Page 4 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

ANGELO

Fortune smelled like new money and old power.

The scent of paint, whiskey, and the faintest trace of sawdust still lingered in the air.

The club had been rebuilt—bigger and better—ours.

As I sat in the new VIP lounge, I couldn’t help but admire my own damn work.

It was like a fucking phoenix rising from the ashes.

I chuckled, recalling it had been reborn twice now.

I stood near the bar, taking it all in—the expanded VIP lounges, the second floor overlooking the club, the bulletproof glass.

It was a fortress designed to print money.

I had designed the bar with a Prohibition gangster theme.

It looked kickass. Even my brother Remo thought it was cool, and he was hard to impress.

Every inch of the club had been designed perfectly.

We hadn’t even had the grand opening yet, but I was sure it would be a hit.

"Not bad," I muttered, rolling the scotch in my glass.

"Not bad?" Conall O’Kelly scoffed from his place on the leather couch, shaking his head like I had personally insulted him. "Say it properly, ye stubborn bastard. This place is a fucking masterpiece . I hate to say it, but I’m glad it burned down. It’s even better than before.

Maybe ye needed a bit of practice.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

"Hell of an expansion," Conall continued, stretching out like he owned the place.

The Irish bastard probably thought he did, but I let it slide.

After all, he owned part of it—he could stretch a little.

"Ye finally got tired of hiding that you’re the most ambitious fucker at this table? "

I smirked, flicking the cap off the scotch bottle. "Took a page from your book, O’Kelly. Turns out, thinking bigger pays off."

Maxim Volkov lounged to my right, looking absurdly relaxed for a man with a newborn in his arms. The baby, tiny, swaddled, and blissfully unaware that he was in a den of criminals, rested against his chest while Maxim sipped his drink like this was a typical Tuesday.

Of course, baby Vasily should have been relaxed—the world would drip in blood before we let anything touch him.

Ilias Anthakos leaned back with an amused snort, watching the baby as if it were napalm. “Cora, let you bring the kid?” He raised an eyebrow that indicated he knew the answer already.

Maxim shrugged, adjusting Vasily in one arm. "Cora needed sleep. It’s the same thing. Here or there. What’s the difference?”

Conall coughed into his fist. "You mean you were supposed to watch him at the townhouse while she napped? She didn’t give you permission to take off with the baby.”

Maxim only grinned, the smug, satisfied kind that we were used to right about now from him.

"Believe what you want. I was doing her a favor.

" This was him at his finest — trying to convince himself that he did a good thing until Cora rained hell down on him for making her life harder. “She’ll be glad for a nice nap.”

"Sure, you eejit. I’ll bet my sister will be screaming bloody murder when she wakes up and finds you and the baby gone. Just warning you that I’m not taking the fall.”

I was pretty sure we all agreed with Conall on that.

We had already experienced a few incidents like these, so I didn’t doubt Conall was right.

Cora hadn’t liked Maxim taking the baby in the past, and I didn’t think she would this time, either.

Maxim shrugged, snuggled his son a bit tighter, and gave him a gentle poke through his blankets.

It was unsettling seeing him like this—all gooey.

I had been used to Maxim being an unfeeling icicle, and seeing him have actual human feelings made me want to simultaneously hurl.

"I left a note this time," he said defensively as if that made up for it.

I tapped my glass against the table. "We talkin’ business first, or are we just here to bust Maxim’s balls for being a glorified babysitter?"

Ilias smirked. "Why choose?"

Maxim sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. "You’re all just bitter. When it’s your turn, I’m going to bust your chops. When’s your wife going to give you one, Con? "

Conall shrugged. "When she thinks the time is right, or maybe we’ll just cuddle on this one and offer to babysit. It’ll be the best of both worlds. We’ll get to love on a baby and then give it back.”

I could fill in the blanks, but I didn’t say anything.

My sister had complicated feelings about her childhood and our mother.

She always said she didn’t want to marry or be a wife.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have any real choice regarding the wife part.

The blood oath we’d had to sign years ago sealed her fate.

Thankfully, Conall was a good man, and they seemed happy together.

I knew that Conall would love nothing more than a house full of children, but he would let her decide if she wanted them.

