Broken Beauty

BROKEN BEAUTY HONEY PALOMINO BROKEN BEAUTY COPYRIGHT © 2023 HONEY PALOMINO ALL RIGHTS RESERVED WORLDWIDE No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only. This book contains mature content and is intended for adults only. Cover Design by Shanoff Designs Created with Vellum Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Epilogue Thank You About the Author Chapter 1 SARIO The door slammed behind me, shutting out the pouring rain that drenched my suit, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Manhattan and cocooning me in the dim golden light of Vinnie’s restaurant. I sniffed the air. Like a brick, it hit me as soon as I walked in, threatening to knock the anger right out of my chest and steal the air from my lungs. Beauty. I’d recognize that damned fragrance anywhere. A vision of the sleek pale pink perfume bottle flashed in my mind. Ignoring that vision, and the permeating scent, required every ounce of strength I possessed. Putting one foot in front of the other without a noticeable stumble was a Herculean feat. One misstep now would most certainly cause me to appear foolish. No. My anger must hold — no matter what was hanging in the air around me, no matter the visions it conjured up. Storming through the fragrant cloud of nostalgia like a bull — angry, determined, out for fucking blood — I found my fury’s target holding court in the back room of his restaurant like a God. Flashy. Arrogant. Fucking loud. An asshole dripping in gold chains and a cheap Italian leather jacket. Vinnie’s signature dark sunglasses lay on the table in front of him, his fingers loosely wrapped around a half-empty glass of blood red wine. Confidence poured from every enlarged pore, his smile easy, free of fear in a way only a man like Vinnie could enjoy. Vinnie expected his feet to be kissed. He expected protection. Loyalty to the grave. His expectations were usually met eagerly. The low level scum that he surrounded himself with tripped over themselves to please Vinnie Valentti and they were not hard to find in this neighborhood. But not me. No. I would never have kissed that bastard’s feet. Vinnie was a necessary evil in my life, and as pissed-off as I was right now, blowing his fucking head off wasn’t an entirely reasonable option or a sound business decision — despite the weight of the pistol in my suit pocket tempting me with such a delectable fantasy. At least not at this time. Maybe later. You bet your sweet ass, I was going to let him hear about it, though. His careless actions had cost me roughly half a million dollars this morning alone and the sonofabitch sat holding court — smiling, no less. It wasn’t the money that I was pissed about. That was fucking feathers to me. No discernible weight to that loss, considering the depths of my wealth these days. No — my rage was borne of the damage Vinnie had done to my reputation. With every step I took towards him, that rage grew wild. The thing is — in our world? All you have is your word. Without that, you’ve got nothing. Because of Vinnie, one of my most valued clients had lost trust in me. He’d made my word have less value. And that alone was unforgivable. It was my fault, of course. Trusting Vinnie in the first place to do the right thing was my first mistake. But I needed someone else to blame, lest I explode like a fucking bomb — and that landed squarely on Vinnie’s massive gorilla-sized shoulders. My anger, however, was even bigger than those shoulders. But, for fuck’s sake! I couldn’t think straight. That scent. Lingering in the air, it seemed to follow me around the room, stalking me like a hungry beast. Without thinking, I inhaled deeply, feeling it sink into every corner of my mind, the deepest darkest parts that even I stayed far away from most days. I had no idea where it was coming from, but it seemed to be everywhere all at once. My eyes trained on Vinnie, as I willed the scent to dissipate. Walking quickly towards the back room — the “Boy’s Room” as Vinnie liked to call it, I held my breath. Everyone in Manhattan knew that if you weren’t invited, and you walked back there anyway, those ‘boys’ — Vinnie’s boys — would toss a bullet in your skull so quickly you wouldn’t have time to say a last prayer to St. Christopher before your life flashed before your eyes. That’s just common knowledge. An invitation was not extended to me tonight, but I was too angry to fucking hesitate. Bursting through the open doorway to the back room like I owned the place, a myriad of visions danced in my head of how I’d make Vinnie pay. That damned scent clung to my suit now, curling itself around me completely, hugging me like a fucking ghost. A pale face flashed in my mind and I quickly pushed it