Page 22 of Angelo's Vengeance

"You might want it soon enough." His thin lips curved into what was supposed to be a smile, but only emphasized the fleshy jowls of his face.

I stiffened. "Why’s that?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the mirror and pressed something beneath the frame. The mirror clicked and then swung open, revealing a digital, high-resolution screen.

Names. Dozens. With photos. Ages. Descriptions.

I stepped back. My stomach dropped into my shoes. "No. No way."

"You’re here as the final addition," Renzetti said, sipping his drink casually, his beady eyes on me watching as I understood the scope of the horror. "A rare piece. The prized lot."

"You’resellingpeople."

Everything inside me roiled against the idea. I sensed something like this was happening here, but having it confirmed with such absolute callousness felt entirely different. Trafficking was vile. I’d been so proud ofmy brothers and their friends for their stance on it.

I understood how my reaction might confuse some people. Perhaps some thought that my father had essentially sold me. Why would I care if I were sold again? Once I learned about the blood oath, I realized one thing: none of the men on the list would hurt me. Sure, they were criminals, and they might not be my choice, but I always knew I would be safe with them. I might have been fighting the chains of this arrangement with Angelo, but fear wasn’t part of it. Not this kind of fear.

He tilted his head. "We’re offering opportunities. Luxury. Rarity. You know how the world works, Theodosia. Everything has a price."

"Not me,” I snapped angrily.

Renzetti remarked lazily, "Don’t be dramatic, darling. It’s a cocktail party, not a firing squad. Do you want that bourbon now?” he held the glass out for me, his pinky ring winking in the light. “There’s nowhere for you to run to.”

I ignored him. A drink sounded great right about now, but I wouldn’t trust anything from this place. Who knew what they might put in it?

I hoped my brothers killed him.

CHAPTER 15

ANGELO

Angelo

The trees looked like ghosts in the fog.

Spanish moss draped from the cypress branches like shredded silk, swaying in the humid Louisiana breeze. The plantation loomed in the distance, a shadowy silhouette cloaked in moonlight—grand, stately, and harboring secrets. It was the kind of place that whispered stories even when no one was there to listen.

I stood at the treeline, half-hidden in the underbrush, my Glock warm and familiar in my hand. My heart pounded a hard rhythm against my ribs, steady and unrelenting. I was accustomed to adrenaline. I lived for it andthrived in the chaos. But this? This was different.

Theo was in there. I could feel it in my bones.

"You good, Angelo?” Conall asked, stepping beside me. He resembled a damn war general, all muscle and calm menace, with a scoped rifle slung across his back. His men flanked him, shadows armed with guns and grim determination etched into their faces.

"I’ll be good when she’s out," I muttered, eyes never leaving the mansion.

Maxim joined us next, having exchanged his suit for sleek black tactical gear. His men moved like ghosts behind him—Volkov-trained killers who didn’t need orders to paint the night red.

“The security perimeter is tight,” he said with his gravelly Russian accent. “Men are on the balcony, and another four are patrolling the grounds. They aren’t amateurs. We’ll take the perimeter guards in advance. No guns.”

Conall motioned with two fingers, signaling the predetermined patrols, with his right-hand man, Sean, among them. Sean was an absolute savage and was likely eager to get his hands dirty the old-fashioned way. Maximcorrectly believed that quietly taking down the perimeter guards was the best approach. It was definitely a stealth job. The bloodier, the better, in Sean’s opinion.

"Makes sense," I said, my jaw clenched. “We can’t have random shots alerting people inside.” Renzetti wouldn’t use street rats for this type of operation, so they’d be professionals. But too bad for him; we were a match for whoever he’d brought out here.

Behind me, Ilias, Kostas, and Vaso were quietly and swiftly checking weapons as they spoke to each other in Greek. I didn’t understand much of it, but I heard Theo’s name mentioned several times. Her brothers were eager for blood. I didn’t blame them.

I was right there with them.

Bacco approached from the other side of the trail, wiping sweat from his brow. The southern humidity was a slap in the face after the cool cabin air of the jet, and he was feeling it. My consigliere wasn’t built for cardio or this kind of climate, and already he was showing his weaknesses. Still, Bacco would push through when we got inside if he didn’t have a heart attack before we got there.

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