Page 87 of Demon's Angel

But this is wrong. Angelino and his father had money, they flaunted it. We’d lived a comfortable life, but nothing extravagant. A Mafiafamigliahead like Don Vittore Parma would surely be well-off?

But a seed of doubt has been planted. I place my head in my hands, trying to rewrite my history in my head. He didn’t speak with an Italian accent, though his pet word for my mom had been Bella. But surely, that didn’t mean anything?

My confusion leads to disgust and anger. How could I live with the knowledge my dad, far from being a meek-mannered man and a good father, was someone who made his money from crime? Who had an elite team of men under his command? Who was involved in drugs, guns and murder? And whose nefarious activities had now put my son in danger? A son who only came into existence because of a desire for revenge.

I go back over the paperwork.

This isn’t right.It’s a fairy tale Angel’s concocted, trying to find someone to blame for the death of his brother. He’s found something and twisted it to make it fit, not least the coincidental name of my father.

Angel’s lying.But why? Just to get me complacent in his bed?

He truly believes it.He must be mad. This is crazy. My father was not a bad man.

My concentration is on the papers in front of me; at first I don’t hear the door opening. A shuffling of feet makes me look up. “You’ve read it then. Do you accept what I told you is the truth?”

“I’ll never accept it.” I’ve made up my mind. “The man who was my father wasn’t capable of what you’re accusing him of. You have the wrong person. And me, for no good reason.” I stand, the chair moves noisily as I push it back into the desk, my action final, signalling I’ve had enough of this charade. “All the information is circumstantial. You’ve been clutching at straws trying to find the man who was responsible for the death of your brother. Vittore Parma and Victor Palmer are definitely not the same man.” My eyes flare as they catch his. “Everything has been a dreadful mistake. Let’s salvage what we can of it. You let me go, go back to my son, that’s all I want, Angelino.”

Suddenly he moves. His hand reaches fast around my head, taking a bunch of my hair in his fist and pulling it painfully. “They call me the Angel of Death, the Angel of Misery, of pain and retribution. What you’ve seen of me is nothing yet. You’re lying, just because you want to renege on our bargain. You could have come easily, but I don’t give a damn if you fight me. I don’t give a damn if you get hurt. You accuse me of lying, but everything I’ve told you is the truth.”

At this point I realise I’ve never seen a man this angry. The room’s small, nowhere to hide. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for him. Turning fast, I poise to leap toward the opposite wall just to put distance between us, but I’ve underestimated the tightness of his grip on my hair. My forward momentum means he doesn’t stop me, but he’s left holding a section from my scalp, leaving me shocked and screaming.

Hurt, I want to retaliate. As he crowds me again, I lift my knee, but I’m too slow. He grabs my leg and flips me so I land on the hard floor, winded. On hands and knees, I try to move away.

He reaches down, this time taking a larger bunch of my hair, he pulls me up by it, swinging me around in an arc, then throws me over the back of the couch, using his body to pin me in place.

I try to struggle, to kick, but he overpowers me. Still keeping me fixed in place by his grip on my hair, he presses his heavy weight against me. My brain registers the smell of sweat and the sound of him breathing heavily. It’s not all from exertion. Through the material of his slacks I feel his hardness. I’m trapped, it’s impossible to move him.

For a brief second that’s over so fast that my brain doesn’t register it in time to take advantage, he puts a small distance between our hips, but it’s only so he can flip my dress up over my back.

“Che cazzo? What have you done?” His voice echoes in the sudden silence as I realise he’s seeing the tattoo, Demon’s mark of ownership. “You fucking stupid bitch.” Then his voice comes closer as he bends to speak into my ear. “But no mind, I’ll just burn it off, or flay the skin from your back. Of course it may decrease your value, but you’ll still have a working cunt.” He lifts up a little; turning my head, I can see him examining it. “‘Property of Demon’? Wrong, you’re fucking mine,bitch.”

Then his hand rises and comes down to my face, slapping me hard. As I lie stunned, he shifts and frees himself. Then he’s back, ripping apart the panties I’d worn to entice Demon on our wedding day.

“Don’t do this!” I cry.

He laughs, then sneers into my ear, a parody of sweet nothings by a lover, “I love it when a woman begs…”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Demon

I’m not at my best waiting for news. My mood, my anger and fear, deepen every hour that passes. Roberto’s been keeping in touch. The worst of it is, we have tabs on Angel now and we can’t touch him. Not being able to bring him back and have Mace torture information from him is taxing.

Thecaposmanaged to get Angel to a meeting, but after that he returned to his home, no diversions along the way. I’ve been informed he wouldn’t have Violet at his house—Roberto’s assured me it’s impossible. One of the trustedcapo’smen’s women is Angel’s housekeeper, and she’s managed to discreetly search high and low and confirm there’s been no woman brought there. I hadn’t expected it would be that easy, it’s too obvious a place, but it had been good to get confirmation.

But we have a plan. Knowing where he is is good, but it’s where he’ll be going that’s most interesting. I have Ink and Pyro sitting outside his house waiting for him to make a move, but so far, he seems to have settled in for the night.Celebrating the death of his father? Grieving, perhaps?Whatever, it’s now three in the morning, and my last report was the house is cloaked in darkness. Angel, it appears, has gone to bed. Which is where most people would be.

My hands itch to drag him out and question him. But there’s a risk Roberto and Lucio were right. If Angel doesn’t return to where he’s stashed Violet, she could disappear. Too many women go missing never to be found again for me to risk it. One thing the Mafia does well is traffic people.

At least if Angel isn’t with her, she’s not being molested. For now.

The clubhouse is a mixture of activity and quiet. Some, dead on their feet, are giving in and taking the chance of a couple of hours rest. Hellfire and I, the other presidents and VPs, are all awake, surviving on nervous energy. I’m pleased to have such support around me, but it doesn’t ease the choking feeling around my throat, or the dread in my gut.Forget her. You’ll never see her again.

“Put it down, brother.” Drummer points to the tattered note I’m reading for the umpteenth time. “We’re going to find her. Soon as he makes a move, we’ll be following.”

“How’s Snatcher?” I change the subject.

“Rusty, your medic guy, is with him. Thinks it is a concussion, but he seems to be a bit brighter now he’s had a rest. Snatch is complaining about his bike being in the shop.”

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