Page 39 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

ANGELO

It started with lamb roasting in the kitchen.

And the scent of oregano, garlic, and lemon was so thick in the air that it practically dragged you by the nose.

I stepped into the brownstone and nearly got tackled by the wall of heat and noise.

Someone had cracked open the windows to let the scent spill onto the street, and if the entire block didn’t show up at our door in the next hour demanding a plate, I’d be shocked.

Norris looked frazzled but determined, manning the stove like a general.

He wasn’t alone either. Standing beside him, barking orders in rapid-fire Greek, was Evgenia — the Anthakos’ family cook.

A terrifying five-foot- nothing woman built like a fireplug and capable of feeding an entire army without breaking a sweat.

When I entered the kitchen, she gave me a once-over, as if she were assessing a side of beef. "You’re too thin," she declared in heavily accented English. "Sit! Eat! Before you waste away!"

I blinked. Norris smothered a grin behind his apron.

"You let her take over?" I asked him dryly. Norris typically managed our house as if he owned it himself, so I was surprised. He didn’t like anyone else in his kitchen.

"I’m not suicidal, sir," Norris muttered under his breath.

Fair enough.

The counters were buried under platters—slow-roasted lamb, crisp-skinned lemon potatoes, grilled vegetables, bowls of tzatziki and hummus, and fresh pita piled high.

The centerpiece was a massive moussaka, with layers of eggplant, beef, and golden, bubbling béchamel.

There was a cucumber, tomato, and feta salad, as well as olive dishes and fresh shrimp platters with their shells on.

I’d eaten at the Anthakos household a few times, and it was exactly what I expected, just on a bigger scale.

If push came to shove, I’d even have to admit that Greek food was the absolute bomb. The flavors were out of this world.

Spanakopita big enough to feed an army, wine flowing like we had stock in the vineyard. Norris had even lit a few extra candles and dug out real linen napkins, like we were hosting the Pope and not a bunch of bloodthirsty criminals and the women who loved them.

It was chaos. It was insane.

It was perfect .

I spotted Theo darting between the kitchen and the dining nook, laughing as she tried to steal a slice of spanakopita before Evgenia could slap her hand away with a wooden spoon.

My heart squeezed hard. This. Right here. Was the life I hadn’t even realized I wanted. Family. Food. Laughter.

The brownstone buzzed with noise and heat, everyone packed into the kitchen and adjoining dining nook like we were just any other big dysfunctional family.

Laughter mixed with clinking glasses. Someone—probably Theo—had managed to sneak on music low in the background, something French and flirty that made the whole place feel like a snapshot from a life I didn’t know I wanted until recently.

Theo floated through the chaos in one of those dresses she designed herself, some flowy thing that clung to her hips and whispered around her ankles like it had secrets.

She laughed at something Vaso said—probably something wildly inappropriate—and bumped her hip against Ilias, who was mock-arguing with Evgenia over a piece of pita bread.

For the first time in a long damn while, my house felt like a home.

Theo caught me staring and grinned, mischief lighting up her whole face. Her hair was pulled up messily into those Princess Leia buns that I liked. I imagined a little girl with those buns, and the thought made my heart explode.

She looked like a painting come to life.

"Don’t just stand there, Santelli!" she called. "We need someone to taste test before Evgenia poisons us all!"

Evgenia shot her a scandalized look and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a threat to turn Theo into stew.

I chuckled low in my chest and made my way to her. "You're trouble," I said under my breath as I passed, brushing my fingers lightly along her lower back, then down towards the cleft of her buttocks.

"Always," she said sweetly, squirming under my touch. “Angelo,” she protested, as my fingers slid cupped one cheek and squeezed.

“Hmmm.” I kissed her neck, giving it a little lick before pulling away reluctantly. The dinner had been my suggestion, but now I wanted some alone time. “Later then,” I promised.

I didn’t even pretend to resist, but let myself be pulled into the whirlwind of setting the table, pouring drinks, and stealing bites of food when the women weren't looking.

Frankie and Conall arrived next, with Remo swaggering behind them, arms full of wine bottles and a paper-wrapped package from some bakery he swore was the best in the city. He didn’t even blink when Evgenia scolded him for bringing dessert, smacking him with a spoon .

