Beautifully brutal caval.., p.1
Beautifully Brutal: Cavalieri Della Morte, page 1
Beautifully Brutal
Cavalieri Della Morte
Dani René
Copyright © 2019 by Dani René
Published by Dani René
Cover Design - Jay Aheer (Simply Defined Art)
Cover Photography - Eric Battershell
Cover Model - Zeke Samples
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the 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 owner.
Contents
The Cavalieri Della Morte
The Authors
Prologue
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Lance
Giuliana
Lance
Giuliana
Epilogue
The Cavalieri Della Morte Series
A Sneak Peek at Vow of Obedience
Prologue
If you enjoyed Beautifully Brutal, check out my other dark romances
Sneak Peek at Stolen
Prologue - Drake
Also by Dani René
About the Author
Stalk Links
Blurb
In a world ravaged with violence, I still think about the beauty who was taken from me. I’ve turned rabid in her absence. The dormant beast she had tamed is ravenous, feeding on brutality and bloodshed.
I focus on the kill, until Arthur confesses his trump card, shattering every hope I had of reclaiming her. Focused on the job at hand, I step into the lion’s den, only to find nothing is as it seems.
My beast hungers to be satiated.
And my beauty is the only one who can feed it.
A dark treacherous journey where happily ever after may be just out of reach.
For my Darklings who know not all knights wear shining armor and ride in on white horses. For those who know not all fairytales are filled with rainbows and sunshine.
Thank you for your never ending love and support.
Nothing I say can ever properly express my gratitude to each and every one of you for being in my corner.
To the authors who took a chance on this crazy idea I had, you ladies are my Cavalieri— Ally Vance, Anna Edwards, Ashleigh Giannoccaro, Brianna Hale, Claire Marta, Cora Kenborn, India R. Adams, Jo-Anne Joseph, Lexi C. Foss, Measha Stone, S.M. Soto, Yolanda Olson.
Love, Dani xo
She chased away my demons with the stars in her eyes
Perry Poetry
Prologue
lance
The thick stack of pages lying on the table before me contains information about my current job. Everything I need to know about the mark currently slumped against the wall, dripping blood all over the cool concrete beneath him.
“I-I know A-Arthur—”
“Shut up,” I bite out, ash flitting from the burning cigarette hanging between my lips. I glance over at the table, noting the tumbler sitting beside me is empty. I turn toward his bar, lifting the decanter, and pour another shot of clear liquid.
The logo on the front of the manila folder I’m flicking through shimmers in gold and crimson. It’s been years since I first laid eyes on it, and since then, till now, I feel a sense of pride. It’s a place I belong to. My life has changed considerably since I became a part of them; The Cavalieri Della Morte have become a family — twelve men and our leader.
For longer than I can remember, the word family has been a curse. My father killed himself when I was twelve. I walked into the office as he pulled the trigger, and I watched as his brains splattered along the wall of his books, which sat behind his desk.
Grabbing the glass, I empty the contents over my mark’s leg where the bullet wound is seeping claret fluid. His cries are otherworldly, making me smile. I prefer torture; it makes the memories of my father’s scattered brains less painful to me. Seeing something like that could break a kid, and for a while, it did.
My mother tried her best, but a wayward son is never easy for a woman alone. Once I hit fifteen, she was already high every night with a different boyfriend strolling into the house as if he owned it.
When I couldn’t handle it anymore, I packed a duffel bag and ran from the small two-bedroom home my father had left her in his will. I didn’t know where I would go, but I knew I needed to get out of there or I’d turn out just like him — a brainless corpse.
Sauntering over to my array of tools, I pick up the small knife on the table. The handle is hand carved from ebony, with a Cavalieri logo etched into the wood.
Smiling, I lean in and hiss in my victim’s ear, “Are you going to tell me where the money is?” My voice is low, dangerous, and he can tell from the look in my eyes that anything he tells me won’t save him. Not today, not ever.
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out, and I’m reminded of the moment my father stopped moving. When the gun thudded onto the carpet, the sound was like a damn foghorn.
“Well shit, you have bigger balls than I expected.” Pressing my heavy combat boot on his groin, I make sure all my weight is on the one foot, causing a wretched scream to fall from his lips.
“P-please, I-I-I c-c-c—”
“Please, please, I have money,” I taunt him, knowing what they all beg and plead just before I end them. This is part of the job I enjoy more than anything. The high of having someone’s life in your hands is heady, like a drug.
