Page 40 of The Wicked

Why had she occupied more space than Elia had in my mind? Why was I having an inner monologue about a woman? Not just any woman; the one who should die for even pointing a gun at me. A woman who didn’t even know how close she was to razing my whole plan. If that bullet had killed me, my soul would have never known peace.

“The girl has to go.”

Angelo’s gaze rose to me. “We had a deal with them. We can’t exactly go back on our word.”

“I can.”

He sighed. “Your word is law, remember?”

“I relieved you of your duty years ago, remember? I don’t need your advice, Mancini.”

He shook his head, sticking a needle in to sew the wound on my arm. “I will still offer it as long as I’m here, Marino.”

I looked at him. “Thenleave.”

He nodded. “And give you the chance and space to off yourself? Yeah, no. Not going to happen on my watch.”

This time, when he pressed the sharp point of the needle into my skin, I flinched.

Angelo made me very uncomfortable. It never used to be that way before hesaved me. He usually just did his job and managedhis affairs with his men. He was the only other person who understood how politics worked, and he would have been fun to talk to if he didn’t watch me like a hawk every time we were in the same space. It didn’t help that he was probably the only one who didn’t believe I had an ounce of wickedness inside of me.

It was unsettling.

I frowned. “I’ve given you a good opportunity for a life outside this business; why won’t you just take it and get out of my way.”

He met my eyes. “Because this is my life, and you have no control over what I choose to do with it.”

“That’s why you came to stitch me up instead of calling our medic?”

“Yes. If our people find out you were shot by awoman,who is supposed to be yourhostage,they will kill her and question your leadership. We can’t have that now, can we?”

“I want her dead.”

“Okay, that can be arranged.Afterthey do what they’re here for. As much as their presence brings chaos, we need access to the Pablos. The intel on that painting is required, and Street is the best bet we got.”

Silence followed after he said that. He put in the last stitch, applied ointment, and dressed the wound.

I broke the silence when he pulled back to cobble the first aid kit together.

“You thought I did it to myself, didn’t you? That’s why you came running.”

With his back to me, I noted how his form grew tense, but he didn’t respond.

“You should stop worrying about that,” I said, picking up the well-folded shirt beside me and slipping it on. “It’s never going to happen again. I’m over it. I’m fine. I’ve got too much to live for, and it was a mere slip-up. A mistake. You shouldn’t use that as an excuse to remain in this business.”

He let out a sharp breath before turning and pinning me witha pained expression he tried to mask but couldn’t. “You know I lost my sister to suicide, right?”

I watched him as I buttoned up my shirt. “Yes, I’m well-informed about that.”

“Before she finally… left, I’d saved her; I think—three, four times. It was never fun. It was traumatizing, and I still have nightmares featuring scenarios of the many ways I could have saved her if I had been there in time.”

I blinked at him, unsure if I should mention how proud I was of his sister or apologize and do the “I am sorry for your loss” thing.

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked instead.

“Your excuse and your ‘I’m fine’ is something I’ve heard before. The rise and fall of your voice showed the false reassurance you just tried to give me. I’m not a fool, Marino.”

“You’re a fool for wanting to remain here with me, Mancini. I’m not worth it. You should go live your life.”