Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken
Read Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken Online
Authors: Michelle Hardin
Tags: #General Fiction
Chapter 15: I more than love you …
Chapter 23 Can you hear me now?
Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken
Dangerous Beauty Series
By Michelle Hardin
Dangerous Beauty: Part Four: Beautifully Broken
© Michelle Hardin 2016
ISBN-10:
0-9964400-4-6
ISBN-13:
978-0-9964400-4-2
All rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
To my sisters. Thank you both for helping me through this one. You two are my inspiration, my drive, and you keep me believing in myself. I love you.
And this is also dedicated to the readers that stood by me in my hard times. I know I disappointed you all a few times, and I’d like to thank all of the wonderful readers who did not turn on me, put me down, or make me feel any worse than I had already felt for making you all wait so long. This book is for all of you, and it is for you all that I am continuing this series. I love you guys. Thank you for everything. Truly, from the bottom of my heart.
I hope you enjoy the story!!
“Kyle,
bambino
…”
When her soft voice sounded on the other side of the door, four-year-old Kyle Valente quickly scrambled to the back of the closet, curling up in a dark corner. He closed his eyes, silently hoping that his papa and Ana would hurry and come back for him now. They had been gone too long, and Mama was no longer happy with him. She was getting worse.
“Il mio, bambino ... mi dispiace tanto ...”
She was crying now, he could hear her. She always cried after she hurt him. She told him that his tears made her tears come out, too. Kyle didn’t like it when Mama cried, but he knew better than to come out of his closet yet. If he went out now, she’d hurt him again. He had to wait until she was sleeping. Sleeping always made her stop being mad at him.
“Bambino,
ti prego perdonami
...” she wept. Her hand pounded on the door, making Kyle flinch and bury deeper in his corner. “Kyle, please.
Il mio bambino prezioso
. Do you want Mama to speak English like your Papa does sometimes? I can be like him. I can be good to you, too.”
Kyle didn’t move. He knew better than that now. Mama would say that she was better, but then she’d get angry again.
“Kyle.” He heard her lie her hand against the door again as she sniffled softly. “Mama just doesn’t like it when you say ... that you don’t want to be here.” She sobbed softly. “It hurts me
, bambino
. You make me think you love them more. That y-you don’t love your mama. Kyle, do you hear me? They’ve … they have taken so much from me already. You are all I have now, baby. I can’t let them take you back …”
He remained silent.
“Kyle, please open the door. Unlock it now so I can see you. So I can make you better. You’re hurt.”
Kyle shook his head.
“Kyle, open it!”
“No, Mama,” he said in a small voice. He gently wiped the blood from his nose; the pain he felt when touching it brought tears to his eyes. He’d fallen and hit his face against the door of his bedroom when he’d been trying to escape his punishment. All he’d wanted was his papa and Ana to come back now to take him home. He hadn’t even been bad this time. He’d only asked to go home. “Can I call Papa now?”
She didn’t answer for a moment. “Your Papa is busy right now—”
“N-no,” Kyle whined. “he said I can—”
“He’s working!”
Her abrupt, sharp scream immediately caused fear to seize his small body. He curled up even tighter, ducking his head and sobbing softly.
“Go away, Mama.”
“No, bambino, don’t ... please don’t cry.” She wept as she raked her nails down the locked closet door. “Just ... open the door, baby. I won’t scream anymore—”
“No,” Kyle sobbed desperately. He brought his tiny hands to his ears, gripping on and closing his eyes tightly. In his mind, he saw their faces, their smiles; Papa and Ana. He wanted to go home to them. “I want Papa!”
“Papa’s not coming, bambino.”
“Pa-papa said he would—”
“He not coming, Kyle. He doesn’t want you!”
“Then call, Ana—” His words cut off with a scream when Mama hit the door hard. “Mama, stop!”
“She is not your mother!” Mama screamed, repeatedly beating the door with her fist.
“Io sono tua madre!! Mi! Mi!”
It went on for hours. Her screaming, and crying, and beating the door over and
over,
until—out of nowhere—it stopped. The noise, the crying, the desperate beating. Suddenly, there was only silence.
For a long while, Kyle remained still, not trusting the silence, unsure if it was safe for him to go to his bed for sleeping yet. Sometimes he just slept in the closet. Sometimes he gave Mama the whole night to feel better. It always helped when she did not have to look at him. She always stopped crying faster. But tonight, he didn’t want to sleep on the hard wood floor in the closet; tonight he wanted to go to bed. He wanted his blanket, his pillows, and he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since the morning and his tummy was beginning to ache.
