Page 14 of Angel of Light (Lords of The Commission: New York #5)

MAX

It was easier to tame actual beasts than the ones currently raging hell in my mind. I had witnessed a crack in Vincenzo’s fake calm demeanor and couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into that open wound of his, even if what I thought would bleed from it was far from settling.

I sensed bad fucking news on the way, and that, together with almost losing the love of my life to a damn bomb, had me imploding in a need for retributive pain.

All my sacrifice, all my restraint still led to the disastrous outcome I had been so eager to avoid.

Alison had barely survived the wrath of this fucked up Mafiosi world of ours, despite all my attempts to keep her out of my bloody path, ignoring my feelings for her and breaking her heart in the process. And for what? It was obvious now that there was no point in keeping it up.

Self-fucking-control had led me nowhere and achieved little over nothing while keeping my distance proved to work as well as a bandaid on a bullet wound.

She was still in danger.

Adding insult to injury, Alison, my Alison , was still to marry Vincenzo fucking Massimo. Memory loss or not, honor made sure it would be so.

Had my life not been a walk through purgatory already?

God had played favorites when he distributed happiness and easy lives, and I was not even standing in line as he did.

Don’t fuck me with fortune cookie inspirational quotes about how He gave His hardest battles to His strongest soldiers because I never had an armor, a regiment, or a purpose. Love, family, or a future. None of it.

And even now, when I had finally found my purpose, my love, my family, the battle was lost before it had even begun. There was no battle, therefore, there was no soldier. Just me. Alone. Again.

Facing death worked like a cleanser, decluttering and stripping life to its bare bones. Hers had brought a selfishness I had been fighting against until a moment ago, where Alison, on her knees, obliterated a shield I learned through life’s hard lessons to hold up.

I wanted her.

I craved her.

I loved her.

I feared the moment she felt the same.

Alison was never mine to have, yet as she slipped further through my fingers with each passing day, my heart shrunk. She wasn’t mine to have, but I was a Made Man, an underworld capo who didn’t settle for what he had. I took whatever wasn’t given.

And until that day came, she was free and mine for the taking.

There was still time to find a solution.

If push came to shove, Dons died just as hard as anyone else.

That was not Plan A, but saying I haven’t entertained the thought more times than I could count would be placing me in the same hypocritical sack of shit Vincenzo was deeply buried in.

I had left Alison with the wolves, unattended. It was clear she had the upper hand at the moment. Lionesses were made to hunt, and from what I just witnessed, she was already circling her prey.

Her angle? I had no idea, but the time for those questions would come soon enough.

While Alison played her dangerous game of mental hide and seek, my mind was pulling me in two very distinct directions – explosive rage and dangerous lust.

I could now, and most definitely would, act on at least one of them. Lust for il mio angelo was a never-ending flame while my rage had a cage I couldn’t free it from.

Yet.

Still, that was what took the front for now. Lust would have to wait for the curtain to close and the audience to scatter. I wouldn’t share a hair on her head with anyone from now on.

I’d say never again, but I still needed a plan for that.

I paced the hall outside her door, searching my mind for the missing pieces of this fucked up puzzle, clarity still hazed by the image of her mouth around my cock.

Dumb and dumber, aka Fabio and Fabrizio, counted every step with a deep scowl as I mused and chewed over my thoughts, their eyes following my pensive march.

“What?” I spat, “Take a fucking picture, it’ll last longer.”

That cunning motherfucker is most definitely hiding something.

Five steps resonating on the wooden floor, followed by another five wide strides in the opposite direction.

Stop. Turn. Repeat.

Nothing.

The Massimos were in deep decline. Their honor was questioned and shaken by every new deal struck with the Cartel. Vincenzo had to know the dimension of carnage a misstep with Diego would bring. Still, all I saw on his face was no fucks left to give.

Why?

It wasn’t the illness. Of that much I was sure.

There was something more, something that turned his courage into fearlessness.

There’s a difference. Courage has you facing your fears but the awareness of danger never goes away.

Fearlessness is a whole different level of fucked-up.

Gauge is lost. Menace holds no strings. Hazard is nothing but a word.

It’s like de-sensitivity to risk. A dark place brought by desperation where all means justify the end, unlike the glorified plains of courage. Fearlessness is unpredictability wrapped in a thorned bow of menace.

