Page 12 of Angelo's Vengeance

She tilted her head, considering me. “It seems like people aren’t keeping you in the loop. I’m giving you the information you should have already had: alternatives.”

I let out a slow breath. “Let me guess—this alternative involves a brooding Italian don who doesn’twant me but would rather die than let Renzetti have me?”

Carlotta smiled just a little. “Angelo is many things, but he understands the value of protecting what’s his.”

As if she knew anything about Angelo and his motives. I wasn’t sure she was wrong, butI couldn’t be certain she was right either. When it came to the blood oath, Angelo was completely twisted up. He’d also made his disdain for me clear. There was also a part of me that knew Angelo was too proud to allow another man to take a woman who was set to marry him.

I snorted. “I do not belong to him. And if you think I’m going to allow you to maneuver me into some absurd chess match among criminals, you haven’t been paying attention, but then you haven’t been around. Have you?”

Carlotta’s expression remained unchanged, but I saw something in her eyes—something calculating as if she were evaluating whether I was playing dumb or genuinely naive enough to believe I could walk away from this.

“I still don’t get why you’re here. Why you’re involving yourself? I know you haven’t even been in New York for years.” I was suddenly thankful we were in this dark corner where the servers ignored us. “It seems like you wouldn’t care if the blood oath was honored or not,” I pressed.

“Let’s just say that it’s in our best interests to ensure everything gets finalized.”

That was vague. I considered her for aminute, but she didn’t seem inclined to offer me anything else, and I was honestly bored with the whole set-up. The only reason I’d come was the lure of a possible meeting with Bassiano Torsiello, and now that I knew that was all a fake-out, the energy had drained out of me.

I pushed back from the table, the scrape of my chair against the floor sharp and final. “Well, this has been fun. Truly. But I have a life to get back to, a job that doesn’t include being some mobster’s trophy wife. So, if you’ll excuse me?—”

Before I could turn, the door behind me swung open. I had noticed it but thought it was a back entrance or a side kitchen.

Two men stepped inside, and I pin-balled between them and Carlotta, trying to piece together what was going on.

They were big. Broad. Unsmiling.

Oh, you had to be kidding me.

I shot a look at Carlotta. “Really? Really? The whole ‘send in the goons’ routine? That’s so predictable.” I aimed for joking, but fear was beginning to creep in.

Carlotta didn’t blink. “I told you, Theodosia. Salvatore always gets what he wants.”

One of the men moved quickly for someone his size. I twisted, reaching for the nearest weapon available—which, unfortunately, was a cocktail stirrer.

Not ideal.

A hand clamped around my arm. I jerked back, kicking out, my heel colliding with someone’s shin. There was a grunt of pain, but it didn’t matter—I was already being hauled toward the door, my feet barely skimming the floor.

Panic clawed up my throat, but I shoved it down. No. No, no, no. I wasnotsome damsel in distress. I was Theodosia Anthakos, and if these idiots thought they could justtakeme, they were in for a very unpleasant surprise.

I twisted hard, slamming my elbow into the guy’s ribs. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for me to plant my feet and?—

A sharp sting exploded at the back of my head. The pain violent and intense.

The room spun. My vision blurred. My body wentwrong, legs folding beneath me.

Distantly, I heard Carlotta’s voice, smooth as silk. “Tell Salvatore he owes me for this.”

And then?—

Darkness.

CHAPTER 9

ANGELO

When I receivedthe call from Ilias, I was face down in my bed, the cool cotton of my sheets a blissful reprieve against my split cheek. My body ached, my knuckles still raw from the night before—a business dispute that had turned bloody. Sleep barely began to sink its claws into me when my phone started buzzing—a shrill, insistent vibration against the nightstand cut through the silence of my bedroom.

I initially ignored it, groaning as I buried my face in the pillow. But it kept ringing. Persistent. Demanding. My instincts, honed by years in this life, sent a shot of adrenaline through me. Ilias didn’t call just for shits and giggles.

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