Page 1 of Angelo's Vengeance

CHAPTER 1

ANGELO

AGE 11

I hunched over my eggs,shoveling them in as quickly as I could, ignoring the look from our housekeeper, Renata, who valued better manners. I knew my mother was already on the stairs, and once she came down, I wouldn’t be able to eat in peace.

My mother, Carlotta Santelli, never cared much about anyone’s feelings except her own. She felt better when she made others feel worse, especially if they were her kids.

My little brother Remo was only five, and my sister was three, so they had a nanny, but that never stopped her from poking them. The nanny was clever, though, and had already begun moving them out of thekitchen, their jammy fingers leaving smudges on the doorframe, before my mother reached the bottom step. Her disapproving glare met mine just as I shoved the last bite of egg into my mouth.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had to go to that meeting with your father?” Her mouth pinched with displeasure, as if my lingering in her presence was offensive.

I pushed my chair back, the scrape of wood against marble sharp in the quiet room. “I was eating.” It was obvious what I was doing, but this was what she excelled at: making you feel small, tearing you down to nothing.

Her eyes narrowed. “You should be in the car by now. Don’t keep your father waiting.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew better. Rolling my eyes only earned me a smack across the face. She preferred that I stay out of sight, waiting in the car for hours instead of her having to look at me. She thought I was stupid. Well, I wouldn’t play her games.

I brushed past her before she could say another word, but the second I stepped into the hallway, I heard heavy footsteps approaching. My father appeared, filling the doorway, hisdark eyes locking onto me with a silent command.

“Get in the car.” His voice was low, the growl of impatience promising violence if I didn’t hurry.

My father was old-school mafia—one of those guys who believed that if you didn’t jump when he said to, he should knock you around until you learned better. He wasn’t shy about it either, and never cared who was around. He had kids so he could train them the way he wanted. He wasn’t winning any father-of-the-year awards, if you catch my drift.

My hands clenched at my sides. “I don’t want to go.” The words sounded petulant even to my ears, but I couldn’t help it.

His expression hardened. “It’s not up for discussion.”

I glanced toward the front door, measuring the distance, but he saw it before I even twitched.

“You run, and I’ll make sure you regret it,stronzo. We don’t have time for any of that.”

A surge of anger rushed through me, hot and defiant. I hated him. I hated all of this, but I also knew there was no escaping it. Not today. I took a step, but not toward the car. Heblocked me easily, his hand snapping out to grip my arm in an iron hold, tight enough to leave marks.

“I’m not in the mood,” he muttered under his breath.

I twisted, jerking back, but he tightened his grip. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who was stronger. Who was in control.

For now.

I lifted my chin, my heart hammering. “One day, you won’t be able to make me go.”

Something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable. Then he smirked, the kind of knowing look that made my stomach twist on itself.

“We’ll see about that. Today, I can. Tomorrow, I still have your little brother and your little sister, don’t I?” His lips curled into that cruel smile that told me he wouldn’t mind playing dirty. “You care about them. Maybe you don’t care about yourself so much.” He bent closer to me so his jowly face was close to mine. “But having weaknesses isn’t a good idea, Angelo. You’ll need to learn that.”

He was heavy and obviously Italian, with his dark, greying hair swept back in a widow’speak. Me? I didn’t look like him at all. My hair and eyes were light colored. He said I was his son, but I wasn’t convinced. My father was the worst kind of man. His children were just tools in his arsenal, meant to be used. If he broke one, he’d get another.

And just like that, he dragged me outside, shoving me toward the waiting car. The door was already open. Our driver, Uberto, didn’t even look at me as I slid into the leather seat.

The door slammed shut, locking me in.

The engine hummed to life, and as we pulled away from the house, I felt the tightening grip of a future I didn’t want settling around me like a noose.

CHAPTER 2

ANGELO

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