The more I thought about it, the more this whole marriage deal with Alison was starting to smell like a pile of shit left to dry. There was something not adding up.

Three years ago, his plan was clear, but after cutting a deal with the Cartel and agreeing to launder all their drug money, the need for an army, as he had always put it, wasn’t there anymore.

He’d given up on an alliance between the families through marriage. The business was too profitable and the danger was diverted. At least in what Vincenzo was concerned.

Was he trying to cut loose from the Colombians, using the Battaglia army to his advantage?

They came with the Amatos strapped to the leg now that Matt and Francesca were together and heads of each family. Something he had helped to achieve, even though I saw no practical interest on his end at the time other than trapping an angelo in a rusty cage.

But why? And why now? After three fucking years of leaving me the hell alone. I was impatiently pacing this hall waiting to find out.

The master of fucking illusion had one hidden up his sleeve, that much was clear. An ace I couldn’t picture.

Suddenly it hit me and I stopped. Frozen in my tracks.

Could it be a Queen of Hearts that I knew he still bled for?

Either way, bluffing never was part of his game. That was enough to have me covered in caution. Vincenzo’s mouth never spewed empty words. As he said, he wasn’t a preacher, he was indeed a doer.

The front door to Alison’s apartment suddenly swung open, the two Dons walking out while my angel slammed the door behind them. I choked back an amused chuckle, choosing to focus on the confrontation I knew was coming.

Fuck! I had been craving it for some time now.

I waited for the first strike to come my way, hiding behind a diplomatic high horse where I most certainly didn’t belong. I needed him to pull that trigger first, and I could see just how itchy his pointer was.

Not that I was worried about fucking status or even my mafiosi resumé. Back in the day, sticking my fist in a Don’s face would definitely bite my ass for bad behavior. Those concerns had flown out the damn window ever since a raven-haired temptress had come into my line of vision.

Now? I’d rather have a life I owned.

But freedom wasn’t amongst the Mafia’s trading items. It was something we didn’t sell.

It was given. Along with a golden bullet carved with your name, a heavy pair of shoes, and a new resting place at the bottom of the nearest pond, river, or ocean.

By blood you enter, by fucking blood you leave.

“Good boy,” Vincenzo taunted. “Learn your place, Bastardo . It’s in the dog house in case you’re too simple-minded to figure. Leave the business to us Men of Honor .” There it was, exactly as I expected.

“Too scared I’ll sniff out your bullshit, Vincenzo ?” I purposely used his given name, showing I had no respect for who he thought he was. “You wouldn’t recognize honor if it hit you in the face.”

“Careful, pup,” He warned, taking a step towards me while Fabio and Fabrizio moved to stand behind me. “I’m an open book. Every line of mine reads truthfully. No deception, no deceit. Can you stand there and say the same?”

“I can say I have a fucking conscience. That’s more than what you can brag about. After all the harm you’ve caused, the least you should do is release her.”

“Wouldn’t you just love that?” He drawled, mockery spreading his lips into an evil grin.

“You almost killed her!” My gritted teeth couldn’t hold back that truth, my index pointing at him like a loaded gun.

My tone was sharp, cutting, and threatening. Vincenzo’s two men stepped closer towards me, very much aware of my fleeting patience.

He held out a hand, stopping their advances. This was a personal battle. There was no room in this ring for third parties.

“I do not take those kinds of accusations lightly, and I will not repeat my warning. I don’t care if you’re a Battaglia or chosen to be the Pope’s new Camerlengo ,” he said, mocking my not-so-clear position in the Battaglia clan while a low grumble left Matt’s throat.

“Another one of those will cost you a lot more than a name change.” Each reply and its counter had us cutting the space between us.

We were both in this dance to win. His pulls and my shoves drew us closer until there wasn’t any more breathing space. I saw my enraged reflection in his gray eyes that grew darker with each passing second. His mask was shattered now. No more fake placidness.

“That’s enough,” Matt intervened, yet I was too lost in my craving for slaughter to listen.

“I’d be more than glad to host a new fucking conclave to choose a new Don for the Massimos.” Fearlessness. Apparently I had caught it, too. “You never know who might campaign to be in the running.”

“Don’t dwell on lost opportunities, Max. People might mistake it for bitterness.” A sarcastic chuckle escaped my lips at the absurdity of his statement. He could grab his comfortable Don seat and shove it for all I cared.