So after waiting a couple more hours, Kyle crawled to the door, leaned down, and peeked beneath it. Nothing was there. And it was dark so Mama would be in bed.
Slowly, he stood to his feet, catching himself on the door when his head hurt him. For a second he couldn’t see very well, everything was moving around him. But as soon as he stood still, the moving stopped. Taking his time, he unlocked the closet door, then opened it slowly. It was still dark, but that just meant Mama was sleeping. He felt safer now, knowing Mama was not awake. Now he could make himself some dinner, then lock himself in his bedroom so he could go to sleep.
With light footsteps, Kyle held his blanket to his chest and made his way down the hallway, in the direction of the kitchen. Once to the entrance, he stood on his toes as he felt the wall, searching for the light switch. When he couldn’t find it on one side he switched to the other, feeling up and down the wall until the light in the kitchen flipped on … without him even touching it.
Mama snatched him by the back of his shirt roughly, proceeding to drag him across the kitchen floor.
“
Mama, no!
” The scream that tore loose from Kyle’s mouth nearly burned his throat. Tears streamed down his crimson red face as he clawed at the floor, desperately trying to break loose from her grip. Even when his shirt tightened around his neck, he kept fighting. He screamed and wept for his Papa, for Ana, but Mama didn’t stop. She dragged him to the kitchen table, lifted him from the floor, and slammed his face down on the top of the table.
“Mama, I’m sorry!” he sobbed. “I promise, Mama. Please don’t do it again, please no—”
“You have to be punished,” she whispered, her shaky voice devoid of any mercy. “You have to learn,
mi bambino
.”
“I won’t say it again, Mama!
Non voglio dire che!
”
“I’m so sorry,
mi
ragazzino
…” Turning his face to the side, she held him to the table with her arm.
Kyle screamed.
“Just one more time, I promise …”
He heard the ripping of his shirt as she tore through it with a knife.
“Mama, per favore! Si prega di non più!”
“Hold still, baby … Just a few more times, then Mama will be happy again.”
The sharp, cold silver pressed against the skin on his back.
“Papa! Papa! Papa!”
Kyle “The Charmer” Valente, age twenty-nine years old, and consigliere for the Salerno Organized Crime family. Known as “The Charmer” because he’d been known to charm any man or woman to death … sometimes literally.
But sometimes … charm wasn’t such an effective tactic, at least in Kyle’s current situation it wasn’t. And in times when mere ‘charm’ didn’t suffice, that death part really did come in handy. After all, no matter how much of a badass one claimed to be, nobody really wanted to die, did they?
“Please!” the agonizing cry of—whom Kyle preferred to call the nameless man—rang out, literally bouncing off of the four walls of the small basement where his face was pressed against the cold, stone floor. “Please, I’m begging you!
Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill me.”
The answer was no … nobody wanted to die.
Releasing a long, tired sigh, Kyle raked his fingers through his now short, black hair, then slipped his hands into his pockets as he began a slow stroll around the devastated man, silently listening as ‘nameless man’ continuously begged for his life.
“I’ll give you anything—money, drugs. Everything I possess. I don’t wanna die, please!”
Anything? Everything he had… Men made such stupid offers when begging for their lives. What the fuck gave the man the impression that Kyle needed, or wanted anything he possessed?
Looking away from the pathetic fool dismissively, Kyle stared down at his Italian leather shoes as he continued to walk in a slow circle.
“The only thing you have that I want is the truth,” he said in reply to the man’s plea.
There was an attack on the Salerno crime family. Men were killed, money was stolen, and territory was taken. Kyle wanted information, and ‘nameless man’ had information. Time was wasting. Nathan was back at S.O. and on the edge, and Kyle’s patience was wearing thin dealing with this idiot. He wanted answers … now.
When he was once again in front of the man, he ended his stroll and glanced down with narrowed eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
“I’ve already told you everything!”
“No you haven’t.” Pushing his foot forward, Kyle lightly tapped the man’s head with the tip of his shoe. “Look at me, please.” The man quickly obliged, lifting his bruised and bloodied face up to Kyle. “Tell me the truth …”
The nameless man sobbed, shaking his head back and forth. “I can’t … they’ll fucking kill me.”
