Page 34 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

ANGELO

The air outside Fortune was damp with the threat of rain, the kind that smelled like rust and memory.

I lit a cigarette as I stood in the alley beside the club’s back entrance, letting the smoke settle into my lungs like an old friend.

Quitting was a process. It wasn’t so much the nicotine, but the comfort of the cigarette between my lips and lighting the match — that first flare.

My thoughts drifted far from here, back to last night with Theo.

It was everything I had dreamed it would be, and didn’t that make me a sappy son-of-a-bitch.

I’d mastered the art of keeping people at arm’s length—especially women.

In the mafia, women were plentiful and easy.

They threw themselves at you everywhere, but last night had cracked something wide open.

And now, I didn’t know what to do with the goddamn light pouring in.

She had finally fallen asleep, her hair tangled after the bath, her head tilted against the pillows, exposing the arc of her neck and tempting me.

Theo was a blend of a goddess of mischief and heartbreak.

Her body curled unconsciously into mine during the night, her hip draped over me as she slept.

I couldn’t wait to tell her that she talked in her sleep.

She mumbled, nothing discernible, but it was cute.

Super cute. Her mouth scrunched up into a pout as she talked to herself.

I stayed longer than I should have, just watching, listening to her.

She seemed to be concentrating on something, and I wondered if she was dreaming of our babies or working on new dress designs. Either way, I was fascinated.

I stubbed the cigarette out against the brick and made my way into the club.

Inside, the private lounge was already buzzing, filled almost to capacity with additional capos and adjacent soldiers from our organizations.

It felt like we were hurtling closer to the truth, grasping at each straw coming our way.

Squeezing each piece of territory put pressure on whatever operation they hoped to establish here in New York, so what we were doing was working.

Conall leaned against the bar, nursing something dark, probably Irish. Maxim had claimed one of the leather chairs, legs crossed, a folder open on his lap. Ilias was the only one pacing, which meant he was ready to kill something or someone. Possibly both.

I closed the door behind me, sealing the world out. "Gentlemen."

Maxim didn’t look up. "You’re late."

"You’ll survive," I muttered, tugging off my coat and draping it over the back of the nearest chair. “I needed a quick smoke.”

Conall lifted his drink. “Theo won’t like that too much.”

“Probably not,” I said. “She’ll forgive me, though.” The smirk was already growing on my face at how I’d make sure.

Ilias barked a laugh and finally stopped pacing. “You better be treating her right you dick.”

“Of course I am. And you’re the dick.” I frowned at him.

“Let’s focus,” Maxim added, his voice quieter. "Tell us about Cardoni. "

I nodded, dragging a hand through my hair. "Valentino told me something about his father. The old don had an affair with Carlotta. Years ago. It went on for a while—long enough for her to think it meant something."

That got their attention.

Ilias straightened. "What kind of something?"

"She wanted a seat at the table. Not just a voice. A real seat. She wanted to be Donna of the Five Families. That had been her true goal, according to Val’s father.

He had kept journals, but Valentino said he’d had a soft spot for her.

” Just the thought of the whole thing turned my stomach, not because she had the ambition to be head of a mafia, but because she had tried to connive her way there. It was always her game.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“Insanity,” Maxim said flatly. "She wouldn’t have gotten that far."

The Five Families in New York City had always represented the traditional Italian mafia: the Santellis, the Cardonis, the Olivetos, the Scarpatos, and the Vanellos.

They had never agreed to unite under a single don and scarcely agreed on anything else.

Only out of necessity did they meet occasionally to stave off other organized crime groups.

This discord was part of the reason other families were so upset when my father signed the blood oath with the Irish, the Bratva, and the Greeks.

It had long been an assumed and unwritten law that the Five Families were bound together, so they were unpleasantly surprised by what my father did.

Still, if they united under anyone, I’d be hard pressed to think it would be a woman, especially back then. The mafia world was sexist — even I would admit that. It was unusual to find crews that were run by women.

"No," I agreed. "But she’s always been smart. She gets into people’s heads. Manipulates. Think about it. Vallone. Cardoni. Santelli. Those are the ones we know of.” If I knew her, she had also been in bed with the others.

Oliveto and Scarpato. Francesca was Vallone’s daughter.

Santelli was infertile. It made me wonder if she had gotten pregnant on purpose by two of the other dons to have Remo and me…

“Jesus,” Conall said, his eyes narrowing.

