Page 37 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)
THEODOSIA
I sat on the sofa in the studio Angelo had set up for me, limbs stiff from falling asleep in a position not sanctioned by any chiropractor. Naps still seemed to be part of my repertoire these days, but I told myself they were a form of healing. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
My sketchpad had slid to the floor beside a sprawl of pencils, fabric swatches, and the remnants of a bag of lemon drops that I'd been rationing like wartime supplies.
Despite the chaos, something electric hummed in my veins.
Design ideas had come flooding back last night like an old friend I'd ghosted and missed terribly .
"Alright, alright, let’s get to it," I muttered, tying my curls into a haphazard bun and stretching until my shoulder protested.
It still twinged, a dull reminder of the bullet that had torn through it, but it had healed significantly.
The wound was puckered and no longer raw.
I was stronger now—healing, restless, and ready to claw my way back into the design world.
Mythos Designs , the New York version … I hummed and called Vivienne on video, hoping she wasn’t in the middle of something. Her face popped up immediately, all sleek black bangs and bright green glasses. “Theo! You’re alive! Oh, thank God. I was about to start designing mourning veils.”
I laughed. "I was dead for a minute there, I think." I hadn’t shared the details with her, but she had the basics and knew that I had been kidnapped.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Well, I assume you called because your fingers have started twitching to sketch again?”
“Girl, I am ready to take over the world. Just need a decent assistant on this side of the ocean. I can't keep texting you at three a.m. your time. You’ll start resenting me, and I can’t have that.”
Vivienne winked. “Already do, love. But it’s a sexy resentment.”
Narrowing my eyes at the screen, I considered, “Unless you’re willing to move over here?”
“Nice try, and I’m flattered - but pass. I’m sticking to my side of the ocean, but you need someone to keep you on track. I agree with that.”
We caught up for a bit—she discussed her latest intern disaster, the bizarre fashion trend she was raging against, and a quick analysis of Milan’s recent couture week, which we both decided was too beige for our souls.
“I think it’s time you rooted yourself in New York,” she said, twirling a stylus like a weapon. “Start small. A pop-up or a capsule collection. You’ve got eyes on you now.”
“Yeah,” I said softly, my voice hitching slightly. “But I need to know it’s safe. That it’s real. ”
Vivienne’s brow arched, her gaze piercing through the screen. “Is this about what happened in Florence?”
I nodded. “The way those clients pulled out... I’ve never stopped thinking it was fishy. But I couldn’t prove it. And I didn’t want to believe?—”
My phone buzzed with a notification for a video call. Veronica Petrova Walters.
“Hang on,” I told Vivienne. “I think I’ve got a hacker on line two.”
Vivienne shrieked with delight. “Oh my God, answer it! Sounds very glamorous. We’ll catch up later.”
A cool, striking blonde in a deep blue tattered t-shirt that made her eyes pop appeared at a desk piled with papers and multiple monitors glowing behind her as I accepted the call. She was stunning in a petite, waifish way. Designing clothes for her would be so much fun.
“And you’re Theo,” she said with a smile, with none of the Russian accent I expected.
“That’s me,” I said, squinting. “And you are?” Although I already knew who she was. She was one of those women who skirted the mafia world. She had their respect, and I respected the hell out of that. Angelo mentioned Veronica, and so did Kostas when I texted him earlier today.
“Veronica Walters. Maxim’s cousin. Kostas and Angelo asked me to look into something for you.”
I knew Kostas would have contacted her, but my heart skipped a beat when I realized Angelo had taken the time to message her. “Angelo? He didn’t tell me.”
She smiled faintly. “He likes to protect you. I did tell him I’d need to tell you, since I prefer full disclosure.
We’ll meet at some point, so things can’t be anonymous.
After all, Max is family.” Her eyes crinkled around the edges, and I searched for a resemblance to the icy Russian that I grew up fearing, but came up short.
She looked nothing like him. “I’ve been digging into the abrupt collapse of your client base in Florence.
At first glance, it appeared to be market shifts, personality conflicts, and perhaps some garden-variety envy.
