Page 21 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

THEODOSIA

The hum of the jet was oddly soothing. If I hadn’t been stitched up like a patchwork doll and emotionally ragged, I might have been able to appreciate the luxury of Ilias’s private plane.

My brother didn’t skimp. White leather seats, mahogany paneling, chilled water bottles with French labels, and likely a hidden compartment full of guns.

Angelo took me to the back cabin, which was the kind with an actual bed.

I had barely walked in on my own. My body still felt like it had been steamrolled and then sewn together with dental floss.

My head was light, my shoulder throbbed like a bitch, and yet somehow, my hair was still trying to maintain its curls.

I had cobbled together a scarf and some cute glasses so I didn’t look completely catatonic when leaving the hospital, but my choices hadn’t been great.

Plus, I hadn’t been able to wash my hair for days.

I wasn’t joking when I said they wouldn’t let me shower.

I was dying to take a bath and get my hair washed.

My first order of business was to get Frankie over to help me out.

He helped me lie down, surprisingly gentle for a man who literally crushes bones with his bare hands. I didn’t say much. What was there to say? Thanks for the rescue? Thanks for peeling me off the floor? I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy.

And then he kissed me.

Even as he sealed his mouth over mine, I tried to keep myself from reacting, but as soon as his hand reached up to touch my thigh, I had to bite back a gasp, which was where he took advantage, sliding into my mouth and deepening the kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Angelo Santelli knew how to kiss like it was a master class, angling into me so he could taste every corner, pressing into me like he was sampling before diving in for another bite here and there before pulling back to nibble at my lips.

“Mmmm, piccola . I’ve been missing out. ”

That made me mad. Even as his thumb pressed against my hip bone and his fingers massaged my skin, the retreat only pissed me off more. Of course, he had been missing out. I was fucking awesome. I’d always been awesome. Dick.

“I haven’t been,” I snapped.

I adopted an ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude.

Two could play at this game. No matter how good a kisser he was, Angelo Santelli wouldn’t get under my skin.

After the scathing setdown he’d given me at fifteen, I’d barely put myself together.

Those words had stayed with me for years — they scarred me.

After that moment, I avoided him like the plague, torn between embarrassment, anger, and heartbreak.

Then, when I saw the blood oath, it struck me that he might not even have a choice but to marry me. That killed me.

I had worked hard on myself with a lot of positive self-talk to reach where I was.

There had been dark times for a while —times when I’d thought maybe I shouldn’t even be here.

Now, I got up fresh every day and reminded myself that I was worthy, strong, a good person, and beautiful. That life was worth living .

The cords on his neck tightened, and his hands clenched.

“And stop calling me that. I don’t like it.” It was petty, but every time he called me piccola , it chipped away at the protection I’d raised around my heart.

His hand spread wider, gripping even more area of my thigh, and I could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton. Why were his hands so big? My traitorous pussy responded immediately to the thought, and it was like he knew because he smiled knowingly at me. Like maybe he knew I was wet.

It pissed me off.

Not because I didn’t want it—God, I did. But because I didn’t trust it, or him, or myself.

I gave him a look that could have curdled milk. “Don’t.”

His brows drew together. “Theo?—”

“No. Don’t Theo me like that.” I shifted against the pillow, trying to find a position that didn’t make me wince. “You don’t get to play hero now.”

He ran a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated. “I just spent three days hunting down the man who took you?— ”

“And what? Now you get a gold star and a kiss for effort?”

His jaw tightened. There it was. That familiar Santelli burn in his eyes, the one that usually preceded a broken nose or a bullet to the chest. “You almost died.”

“I noticed,” scoffing. I wasn’t an idiot. Sometimes men said the most inane things. Was there some magic world for them where they thought women didn’t understand the concept of what was happening? Geez. I knew I got shot.

“I couldn’t breathe thinking you might?—”

“Don’t,” I snapped again, cutting him off. My chest tightened, not from the stitches this time. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean. Don’t act like I matter now.”

