Page 31 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

His breath tickled my neck, and I pretended my entire body didn’t light up like a cheap neon sign. I focused on Loretta. Loretta was safe. Loretta didn’t make me feel like my stomach was turning inside out.

“She looks like she moonlights in Vegas,” I said, grinning. “Like she’s been married six times and only regrets the fourth one.”

“Fourth was Gary,” Norris said solemnly. “We don’t talk about Gary.”

Angelo actually laughed. A low, rough sound that rumbled through his chest. My eyes darted to him before I could stop myself.

God, he was stupidly handsome. Dark shadows were beneath his eyes, and the crease between his brows looked deeper than a few days ago. His body was here, but his mind was still out there, hunting ghosts.

“Have you eaten?” he asked me suddenly, and I blinked.

“Do three Tic Tacs count?”

Norris gasped in horror. “Blasphemy. Sir, I made her a sandwich. She ate lunch.” He glared at me.

“It’s after midnight, Norris. That was yesterday.” I winked at him unapologetically.

“I’ll heat something up,” Angelo said, turning to the fridge.

I watched him for a second, something squeezing in my chest. Was this who he really was? The kind of man who did things like this? Meals? Small talk? Cookie jars?

“Hey,” I said softly. He looked up. “I know things are… messy right now. Thank you. For this. The studio. The food. Loretta.”

Angelo’s gaze held mine for a second too long. Then he looked away. “You’re welcome.”

Norris nodded as if he were about to cry, but he rallied.

“I’ll let you young people get on with your evening.

Let me just get Loretta settled with the others.

” He scooped up his prize and gave us each a pointed look before ambling off into the darkness toward his quarters, where he apparently had a treasure trove of cookie jars.

A beat of silence stretched between us. He slid a plate into the oven, and I picked at the corner of a napkin, nerves making my fingers twitch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked finally.

He stilled. “About what?”

I gave him a look. “Don’t play dumb. You’re spinning. I can see it.” Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Look, if we’re going to do this, then I want us to communicate, you know?”

He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed—that classic mafia don stance—all quiet power and dangerous restraint.

“I’m trying to protect what’s mine,” he said simply. “That takes work. Especially now.”

His voice was clipped, like he didn’t want to let too much slip.

“Carlotta,” I said. The name was bitter in my mouth, but Frankie and I had been trying to process together the involvement of the woman who had given birth to the Santelli clan and the way she had used her children to manipulate the criminal underworld.

“Frankie and I have talked about her role in all of this.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched against the granite edge of the counter. “I talked to Valentino Cardoni today. She was seeing old Don Cardoni, too, back in the day.”

There was no mistaking the anger on his face. “We think she’s always been the one pulling the strings,” I offered instead. “That Renzetti is just another mark.”

A sharp nod. “Yeah, that’s what I think. What we all think.”

I watched him carefully. “You think they’re connected?”

“Renzetti is the one who is trying to bleed my territory, but I think Carlotta is behind it all.”

I sat with that—the idea of someone picking apart Angelo’s empire piece by piece, watching him bleed out. No wonder he was exhausted. No wonder he was holding the whole world at arm’s length—even me. I agreed with him, though this was all connected. “I hate feeling useless,” I said quietly .

His eyes softened. “You’re not.”

“You’re out hunting a ghost who put a bullet in my shoulder, and I’m stuck here. That feels a lot like useless.” Now, I realized I was complaining, which was even worse.

He pushed off the counter, crossed to me, and braced his hands on either side of the island where I sat. His face was inches from mine.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“Angelo—”

“You are healing. That takes strength, too. You were shot because of me . Targeted. You almost died, and you’re still here. We’re still here. Becoming something . That is not nothing.”

There was an offer in that I realized, looking up at him. My breath caught in my throat. “You can’t fix this with a flamingo and a piece of lasagna.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he growled. “I’m trying to be here. With you.”

That did me in. Because that was the thing, I didn’t want him to fix anything. I didn’t want vengeance, apologies, or heroics. Maybe there was life after being a teenager. Perhaps I’d held on long enough .

I just wanted him .

A long, charged moment passed. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and I saw the flicker behind his eyes. He was holding himself back. Barely.

“Angelo…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.” That was the thing I was scared of: what these feelings were. I had locked myself so tight for so long that I was afraid I would fly into a million pieces and would never be able to put myself back together.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “Me too.”

Another beat. Then I whispered, “So what do we do?”

His lips brushed the corner of my mouth—feather-light. “You eat. We sit. We talk. And I don’t go anywhere tonight.”

“Okay,” I breathed.

He pulled back just as the oven dinged, and I let out a shaky laugh. And I didn’t feel so alone for the first time in weeks.

“What were you working on today?” He asked.

“Nothing much. I’ve got creator’s block.

” Shoving the too-hot food in my mouth, I chewed around the scalding hot mess, not caring that it slid down too fast. “I talked to Vivienne. Thanks for handling all that, by the way. I appreciate that. Just before all this happened, I’d been experiencing some issues with the business, so we were reviewing some leads we had.

I went back over my contacts again. Just typical stuff.

” Picking through the layers, I speared some sausage and mopped up some sauce with a piece of bread.

Angelo took a seat next to me, his eyes intent on mine. “Slow down a second. What kind of problems?”

Outlining the basics, I reviewed what had happened with Mythos , how our client base had ghosted, and how orders had dried up.

“It was unusual. We were doing really well. Like, super well. I was proud.” Choking up a little, I took a sip of water, ignoring the man beside me, who I knew was turning everything over.

I hoped he wasn’t too ashamed that his future wife was an utter failure in business.

“Someone sabotaged you. We need to look into that, because I’d bet money it was Carlotta.” The tone was flat, and when I looked over, there was pure rage in his eyes, knuckles fisted as if he would pound something to dust if he could.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? You think so?” The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“I do think so. I think it was intentional so that when the invitation came, it would be more appealing and you wouldn’t think twice about heading out the door for a meeting. She probably set everything in motion with a few calls.” He cocked his head at me. “You didn’t ask your brothers for help?”

“No, I wanted to work it out myself.” Now it seemed stupid. If I had asked them, Kostas might have figured this out sooner. The whole situation might have been avoided. My shoulders slumped in defeat.

“ Piccola ,” Angelo squeezed my hand. “Let’s put that aside for now. Finish your food. In the morning, we’ll focus on figuring out who is behind sinking your business. Everything will be right as rain. I promise.”

The words spread through me and shot straight like an arrow to my panties. First, an unsolicited compliment, then food, and now acceptance and help. He was speaking my love language.