Page 9 of Angelo’s Vengeance (The Commission #3)

THEODOSIA

I knew something was off when I entered the dimly lit, ultra-exclusive lounge.

Not in a ‘this-place-has-no-sparkle’ way, but in a ‘this-place-feels-like-a-trap’ way.

Which, honestly, was kind of exciting. Aside from the mysterious messages and collapsing business, my life had felt too routine lately.

But a little mystery kept things interesting, right?

I adjusted the oversized vintage glasses perched on my nose, which I didn’t need since I had perfect eyesight.

They were tinted, but I loved them. The lighting was so moody that it was practically a whisper, and even I had to admit it was a bit hard to see, but fashion was a commitment.

So was looking untouchable, especially when walking into a business meeting with one of the most powerful names in Italian couture.

Except it wasn’t Bassiano Torsiello waiting for me.

Instead, lounging like a cat that had just eaten a particularly plump canary was Carlotta Santelli. Geez, what were the odds that she was here by accident? Zero.

Angelo and Frankie’s mother. The woman I had heard whispered about in dark corners.

Ruthless. Manipulative. Cold as ice. My pulse spiked, and my fingers instinctively curled around my folio and tablet as if they might shield me.

Suddenly, my cute jumpsuit felt too snug across my breasts, and my confidence started to wilt.

Had I just gained a few pounds? I wished I’d used some kind of tamer on my hair.

Immediately, I stopped myself. Those weren’t thoughts I indulged in anymore.

Counterproductive. I was fierce. I was all-powerful.

What on earth was she doing here?

There had only been one time when I’d actually met her in person.

It had been at a fundraiser that my father insisted we all attend.

My mother bought me a princess dress with gold chiffon and tiny crystals at the hem.

When I moved, it looked like I sparkled.

When Frankie told me she was going, we were both so excited.

We snuck off behind the marble pillars at the party and spun in circles until we nearly threw up.

Then Carlotta found us. I had only been six, maybe, at the time, but she looked down her nose at me and frowned as if I smelled.

The memory was seared in my brain, her bitchy words something I’d never forget.

“I should have known you couldn’t follow directions and that you’d already have dirt on your dress.

I told your father we shouldn’t have brought you.

You’re useless.” She’d grabbed at Frankie’s arm, holding her hard enough to bruise as she wrenched her away.

Frankie sniffled as she tried hard not to cry.

“And you,” she sneered. “Your nanny needs to do something with your hair. And you should be on a diet.”

I stopped mid-step, one stiletto-clad foot hovering next to the table. “Huh. Either Bassiano Torsiello got a dramatic makeover, or I just entered a scene from one of those old mafia movies. You know, the kind where the unsuspecting protagonist realizes she’s been lured into an ambush? ”

Carlotta smiled, a vision of polished elegance and quiet menace, her lips curling around her teeth like a shark. “Theodosia, darling, I knew you were sharp. Come, sit. Let’s talk.” She patted the seat beside her.

Oh, I did not like that. Not one bit. My instincts screamed at me to turn on my heel and walk right back out, but that wasn’t my style.

No, no, no—I was the kind of girl who walked straight into the fire to see if she could make it look good.

It grated on me that she acted like this was normal, but I was nothing if not capable of rising to the occasion.

I was not afraid of her. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing how much it grated that the designer I had admired for so long wasn’t the one who had called the meeting.

“Someone contacted my assistant about an opportunity that was too good to pass up. I didn’t expect an ‘elaborate intimidation setup.’ You could have just asked me to coffee like a normal person.

I know this great place that serves an oat milk cappuccino with edible gold flakes.

Super chic.” I was laying it on pretty thick, but there was no way I would give her an inch.

If she were someone I liked, I’d take her for an affogato at my favorite spot, but this bitch would definitely be the oat milk sort. No affogato for her.

I slid into the chair, my movements deliberately slow.

If I had to walk into the lion’s den, I would do it as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

Frankie would have a fit about this, although I wasn’t sure whether I should tell her.

Carlotta had run out on them decades ago, and I didn’t think that Angelo or Remo even knew where she was.

