Page 3 of Angelo's Vengeance

“You’re late,” Alexei Volkov snapped.

The guy turned beet red and bowed several times, repeatedly apologizing as he explained there had been traffic. It was fucking New York. When wasn’t there traffic? If I were the don, I would have told him that he should have planned ahead and arrived on time, but my father said nothing.

Finally, he got the show on the road andopened his briefcase to distribute copies of the contract that everyone would sign. I saw my father’s forehead wrinkle as he read it line by line. One of his rules was always to know what he was signing. My father was a slimy dickwad, but he wasn’t stupid — and a lot of times his advice was solid. This was one time that I thought it wasn’t wrong. I noticed Yianni Anthakos didn’t even bother to glance at the document. Fool.

“Give it here. The Volkovs will go first.” Alexei rudely gestured impatiently to the little man.

“Of course, of course. You’ll need to sign and then press your thumb next to your signature.” The lawyer put a little wooden box in the center of the table, flicked the lid open, and revealed an old-fashioned tack.

I watched in rabid fascination as Alexei signed with a flourish, then savagely pressed his forefinger to the tack and sealed the bloody print next to his signature.

“Maxim,” Alexei commanded. The Russian shoved the contract and the box at his son, who looked like he was anything but willing. Maxim looked as if he were going to revolt.

Everything in me went still. My father hadn’t mentioned anything about me signing a contract. Would I have to? I knew some of what this was about, but why were we signing? Maxim Volkov frowned but picked up the pen—hesitated until his father growled out something in Russian that obviously provided the needed motivating factor. He read the document, frowning at it, but signed his name carefully and then slashed his thumb, repeating the motion his father had made before pushing it away from him.

“Feck, he’s a bloodthirsty one,” Cormac O’Kelly boomed like it was all a big joke. “Best keep an eye on him, Conall.”

The red-haired boy, Conall, didn’t respond to the taunt. After his father signed, he methodically reviewed the document but didn’t hesitate to pass it to my father after he signed himself. I felt sick, and I could sense the little Anthakos boy trembling next to me. I hadn’t read it and didn’t know what I was agreeing to.

“Here, boy.” My father shoved the papers at me, reminding me more than ever that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be. The fact that I was in a moldy club at eleven instead of sitting inelementary school like a normal kid made me furious.

Sometimes, I loved the thought of the mafioso life —the danger and the excitement —but most of the time, it made me feel resentful. I’d watch my brother and sister and know deep in my gut that they were missing out on a real family. The only person they had who really loved them was me, and wasn’t that fucked up? That their parents didn’t love them?

Anger rose in me, hot and furious, as I struggled to focus on the words. It was a good thing I wasn’t stupid. I had always been quick, partly because I had no choice. I read carefully, even when my father grumbled at me to hurry up. I kept my finger on the document, noticing all the sections where these idiots spoke about forming a group called the Commission and the part where they guaranteed each other specific things for their nastier businesses. Guns, drugs, human trafficking—you name it, these bastards did it. They rolled in the mud like the pigs they were. They had no class.

Then my breath hitched. That rage inside me exploded. My father was such a fucker.

“I won’t do it, you asshole!” I cursed in Italian.“Non lo farò, stronzo!”

The dickface wanted me to marry one of these assholes’ daughters when I was older? That’s what I was signing? I shouldn’t have been surprised by the stuff my father did, but somehow he still managed it. He wanted me to agree to an arranged marriage when I was older, and he was selling my little sister on top of it. She was part of this sick agreement. It wasn’t even enough that he trafficked other people. His own children weren’t safe from his schemes. My emotions surged and swirled too intensely for me to manage as my eyes flicked from the contract to the crime bosses at the table, then to the other boys who hadn’t had much choice either. Even as I attempted to scramble away from the table, my father yanked me back into my chair with a sharp slap that jerked my head to the side.

“You’re embarrassing me, you little fuck. Sign it.” My father shot me a look that would have had most men pissing themselves. I didn’t care if his patience had snapped; mine had too. “Angelo!”

He wrenched me forward as I screamed and fought, pulling my limbs together againsthis as he jabbed my finger onto the tack. I bared my teeth as he smeared my blood onto the page while cursing his name three ways to the Madonna.

“Sign it, or Remo gets sent away.” His eyes narrowed, and I realized he meant it. He would do it. He’d throw my little brother to the slavers if I didn’t comply. Although I wasn’t sure it was any better that I would be signing Francesca’s life away, but that was a problem for another day. Narrowing my eyes at him, I scrawled my name next to the messy blood marker, ensuring he saw the anger behind it. He’d made an enemy out of me today.

The last person to sign was Yianni’s son. His hand was steady as he pressed the pen down to the paper, and his mouth remained closed against any comments. His father was jovial, making crass jokes around the table even as his son’s eyes screamed promises of revenge. Maybe Yianni wasn’t catching on, but I certainly had.

After it was over, the lawyer folded the paper and tucked it back into the wooden box, as if we hadn’t just signed away our futures.

I rubbed my bleeding finger against mypants and muttered under my breath in Italian, swearing and spitting out every curse I knew.

My father just smirked. “Good. It’s done.”

I glared at the table, thinking about my name written in blood.

No, my father was wrong. This was just the beginning.

CHAPTER 3

THEODOSIA

THEODOSIA - AGE 15. ANGELO - AGE 22

Francesca Santelli had beenmy best friend since I was six, and our brothers ran around like gangsters together. We had naturally become friends because we always ended up in the same places, our brothers dragging us along since they were too afraid to leave us at home with our asshole parents.

I’d admit freely that my dad had scared the crap out of me. Yianni Anthakos was a mean drunk, but he was even meaner when sober. He also unnerved my brothers, so they kept my little sister and me as far away as possible. I learned to be careful around our house at a young age, staying in the shadows and peeking around corners to avoid confrontations.When I was twelve, my father died of a heart attack right at the dinner table. Nobody was sad. My brother, Ilias, spat right on his body at the table and told him he hoped he was going to hell.

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