Page 7 of The Beast of London & His Pet

I messaged her.

Francesca:It depends on who is asking.

Me:Your padre.

Francesca:Oh, you can fuck right off then ‘Dad’.

I frowned until I remembered who she lived with.

Me:It’s Alessio.

Francesca:Sorry, you have the wrong number. I don't know anyone by that name.

Me:I saw your nipples on Friday night, if that helps to jog your memory.

I grinned at my phone screen.

Francesca:That's because you had a you know what to my head, you lunatic.

That’s right. I'm going to get deep under your skin just like you have been irritating me for fucking days.

Me:Are you ready for your punishment?

Francesca:Me no comprendé.

Me:Tick Tock.

Francesca:Leave me alone. You already stole my stock. Unless you have downstairs problems, then consider it a charitable donation to save everyone from your bad moods. You're welcome.

Me:You can check my dick in person because it doesn't need any pills.

Francesca:You might show me after you've taken the pills, and then I would never know for sure.

I didn't know if I should fuck her or kill her. Or fuck her while I choked her to death. How did a girl eleven years my junior get under my damned skin so much.

There was a knock on the door, and I turned my phone over when Armando came in. His beady eyes landed on my phone.

“Uh, you seem in a bad mood,” he said cheerfully. “I take it you got in touch with her?”

“I might kill a woman for the first time in my life,” I said, tapping my fingers on my desk.

There was another knock on my door, but it was Aileen with my espresso.

“I liked her,” Armando said after Aileen left.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, wondering if he wanted her.

“Look at the situation she was in. Four men in one room and Nero wasn't gentle with her,” he said, causing me to grunt. “You put a gun to her head. I've seen grown men break down and cry in front of you for less. She stood her ground, and it was—refreshing. I give her ten out of ten for not pissing her pants.”

“It’s 50/50. It could have been bravado or stupidity,” I murmured.

He was right, I couldn't recall the last time any man stood up to me, let alone a petite woman like Francesca.

Chapter 4

Francesca

My grandfather brewed the best coffee. I inhaled my nectar deeply before taking a tiny sip, savouring the rich bitter taste. Nonno sat at the dining table with his daily news rag on the table. He would deny it, but he loved to gossip.

---