Frankie certainly hadn’t kept tabs. I wondered if Carlotta knew the latest gossip about her daughter.

If she knew that Frankie had discovered her biological father was a supervillain.

Carlotta let out a small sigh as if she were handling a particularly unruly child rather than a fully grown woman who had built her own underground fashion empire through sheer stubbornness and questionable decision-making skills.

“This is more important than coffee, Theodosia. This is about your future … and my son’s future. ”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Since when did she care about her children, and who was she to interfere with my life?

Carlotta had washed her hands of her children years ago when she abandoned them.

It seemed a bit rich for her to pretend to care now.

So, she was here about the blood oath — what was her angle?

I couldn’t begin to imagine how it would benefit her if Angelo and I were hitched.

What would she gain from it? I took off my glasses and folded them neatly beside the place setting, trying to control my anger.

“Oh, honey, my future involves me designing absurdly expensive clothes while sipping champagne and laughing at those who doubted me. I’m pretty sure I don’t need your help with that. I’m not certain what I do or when I do it is any of your business.”

“Since you and Angelo are dragging your feet,” Carlotta began, leaning forward, her meticulously manicured nails tapping against the rim of her untouched martini glass.

“Salvatore Renzetti has decided to express an interest in you. He’s a new player in New York; maybe you’ve heard of him?

” I hadn’t and couldn’t care less about ‘new players’ since I had plenty of mafiosos to keep track of.

“He’s related to the Olivetos,” she added. “But he should not be trifled with.”

Well, that was an unexpected plot twist. The famiglia that wouldn’t go away .

I blinked. “Salvatore Renzetti? I don’t even know who that is, Carlotta.” I put on a bored expression, but it shook me a little.

I wouldn’t admit that to her. The last thing I needed was more drama in the mafia world regarding the whole dumb marriage issue.

While I might have accepted long ago the transactional nature of women in the criminal underworld, that didn’t mean I would be okay with being exchanged for another arrangement as if I were some kind of interchangeable spare part.

She nodded, her beady eyes fixed on mine. I didn’t dare look away in case she thought I was losing my nerve. “He wants you, or the connections you bring. And he always gets what he wants.”

A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it.

Oh, this was rich. “Okay, hold on—let me make sure I understand. You lured me here. In Italy ,” I emphasized because it was funny to me that she’d come all this way.

“You made up this whole thing with Bassimo to tell me that some mobster wants to collect me like I’m a limited-edition handbag?

Don’t get me wrong —I am limited edition, but I don’t exactly come with a gift receipt. ”

Carlotta’s expression didn’t change. “You should take this seriously. Salvatore doesn’t offer choices—he takes them away.

Marriage or leverage. That’s all he sees you as.

Angelo might indulge this nonsense of yours, but Salvatore won’t.

This whole droll sideline you have going on?

It’s got to stop. You’re getting up there in age, you know. Your usefulness is coming to an end.”

The laughter dried up in my throat. She did look serious.

Carlotta Santelli had a history of knowing dangerous men and seemed to play the game somehow.

Either she married them or ended up having their babies.

Carlotta knew how to leverage, there was no denying that.

I wasn’t ‘getting up there’ — I was only twenty-nine.

There was still plenty of time for babies. Right?

There it was. The weight of those words, the ugly reality behind them.

I’d been playing a game I thought I understood—flitting around Europe, building something mine , separate from my family’s world, Ilias and his empire of shadows.

Separate from Angelo Santelli and the stupid blood oath my father had signed.

But I was wrong .

Because in the end, I was still a piece to be moved. A prize. A bargaining chip.

And I hated that. I wanted nothing more in the world than to be truly loved and cherished for real, and it was soul-crushing to realize that it wouldn’t ever happen.

When I was still a teen, I had big dreams. Romantic ones.

Sure, they all centered around a certain someone, but even after he shattered my heart, a part of me was more pragmatic.

I’d figured I’d find love— someone who could see the real me even if he couldn’t.

The other part of me? Well, that other part still clung to Angelo Santelli and the love he’d never be able to reciprocate.