Page 37 of Angelo's Vengeance

Theo Anthakos was going to be my wife.

And God help anyone who stood in the way of that.

Especially Renzetti.

Especially my mother.

CHAPTER 22

THEODOSIA

I paddedbarefoot down the stairs in Angelo’s shirt—one of his good ones, might I add. Silk blend, crisp collar, and still faintly smelling of sandalwood, gunpowder, and the kind of expensive rage that said,“Don’t mess with me unless you want a bullet through your kneecap.”Honestly, that was the kind of vibe I was going for these days. I found a pair of my favorite silk lounge pants, which I adored, stitched with tassels on the bottom that swished when I walked and tickled my toes.

The hospital had allowed me to remove the sling for a few hours at a time, so I was taking a short break. I’d slept well, and my physical therapist was scheduled for a home visit. I wasn’t looking forward to therapysince it would likely be difficult, but I would work hard to ensure I regained full mobility as quickly as possible. The one thing about design work — you needed your hands. Thankfully, I was young and a good healer. There was a lot to be grateful for.

I tried to center myself after last night. Angelo had been gentle and responsive — it was confusing. The Angelo I remembered and found off-putting was anything but those things. Just the memory of his calloused fingers on my scalp, while he worked the shampoo and conditioner through my hair, made me shiver. It had been an experience I’d like to revisit when I wasn’t exhausted and wounded. Even last night, every part of me was hotwired to those fingertips that hesitated along the shells of my ears and the nape of my neck as if they might wander, although they never did, much to my disappointment.

The soles of my feet stuck slightly to the hardwood floors, the only sound in the house aside from the distant hum of traffic outside the glass windows that I had no doubt were bulletproof. Since arriving last night, I still felt as if I were doped up on a blend of pain medsand sarcasm when Angelo half-carried me through the front door as if I weighed nothing.

Now, it was morning. And I was hungry. And maybe a little nosey.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen and nearly jumped out of Angelo’s shirt when I saw a man at the stove. Slight, dignified, probably in his sixties, with silver hair and a calm expression that screamed,“I’ve seen some shit.”He stirred a saucepan with all the grace of a Michelin chef, which was odd because I was fairly certain he didn’t know I existed.

“Oh!” I halted, clutching the hem of the shirt dramatically. “Either I’m still dreaming, or Alfred from Batman has a twin.”

The man turned slowly toward me, one eyebrow arched, and gave a slight bow of his head. “You must be Miss Anthakos.”

“You must be...?” I trailed off, waiting for him to fill the void.

He cracked a smile. Barely. “Norris. I run the household and the kitchen.”

“Theo.” I extended my hand. “Resident chaos goblin, lover of tiramisu, and current squatter in your boss’s shirts.”

He shook my hand with a faint twinkle in his eyes. “I figured as much. There’s coffeebrewing. And a lemon ricotta pancake if you’re quick.”

I decided that I loved him. “Marry me?” I offered with a wink.

“I’m flattered, but I’m taken.”

I grinned and sauntered toward the counter, already liking this man immensely. “You always this composed?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the elegant silver pot.

“Only when I haven’t had to clean blood off the floor in the last twenty-four hours,” he said nonchalantly.

“Yikes. Too soon.”

“Mm.” He handed me a plate stacked with the fluffiest pancakes I’d ever seen. “Find yourself a seat and I’ll get you some lemon syrup to go with those.”

I took a bite and moaned. “Okay, seriously. Are you some kind of mafia wizard?”

He merely turned back to his stove. “I do my best.”

Seemed to sum him up. A man of few words, a dry sense of humor, and the ability to make pancakes that could cause spiritual awakenings. And as I sat there, barefoot in a borrowed shirt, eating food made by a strangerin a house that wasn’t yet mine, something strange happened.

I felt like I was home, and that scared me more than anything.

I texted Frankie an hour later.

Bestie Chat

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