But when I peeled back a few layers, I found fingerprints. ”
My pulse quickened. “Whose?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“Exactly who we suspected. Carlotta’s.” Veronica forked a spoonful of cottage cheese into her mouth, humming a little as she did so, and I had to suppress a little shiver. I hated the stuff .
Hearing it was vindication. At least there wasn’t anything I had done wrong. There had been months of anxiety during which impostor syndrome had wreaked havoc on my psyche. Now I knew it was part of whatever game Carlotta was playing.
“She orchestrated a subtle campaign,” Veronica continued, clicking something on her keyboard.
“Anonymous reviews. Discreet emails to investors suggesting to buyers that you had connections to certain... controversial figures. And more directly, she threatened two of your early backers. I have logs.”
“What a bitch.”
“I don’t think she intended to ruin you,” she said.
“She wanted you out of Florence. Off balance. Vulnerable. Initially, it looks like she wanted you back in New York with Angelo. That’s what it appears to me.
Then she changed tactics with the whole kidnapping scheme — but that looks like it was all a minor distraction. ”
I laughed, but it came out hollow. “Didn’t seem minor to me.”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.” Veronica’s lips twitched. “She’s ambitious. Twisted. But intelligent. What she didn’t account for is that once you root yourself somewhere new, you bloom.”
I ran my fingers over the edge of my sketchpad. “I thought I was paranoid. I told myself I was imagining it. The whole ‘someone is out to get you’ thing.”
She forked more cottage cheese into her mouth and then spoke around it. “Paranoia is just pattern recognition with a bad PR rep.”
I barked out a laugh. “God, you’re dramatic.”
“I’m Russian. It’s a birthright.”
“True.” Tapping a pencil on my sketch pad, I considered. “I appreciate you taking the time to look into it. It’s been something that messed with my head. Now I can think about moving forward and how I want to do that.”
“Your work is amazing. I’m sure you’ll be able to start fresh, but I have gone through and scrubbed what I could regarding negative reviews or emails. I’d recommend a mini-PR campaign with whatever you do going forward. If you send it to me, I can give it a boost through certain avenues.”
“That’d be great. And thank you, really. Hey, you wouldn’t model on the side, would you? ”
Her eyes widened. “Uh, no. I’ve …” Her mouth opened and then closed. “I appreciate it, truly. It’s better to keep a low profile in this lifestyle if you know what I mean.” I did know exactly what she meant and hadn’t thought about having photos out there of myself. I guess I needed to.
We ended the call after she forwarded her findings to me.
I sat stunned for a few minutes, reflecting on everything Carlotta had done.
It had been calculated just as Veronica had said.
Growing up with Frankie, I’d known that her mom harbored deep-seated hatred and was mean, but this seemed next level.
Even I couldn’t decide if she was being super-villain smart or just crazy.
There had to be some kind of endgame here that we were missing.
Was she playing chess while we were playing checkers?
Why would she want me back in the States?
Initially, she wanted me with Angelo, but when he wouldn’t comply, she had me kidnapped … then this thing with Renzetti?
It was making my head spin. I’d talk it over with Angelo when he got home; there must be an explanation. I exhaled deeply, pushed those thoughts aside, and then leaned over to begin sketching again. The lines flowed more easily now, as if I had carved out the blockage in my chest.
This time, the collection wasn’t Florence. It wasn’t Athens or Milan or any place I’d been before. It was now. It was New York, where there were typically raw edges, high collars, and silhouettes that whispered power and rebellion, but I wasn’t designing anything like that.
I was halfway through a preliminary design for an adorable christening outfit when Norris poked his head into the studio.
“Miss Theo, dinner in an hour?”
I looked up, grinning. “Only if there’s dessert. Preferably one that comes in the shape of a pie.”
He chuckled, eyes twinkling. “You drive a hard bargain.”
As he disappeared, I looked back at my sketchpad and smiled. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole of baby clothes: onesies, little overalls, snaps, and bows. I’d need to conduct some research on suitable materials for infants.
Carlotta had wanted to push me off balance, but all she’d done was end up sending me back where I belonged all along.
To the man who’d gone to war to protect me without saying the words aloud.
But I could feel them. I could feel him.
And I wasn’t running anymore.