“We are having Theo’s favorite! Not some store-bought cardboard dessert from the corner.” The woman frowned at him and looked as though she might do him serious harm.

Remo held up his hands in surrender, his eyes laughing.

I wasn’t sure he knew what kataifi was, but he was in for a treat.

If someone pressed me to explain what it was made of, I’d struggle to say, but they resembled little crispy bird nests filled with walnuts.

Almost like traditional baklava, except the phyllo dough was shredded.

It was delicious at any rate. Theo looked excited about it, and that was all that mattered to me.

It wasn’t long before everyone was crammed at the dining room table, balancing plates and glasses, passing dishes over heads, arguing, laughing, and insulting each other as if it were a competitive sport.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I caught Maxim giving me a smug look over his wine glass.

I ignored him.

Mostly.

The smug fucker was probably beside himself with the knowledge that I had come over to the dark side and given up my resentment about this blood oath arrangement.

The funniest part—the sickest part of it all—was that I had.

Even if the origins of the blood oath still ate at me a little, there was so much of me that was thankful I had ended up here in this place.

Later, after Evgenia had pronounced herself satisfied with our ability to feed ourselves and retreated to the kitchen with Norris, I grabbed Maxim, Ilias, and Conall for a quick sidebar in my office.

We slipped away without much fanfare, though Theo caught my eye as I passed. Her smile was easy, trusting, and I felt that same bone-deep urge to protect her rise up like a tide.

Five minutes. Then I’d be back at her side.

Ilias paced immediately, agitated energy rolling off him. “I’ve got news."

"About Carlotta?" Maxim asked, lounging against my desk like he didn’t have a care in the world.

"Some," Ilias said. "But first—Galena."

Maxim straightened. He’d been on edge since we’d seen the board at the Cardoni property, and I knew that part of that was because his long-lost sister had been on it. I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that there hadn’t been a clear shot of her.

My gut tensed. We'd all been dancing around the subject of the blood promise matches lately, too wrapped up in wars and betrayal to think about the future we’d all been chained to before we were even born, but we needed to resolve these matters.

Theo and I had told each other we wouldn’t hurry, but it would be safer if we finalized the marriage.

She’d be better protected that way. Tonight I had plans to propose.

I only hoped she would say yes. Then we needed Ilias to complete his part of the bargain, but that wouldn’t work if he couldn’t find Galena. Fuck.

Galena… she was a ghost. A question mark.

She was supposed to be Ilias’s match, but I wasn’t even sure that Maxim knew that much about his half-sister.

All I knew was that her mother, Maria Yakonova, had been one of Alexei Volkov’s mistresses.

Maria had taken Galena when she was a toddler and disappeared into New York, new paperwork and everything.

Alexei Volkov had been an abusive asshole on the best of days and was kn own for trafficking women, so her getting as far away as possible with her little girl was the best thing she could have done as a mother.

"It took me a long time to find them,” Maxim said, folding his arms. “I checked on her three or four years ago. She was living with her mother and stepfather. Normal neighborhood. He was a schoolteacher. It was obvious Galena didn’t know anything about us.

I saw no reason to change her circumstances when we hadn’t moved on the blood oath.

She had been Polina’s age. Just finishing up with high school.

” He looked sheepish. “I meant to contact her after graduation. See if she might have wanted to meet, but she was happy. I wasn’t worried about her.

Even Maria was different. Nothing like I remembered her.

They all seemed very ‘Leave it to Beaver.’ Normal. You know?”

"Things changed," Ilias said grimly. "Fast."

There was no reason to tell Maxim that he fucked up because it was written all over his face that he knew. Ilias tossed a thin manila folder onto the desk. A handful of surveillance photos spilled out—Galena, but not the carefree girl on her way to college life that Maxim had described.

This Galena looked...haunted. She was a beautiful girl, looking nothing like her broody giant brother, but thin and blond. Very classically Russian.

Tired. Thinner. Her clothes weren't the bright, breezy styles of a student, but muted, functional things. Always always looking over her shoulder, her head covered and face hidden or in profile.

"What the hell happened?" I muttered.