"It gets worse," I said, reaching for the file Maxim had brought. I flipped through the pages until I found the property list. "Valentino gave us this. He suspects they’ve been using some of their remote holdings as meeting points. Private homes, warehouses. Places even he’s not regularly in."

I tapped one address near the bottom. "This one’s in Long Island. High walls. Private security. No digital footprint. He hasn’t been out there in over a year."

Maxim grunted. "Renzetti could be using it to regroup. Or worse—coordinate with others."

Ilias’s hands curled into fists. "He’s already taken shots at our ports and tried to shake down some of my warehouses in Astoria. And that thing with the Greek trucking company? That wasn’t random."

"He’s testing our defenses," I said. "Looking for weak spots."

"And you think Carlotta’s with him," Maxim said. "Still running the show."

"I know she is. Salvatore doesn’t breathe without her say-so. He’s too erratic on his own. But with her calling the plays, he’s a goddamn scalpel. Precise, ruthless, and patient. "

They all looked at me. I exhaled and leaned back in my chair. "We need to search the Cardoni properties. Quietly. We also need to keep an eye on anyone who has ever worked for Carlotta in the past. Housekeepers. Drivers. Her old lawyer. Every name she ever touched."

"She’s not just trying to come back," Conall said. "She’s trying to rule."

"She’s trying to rewrite the hierarchy," Maxim added. The men fell silent again.

I never liked this part of the job, but I had become good at it—cold strategy.

I’d done it since I was sixteen. It came easily now.

Too easy. What didn’t come easily was how my thoughts drifted back to Theo, asleep in bed when I’d left this morning, how her hair had smelled when I bent down to kiss her forehead before I left this morning: lavender and something warm, like sunlight.

I hadn’t told the guys about that. I didn’t need to. They already knew I was slipping. Or maybe they didn’t. Perhaps they just thought I was tired. Distracted. Working too hard.

But I wasn’t just tired.

I was fucking terrified.

Because Theo wasn’t like any other woman I’d known. She wasn’t a liability. She was fire and silk and grief and defiance, all wrapped in her wild, impulsive mind that could turn my world upside down with a look.

And for the first time, I didn’t want to win by crushing the opposition. I wanted her to come to me because she chose me.

Because even though we’d shared a bed now, even though her body still haunted my sheets… I didn’t have her heart.

Not yet.

"You sure this is the right play?" Ilias asked, drawing me back.

"It’s the only one," I said. "We find the bitch. We end this."

Maxim gave a sharp nod. "Then let’s get to work. We’ll get ourselves together and get it done.”

Hours later, I pulled into the driveway of the brownstone.

The windows glowed warmly behind the wrought-iron fencing, and the porch light was still on.

Norris kept the place humming like clockwork—meals prepped, sheets changed, security tight.

But it wasn’t the house I was thinking about. It was her.

I stepped inside, loosening my collar. The scent of roasted vegetables and honeyed tea lingered in the air.

Norris met me in the hallway with a knowing look. "Miss Theo’s in her studio. She fell asleep there again." He hesitated, then added, "She looked tired. Quiet today, but she’s back at work. Started sketching this afternoon. That’s a good sign. She seemed happier. Miss Frankie came over.”

That made me feel a little better. I knew that I was happier.

Things seemed to be slowly moving towards a resolution.

We had a plan in place. Conall’s man, Gallagher, was collecting intel on some locations, while we had Kostas and Veronica covering the others.

By morning, we should have a few spots to target with multiple teams. They were fishing expeditions at best, but hopefully, we’d catch something in the nets we were casting.

Maxim’s contacts with the cartels in Belize and Honduras had yielded nothing. Renzetti wasn’t there. He had managed to evade the massive operation we set up to find him. My hunch still suggested he was holed up somewhere with Carlotta. I was banking on it.

My chest tightened. I nodded and made my way toward the studio until I found her collapsed on the chaise with her sketchbook limp in her hand.

Gathering her in my arms, I carried her upstairs, tucking her between the covers.

Stripping off my jacket, I joined her, savoring the feel of her body next to mine, but I stared at the ceiling as I ran through what was ahead.

Carlotta. Renzetti. War on the horizon. I didn’t know if I could protect Theo from the crossfire.

But God help me, I was going to try.