Page 25 of Beauty and the Daddy
The first punch breaks his nose. I hear it snap, wet and wrong.
Blood spatters the concrete like modern art nobody asked for.
The second punch drops him.
The third through seventh are just Luca making a point.
I can't bring myself to look away.
There's a switch inside him, and I get the gut feeling I'm watching it flip—off to on, restraint to ruin.
His punches are brutal and efficient.
There's no wasted rage, no sloppy windmilling. He chooses targets—ribs, jaw, the soft under hinge—and he lands them like he promised himself he would.
My heart is loud enough to count—one, two, three—like I'm timing him. Like I'm complicit.
Fear threads through the heat in me like silver wire. I'm not naïve; I knew who he was.
But knowing a thing and witnessing it are two different things.
This is the man who put his mouth on my neck like I was made for it.
This is also the man who breaks other men like they're puzzles and he's bored.
Both truths live in his body at once.
Both are terrifying.
The guy on the floor chokes, coughs red onto gray concrete.
Luca plants a hand on his chest and stands, leaving the man gasping like a fish that misread its environment.
He lifts his head and finds me.
God help me.
There's a part of me that fights to hold back the flinch.
My spine remembers some distant grandmother who looked storms in the eye and said,You'll pass.
I hold his gaze and discover a nerve I didn't know I owned.
He walks toward me, each step heavy enough that the floor seems to listen.
His knuckles are split, raw, blooming with little red claws.
I stand there frozen, just waiting for him to arrive. Honestly, no one moves.
"Luca," I say, as he draws closer, and all I see is the storm brewing in his eyes.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell the sweat and blood.
"No one talks about what's mine," he says, cupping my chin and forcing me to look at his intense gaze. "No one disrespects you. Ever."
5
BELLE