“I-I-I c-c-can’t—” The voice drags me from my thoughts. Pressing the cigarette between my lips, I take a long drag as my eyes flutter at inhaling the sweet smoke. I reach for his bleeding leg, shoving my fingers in the wound in an attempt to find my bullet. His screech is one of pain and agony, causing my heart to catapult wildly in my chest. Pleasure surges through me at seeing this piece of shit in pain. My inked hands are now drenched in the thick, slippery crimson fluid from the wounds I’ve inflicted on the man who’s dying against the wall.
Lifting my foot, I press down on the mangled limb, earning me another dick-hardening cry of pain. There’s nowhere for him to go. He can’t run or hide. His leg is contorted in an unnatural way from me stomping on it. I heard the bone crack when my heavy black boot made contact.
Reaching behind me, I pull my gun from my belt holster. I lift my Glock and aim it at his head first, watching as he scrunches his eyes, awaiting the shot, but I don’t pull the trigger just yet. I lower my arm, aiming for his other knee cap. The ringing of the shot is loud, and then his sweet, agonizing cries fill my ears.
Placing the gun on the table, I glance at the man, my mind ticking over the options. He’s gripping his leg, begging more than he was moments ago. There’s something that clicks in a person’s mind when they know they’re going to die — survival instinct or resolution. Either they’ll attempt to beg their way out of what’s coming, or they give up.
“I think it’s time we played a little game, don’t you?” I question, picking up the blade from my array of tools. Leaning in close to his trembling form, I award him with a smile while I slice away his shirt. I find his hairy chest, which concaves as he sucks in a breath. The asshole is nothing to look at, graying hair, beady eyes, and wrinkles on his fifty-year-old face.
“P-p-please, I c-c-can pay, anything you w-w-want.” His promise makes me chuckle. There’s only one thing I want, and it can’t be found. I reach for the bottle that travels with me on every job. I twist the cap, chucking it on the table as I turn to my mark.
I lean in close to his sniveling face. “It’s time to learn how much your payments are worth,” I tell him. Tipping the container, I watch as the clear fluid trickles over his chest, the stench of burning flesh invading my nostrils. It doesn’t make me sick since I’m used to the smell. As if there’s a steak sizzling on a hot grill, I hear the sound of skin turning to nothing as it bubbles and disintegrates.
His screams are drawn right from the gut slowly disappearing und
er the acid. My gaze is locked on his, noting how his eyes roll back in his head as pain takes over. The flesh that rots from his bones gives way to his intestines. Blood pools at my feet, and I know I’m going to have to clean my motherfucking boots again.
“You’re making quite a mess, Senator Hopkins.” I smile when I step back. “You know, the Cavalieri would’ve come sooner, but I had a woman on my dick last night, and she was more entertaining than you are.”
The old man attempts to shake his head, pleading for mercy. His movements are slowing, then I see it. The light flickers off, and he’s dead.
“You didn’t last as long as I thought you would,” I tell the corpse. “Too bad.” Shrugging, I pull out the crisp, white handkerchief and wipe the blade clean. Dropping the material on his corpse, I smile when I notice the white of bone peeking at me through the ripped pink flesh and pooling red.
I make sure each of the weapons I used are clean before sliding them into the briefcase. With a glance around the room, I ensure I have everything. We exact justice, and this time it’s no different. Once I’m ready, I take one last look at his shriveled insides and chuckle.
I press dial, then lift my phone to my ear. Once I hear the line click, I inform them, “Clean up,” before hanging up. I head to the exit and my SUV.
Time to go home.
After I’m in the driver’s seat, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The scent of metal is still rooted in my nostrils. I doubt I’ll ever get it out permanently, but one night with a pretty whore will sort it out temporarily.
The roads are quiet, the night sky hanging heavily with bright pinpricks of lights. The moon is full, round as if it’s watching what happens in the dark. Putting my foot down on the accelerator, I zip through the empty streets, needing to get home. I’m exhausted. I need sleep, but I know I’ll only be plagued with dreams of her.
When I pull into my parking garage, I wait till the gate is shut behind the car before exiting. My phone buzzes wildly in my jacket pocket, and when I pull it out, I notice Seth’s name on the screen.
“What?”
“Lance, beer tonight?” he questions. We’ve had some good nights, but Seth is much younger than me, and sometimes, I just need time on my own.
“Not tonight, man. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hanging up before he can respond, I head inside and hope the rest of the evening is quiet.
