Page 3 of Savage Beauty

Ah yes. Sothisis the fucker. Marc Bonneville, French financial wiz kid and the bastard who is marrying the girl of my dreams. He’s jabbing an accusatory finger at her as he speaks, little flecks of spittle flying. Whatever he’s saying, it’s not the sweet nothings of a man in love.

A few months ago, Josie needed a job, and my brother Vlad hired her at Kislev Enterprises to launder money under my watch. She excelled at it and needed little oversight, but I’d wanted to be close to her. Something about her set me ablaze. But circumstances intervened, and I put her on ice for a while, determined to conquer her when I had time to give her my full attention. I presumed she’d always be there, waiting for me. So I was pissed when she left on her travels.

Josie had gotten away from me, and that was that. I hate that she got to me so much, even though I never sealed the deal with her; she occupied my thoughts constantly.

I found out the other day that Josie was engaged. My sister-in-law Morgana is her best friend and Vlad’s wife, so she got the phone call. While I was still reeling, Vlad approached me with an offer, and I accepted in the interest of the bratva.

I knew I had to let Josie go. But she and Marc were coming home to visit, which was the whole fucking reason I decided to hot-foot it out of town.

I thought I couldn’t trust myself not to act out when I saw her with some other guy. And now that I see her quietly crying as the man who’s supposed to love her berates her in public, I realize I was absolutely right.

She mutters something to Marc, her eyes flashing with defiance. He responds by twisting her wrist, drawing a small cry of anguish from her.

Boris could have stolen the shirt off my back and fucked my mother, and I wouldn’t be consumed with as much white-hot fury as I am now. Marc stands and walks past me, and I silently fall into step a few feet behind him.

Wherever that cunt is going, I’m going too.

Marc Bonneville walks with the unearned swagger of the nepo baby. He works for his father’s hedge fund and probably hasn’t even seen a resumé in his life, let alone needed one. Admittedly, I’m not that different, but I’ve had to earn my position through hard work.

This entitled prick thinks he’s untouchable, but he’s about to find out otherwise.

Marc takes a pack of slim panatellas from his jacket pocket and puts one between his lips. He lights it in the lobby before passing through the door onto the street. He swings a left and tucks himself down an alleyway, taking out his cell and pressing a couple of buttons as he draws on the cigar.

“Hey, Sandy,” he says into the phone. “I know, baby. I’ll be back next week, and I want you to keep Thursday just for me. Shave your pussy smooth.”

He fuckingcheats? OnJosie, of all people?

The revelation sends a surge of rage through me, and my arm moves on its own, slapping the phone out of Marc’s hand with a resounding crack.

“What are you—”

I seize the cigar and brandish it, burning a searing mark of agony onto his face. He bellows in pain and attempts to flee, but I grasp his hair and slam his head against the wall. He crumples to the ground, clutching his singed cheek.

“Do you know who I am?” he cries. “Who myfatheris?”

I frown. “No. Why? Didn’t your mother tell you?”

“I have money,” he splutters as I haul him to his feet. “What do you want? I have a ton of cash in my pocket. Take it.”

“Marc, I’m a billionaire.” I punch him in the stomach, and he vomits at my feet. “And your money would be just as worthless if I wasn’t. This is not about me. It’s abouther.”

3

Josie

It’s not the first time Marc has grabbed me. He thinks a finger to the chest or a shove emphasizes his point, and I suppose he’s right. It sure as hell gets my attention. I flex my slightly swollen wrist, a dull throb of pain coursing through the joint.

The fight came to a head over gnocchi. I love it, and when Marc and I first met, we went to so many Italian restaurants. He delighted in making me happy back then, but I was just dazzled and couldn’t see what was right in front of my eyes.

We were planning on ordering the international taster menu tonight, meaning the Mediterranean course would have been less than you’d serve a toddler, but you’d think I’d asked to visit the all-you-can-eat buffet. He ranted about my lack of discipline, saying I couldn’t possibly respect him if I didn’t commit to getting down to a size zero.

I shouldn’t have sassed him, I know. But my thoughts were miles away, and seeing the Sasha lookalike set me off. Marc knows when I’m not really listening, and if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being ignored.

I’m wiping my face with a napkin when I hear someone sitting opposite me. I catch the scent of Marc’s disgusting cigars and draw a deep breath, waiting for the admonishments to begin again.

“Hey,zolotse.”

I pull the napkin away from my face. Sasha smiles at me.

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