He didn’t answer; he just looked at me like he wanted to break something. Preferably me, emotionally speaking.

I hated how good he looked, even when he was wrecked. Wrinkled shirt, stubble shading his jaw, that burn behind his eyes. He smelled like expensive cologne, gunpowder, and regret.

I couldn’t take it. So I blurted the one thing I’d been holding back. “It was your mother.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your mother,” I repeated, words tumbling out in a messy avalanche. “Carlotta.”

He froze. The saying ‘deer in the headlights’ — that was Angelo right now. Frozen like one of those statues in graveyards, carved out of marble and then weathered and greyed. His skin had even turned pale.

“I was supposed to meet with an Italian designer I admire, Bassiano Torsiello.” Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I tried to ignore the anxiety I felt when thinking about it, quickly explaining my business situation.

“I’d been excited that someone of Bassiano’s caliber would want to meet me, but it wasn’t him.

Obviously.” He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“Carlotta was there, and I was confused.”

“Go on,” he encouraged. He’d moved away from me now like I’d wanted, his movements stiff and angry. “Then what happened?”

“I caught on pretty quickly that it had all been a setup. There had been no meeting with Bassiano. She had some things to say about our arrangement. She threatened Polina. I wasn’t even sure that she knew who Polina was.

” I skipped over that part and rushed on at the sour look on Angelo’s face.

“Then she brought up Renzetti. Then she called in the goons and said something about Salvatore owing her.”

The silence that followed was glacial. His face didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped by about thirty degrees.

I pressed my lips together. “I didn’t get a chance to tell anyone before.

I was, you know, bleeding out.” That was probably an exaggeration.

“Then you were gone. But I figured I should tell you first. I thought you’d want to hear it privately.

I know you’re …” I trailed off. I knew nothing about him, so I didn’t bother continuing.

The cold rage rolling off him was suffocating. “She sold you out.” He turned away, hands fisting at his sides. “I’ll kill her when I find her. She’s dead. I swear it.”

“Yeah, well. That’s a fun family reunion idea.

” My fingers curled in the blanket, aching to comfort him but knowing it wouldn’t be welcome.

I was sure the news that his mother was back in the picture and hanging out with the evil villain of the story wasn’t what he had wanted to hear.

Still, it was information he needed to know.

He turned back around, and for a second, I thought he might punch a hole through the wall. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“I didn’t know,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I swear to God, Theo. I had no idea where she’s been since she left, and I haven’t cared, but it never occurred to me that she would be a danger to you.”

“I wasn’t sure if maybe you’d be glad I was gone. Out of the picture.” The admission was hard to make, but I couldn’t hold it back.

He looked up, and there was such violent grief in his eyes that it knocked the wind out of me. “Never.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. I wanted to scream, cry, and tear out the stitches to make someone else feel how much it all hurt. But instead, I reached for the only armor I had left—sarcasm.

“Well, at least if I got shot, Renzetti had good taste in dresses. I was wearing Versace. It wasn’t the same as wearing clothes I made, but …” I attempted a shrug as if it was all a joke.

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “It was Dior.”

“Shows what you know.”

He reached out, but this time, he didn’t touch me. He just hovered as if he didn’t trust himself. “You’re safe now.”

“Am I? Seems like this is one of the worst places I could end up.” He didn’t answer. The silence stretched. Comfortable, then unbearable. “I don’t know what to do here,” I admitted. “What to say.”

He gave me a small, sad smile. “Join the club. Well, go over what Carlotta said again. Maybe there is some clue there. Then, I’ll go fill your brothers in.”

I did as he asked, watching him carefully as I related the encounter.

Somewhere over Kentucky, I closed my eyes.

Not because I was tired but because I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

Perhaps it was partly the pain pill that made me drowsy, but this way felt easier — his handsome face hidden behind my eyelids .

And in the quiet, I let myself want him—for just one breath. Just one heartbeat.

Then I locked it away again.

Because wanting Angelo Santelli would only ever end in pain.

And I was all out of bandages.