Lance
In my bedroom, I shrug off my clothes, noting my laundry needs washing. I should have someone come in and sort this out, but I can’t trust anyone. I’ve learned that over the years.
The first time my life changed was the day I found my father. It was a turning point because I knew then I’d never be a normal kid. Violence ran through my veins with revenge and rage fueling me. And I enjoyed it.
The moment my life took a turn for the second time was only a few years later. We didn’t live far from the city of New Orleans, so by the time I arrived on the back of a truck, I was in awe of the beauty that surrounded me. People dressed in all sorts of strange costumes. Music, dancing, the place was alive with possibility.
As I walked through the crowds, I allowed myself to fantasize about living there, about being a normal kid for once. I wasn’t looking at where I was headed and slammed into a brick wall. Well, at first, I thought it was since the object was hard, rigid, but when I lifted my eyes, I found piercing blue ones staring back at me.
“And what do we have here,” the man practically growled at me. I had a feeling he was going to kill me, or he’d eat me for his dinner. I was much shorter than him, and at the time, as skinny as a garden rake. His hand fisted the T-shirt I was wearing, and he lifted me with one hand.
When I stuttered that I was sorry, he chuckled, set me down, and pulled me along with him into a small corner café that was almost empty. I guessed all the people were outside, but later I learned Arthur Calthorpe owned New Orleans.
He owned the city, the people, and now, he owned me.
Although I didn’t need much to survive, Arthur took me in and raised me as if I were his son, and I was no longer orphaned as I told him. At the time, he didn’t have any other children, and his beautiful wife, Guinevere, had been elated with me.
The day I turned eighteen, I was initiated into the Cavalieri, and Guinevere fell pregnant. Later in her pregnancy, we learned there would be a little girl running riot through the house.
Even though Arthur never wanted a child, I saw the love in his eyes for the tiny bump his wife carried. And even then, he still doted on me. He’d given me a family of misfits, and I found my place in this world. He trained me as if I were a soldier, and when he gifted my first weapon to me on my eighteenth birthday, I knew I would never leave the Cavalieri.
I moved into an apartment in New Orleans on a whim — I drank, fucked, and partied my way through the city. Even though I worked for Arthur, when I had time off and wasn’t scouring the country to complete my jobs, I enjoyed the delights offered to me.
I spent time with beautiful women, having them ride me while I drank myself into oblivion, until another email would come through with a mark I had to take out. Then I’d be off, flying across the world or driving across the country.
I’m proud to say I’m one of the Cavalieri Della Morte — a dark knight who saunters into homes, stealing lives, and ensuring men and women pay for their sins.
I’m not afraid of killing. I bask in the bloodshed I leave in my wake. I want to see the fear in their eyes when they realize who I am and what I’m there to do.
With each name I notch on my kill list, I can’t help wondering if my life would’ve turned out differently had my father not killed himself. Perhaps I would’ve been a better man if my mother didn’t turn into a whore junkie.
I’m not sorry Arthur found me. In his home, I not only found a newfound freedom, an existence I’m proud of, but I found love. And that’s what’s put me on Arthur’s kill list. Even though I know he’ll never do it himself, deep down his rage for me burns and flickers like a candle.
I fell in love with the only thing he loves. The only person he loves.
His daughter.
Giuliana Calthorpe.
* * *
Another day, another job. Leaning back in my seat, I watch my mark who’s about to drink his last beer. He’s nothing like the other targets. This one is practically on the road to death with the amount of shit he’s shot into his veins. When I saw his name in the folder last night, I knew it would be an easy kill.
Sadly, I could’ve been him if Arthur hadn’t taken me in. I notice the track marks on his arms and the way his eyes flit left to right. He’s looking to score his next fix. It’s the second kill I’m making in NOLA this week, which means Arthur will be sending me out of state for a while.
Generally, we don’t stay in one place for too long. The risk of shit going down is too high, so we only complete one or two jobs in a city or state, then move on. Arthur has been running the Tabella Della Morte since before I was out of diapers, and his rules are concrete.
Even though I’ve never been one for rules, I obey his. Well, most of them anyway. Three years ago, I broke the most important one of all, and to this day, I’ll never forgive myself.
The piece of shit is on the move, and I need to be as well. Downing my beer in one big gulp, I take the last drag of my smoke before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bar. The place is a sty, but they have a pretty barmaid who perks up the place somewhat. She reminds me of the one girl I lost.
