clue. I shuffle through my apartment to the small bedroom, barely big enough to fit my queen bed and a dresser. I strip off my shirt, the fabric stiff with dried blood, and toss it into the pile of dirty clothes that I need to find time to haul down to the laundry room.

I collapse on the edge of the bed, the frame creaking under my weight. The ache in my jaw is already boring, barely noticeable, but I probe it with my fingers anyway. The memory of Elio’s dark eyes drilling into me makes my jaw tick and my insides burn.

If that had been sexual assault, I’d have shot you in the dick.

I sputter a laugh in spite of myself, remembering the twitch of his lips when he said it. Jesus, he really is fucking cold blooded. Or maybe it’s just an act—a survival tactic like the ones I’ve had to learn. I bristle at the momentary softness I feel towards the stone-cold killer. You don’t get to be the underboss of a crime family like the Morettis without being a seriously fucked-up person. Elio doesn’t deserve my sympathy. What he deserves is to get roughed up again, to be forced to his knees a second time and put in his place. He deserves to be spanked until his ass is bright red with my handprints and that cocky fucking attitude of his is forgotten.

I grind my teeth harder and scoff out loud to my empty apartment.

Forget what he needs.

What I need is to stay as far away from that mess as possible. I need to pay off my debt, then figure out a way to get enough money together so I won’t have to keep risking my life in underground fights. One problem at a time, I suppose. But none of it will be solved by getting mixed up with Elio Moretti. Period.

Chapter 6

ELIO

The paper bag crinkles under my arm, the sound somehow managing to be louder than the rumble of traffic from the street and the deafening hum of pedestrians moving around me on the sidewalk. Maybe because I can’t stop picturing the hard scowl Orion is bound to wear when he finds out what I’ve done.

Not that it stops me or even slows me down. If anything, I pick up my pace as I near Lorenzo’s building. The towering glass building stands out, even on a street lined with luxury penthouses and high-end hotels. There’s not one, but two doormen who man the lobby. One to open the door with a friendly smile, doing his best to hide the flicker of nerves in his eyes when he sees me. And the other to greet me once I step inside.

“Mr. Moretti, it’s nice to see you this afternoon,” Carlisle, the older of the two men, has been the full-time doorman here since Enzo bought the top floor penthouse a handful of years ago. “Is Mr. Moretti expecting you?”

My lips twitch into a resigned half smile. Wouldn’t it be simpler and less confusing to dispense with the formalities and just use our first names? God forbid anyone might call me Elio, even if I’ve requested it on a thousand different occasions.

“I didn’t call ahead,” I say. Honestly, I didn’t even think about what I was doing or where I was going until I was halfway here, weaving through traffic in my Jag, with a paper bag filled with twenty thousand dollars sitting on my passenger seat.

Carlisle picks up the phone on his desk to make a call to Enzo. While I wait, my mind wanders back to the years when Lorenzo and I shared an apartment after college. Not because we couldn’t afford our own places—we were both working for the family at that point and pulling in plenty of money—but I guess out of some sense of brotherly bonding. Growing up the way we did, nothing ever felt stable. You could be talking to Uncle Georgio one morning, and by the afternoon he could be dead or behind bars. Shit like that always happened fast. Living with Enzo felt like being in a bubble away from that for a little while though. At least until our dad died.

“I appreciate your patience, sir,” Carlisle says once he hangs up the phone. “Mr. Moretti says you can go up.”

“Thank you.” I give a nod of thanks and step around his desk, into the waiting elevator behind it.

I fidget with my tie with my free hand as I watch the numbers over the elevator door increase one at a time, so slowly I wonder if I could have walked up the fifteen flights of stairs faster than this. Then again, it’s not like I’m in a hurry. The sooner I get to Enzo’s door, the sooner I have to explain why the hell I’m paying off Orion’s debt. I should have taken the cash to Sal. This is his department anyway. But the only thing worse than having to look my brother in the face and bullshit him about this money would be Salvatore letting it slip at some point that I was the one to pay off Orion’s debt. Then it would look like I purposefully went behind Enzo’s back with the whole thing.

Family politics. I’m guessing we’re not all that different from most families, with everyone sticking their noses into each other’s personal lives, getting pissy when they feel like they’ve been left out of the loop… Same old, same old. Except maybe for the fact that we’re all heavily armed. It’s been years since a family conflict ended with anyone being shot though.

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