So far, of the four of us, it has been nice to see Maxim and Conall happily married.

I wouldn’t go so far as to admit that the blood promise our fathers insisted on sealing their unholy alliance with was a good thing, but the four of us became friends because of it.

It was also the motivation we needed to ensure our fathers died because of it…

so maybe some good things had come from it.

I also knew Cora and Francesca wouldn’t change an ything. It helped me knowing that — marginally.

The words barely left his mouth before Ilias and I side-eyed him at the same time. "You are married, O’Kelly," Ilias drawled. "You need to study some ‘Art of War’ or some shit. Wage a campaign or something. You want kids, right?"

Conall scowled, rolling his eyes. "I’m not going to war with my wife, you dipshit, and you have no room to talk. You’re not even married yet, you know jack shit.”

The Irishman growled something under his breath about Greek bastards, but I waved him off, steering us back to the reason we were here.

I didn’t want to get into a talk about wives or women.

That was a quagmire of a topic for all sorts of reasons, and one I didn’t want to think about either.

It brought up thoughts that were better left in the dark.

“Speaking of war and hostile takeovers, can we get to business? Take care of some issues? That’s why I drove over here to meet with you, arsewipes."

"Sure, sure. Let’s not admire the majesty of the club," I sulked, though I didn’t truly mean it. I knew they appreciated all the work done here, twice.

Fortune had always held significant meaning for all of us.

First, it was where our fathers had made us take the blood oath.

We burned that rundown piece of trash to the ground, howling like crazed maniacs the entire time, the heat of the flames on our backs and the thrill of rebellion slamming through our veins like the best drug in the world.

Then, when we had established ourselves, we bought the property and eventually built Fortune , transforming it into a refuge for ourselves.

Unfortunately, it was burned to the ground in an almost ironic twist that I doubted the man who did it even understood.

Looking back on it now, it was nearly funny.

Dante Caruso had no idea when he did it that we had burnt the original club.

Maxim cooed, "Uncle Angelo did great, didn’t he, Vasily?" He smirked. "Even though he had a practice run."

"Fucker. Give me my nephew. I want to hold him." I reached for the baby but lost to Conall after a bitter tug-of-war with Maxim.

"You guys suck. This is supposed to be daddy time,” Maxim whined .

"Well, you bring him here and have to share." Conall shrugged. "Not our problem if you don’t like it. Let’s hit the highlights before Cora shows up and wants your balls."

“I hate you all.” He peered over at his son, tucked into Conall’s arms as if contemplating snatching him back, but I knew that it gave him endless satisfaction to have his child so loved, even if he had to sacrifice a little bit of his bonding time.

He reached over and tossed a few peanuts in his mouth.

“Business then,” he said sternly. “I am seeing gains and strong profits from our business on the West Coast. Cartels are pushing products, but you guys know that.

We encountered some trouble recently with our trucking supply in Arizona, but I had Maddox and Pike take care of that," Maxim shrugged.

The Volkov Bratva operated on both coasts, greatly benefiting the Commission because we could leverage Maxim’s connections.

When we agreed to collaborate, we arranged to protect each other and share in profits whenever possible.

Naturally, we each had our own territory, some of which remained distinct.

Ilias, in particular, was like his own little island and was as rich as Croesus.

Pike Walters was married to Maxim’s cousin, Natasha Petrova Walters, managed a one-percenter motorcycle club in Arizona, and had a connection to another MC.

This had proven useful more than once. Pike’s brother, Eli, now worked exclusively for Maxim in his operations in California, although the guy was such a wildcard that I was surprised Maxim allowed it.

"I also heard from a bratva in Moscow, the Antonovs, that they’re looking for territory in Jersey. They’re aiming to… collaborate,” Maxim added.

"Color me intrigued," Ilias leaned in. "Why would they be interested in Jersey, of all places?"

"Apparently, they want to work with the Volkovs, which would give them a foothold in America. I’m researching them myself, but I wouldn’t mind if everyone else looked into them and shared their opinions.

I’m uncertain how much influence we can exert.

If I discover they aren’t the type of people we want to do business with, we can make their lives pretty miserable if they come anyway.

That might be fun," he added with a smirk.