Page 4 of Angelo's Vengeance

Like Frankie, I have lived with my brothers ever since. They took care of me and my little sister, Polina, even though they were still hoodlums. They were involved in some shady business together, but I didn’t mind. Our house was happy and safe, and I knew my brothers loved me. Plus, I could go to Frankie’s for sleepovers, which was the best. We were allowed to go to the same school together, and sometimes, we crashed at each other’s houses.

Frankie and I went together like peanut butter and jelly, Cheetos and pickles, and buttered popcorn sprinkled with sugar.

We had supported each other through the deaths of our fathers (neither of whom we liked or cared about), and I had thrown her a little party just the two of us when her mother left. We were there for tears and secrets. We had promised each other that we would tell each other everything.

The house was quiet, except for the gentleticking of the clock on the nightstand. We were having a sleepover at her house, the kind she had to beg her brother for. Now that her father was dead and her mother had left them, she lived with her oldest brother, Angelo, and her little brother, Remo.

I could wake Frankie up, but she was out cold, breathing deep and steady, curled up in her blankets like she didn’t have a single care in the world. I should’ve been asleep too, but something had woken me—a sound, low and sharp.

I turned onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my pulse quickening as I strained to listen. Another muffled but distinct noise drifted up from the garage beneath the bedroom.

I sat up, my heartbeat hammering.

It was stupid, but my mind went straight to danger. What if someone was in trouble? What if something was wrong? What if—Angelo was hurt?

I knew he was down there. He’d come home late, the rumble of his latest car rolling into the driveway just before midnight. He was always nice to me, teasing sometimes, but never mean, never dismissive. And he lookedat me, really looked at me, as if I mattered. Sometimes, he’d watch movies with me, Frankie, and Remo. He’d share popcorn with us, dipping his hand into the bucket next to me, casually brushing his hand against mine as if it were nothing. Probably, it was nothing to him, but it meant everything to me.

Being around Angelo made me feel all gooey inside — hot and a little sick at the same time. I knew that he didn’t see me as anything other than a little kid, but that wasn’t how I saw him. Angelo was all hard edges except with us. He was protective and strong — everything that I admired.

So if he was in trouble if someone was hurting him?—

Careful not to wake Frankie, I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the window. The garage door was cracked open, the light spilling onto the driveway in a hazy golden glow. Another sound—deeper this time, a husky murmur—sent a shiver down my spine.

I shouldn’t go down there.

But I couldn’t help myself. Angelo could probably take care of himself. I knew he was in the mafia, so he had a gun and everything. He didn’t even bother hiding it when he cameto our house, and he had his capos with him. I’d heard him talk about them. Capos were soldiers in his little mafia army. My brothers liked to think I didn’t know anything, but I wasn’t an idiot. Still, if he got hurt and I could have helped, I would never forgive myself. There were guards on duty here, too. Maybe that’s who was making the noise, but it didn’t hurt to make sure.

Barefoot, heart racing, I crept down the stairs and across the cool hallway tile, my pulse a wild staccato in my ears. The closer I got, the clearer the voices became. His voice, deep and rough-edged, sent a thrill through me, but the other voice made me want to throw up. It wasn’t threatening. It was cajoling and feminine. He’d brought a woman home. It was soft, breathy, almost a whimper.

My stomach twisted.

I stopped just outside the garage, my fingers hovering near the doorframe. One step closer, just one, and I could see inside.

I shouldn’t look.

Angelo was there, leaning against one of his cars, his hands gripping the edge of the hood. His head was tipped back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. And between his thighs—a woman.

She was kneeling on the concrete, her hands gripping his thighs, her mouth moving along his … holy shit. I wasn’t sure where to look, butthere. He had his long fingers threaded through her blond hair, guiding her, pumping into her mouth, holding her there like she belonged to him.

Heat crawled up my neck, and my stomach twisted into something ugly and unfamiliar. Feelings rose in me that I didn’t understand.

He wasn’t in trouble. He wasn’t hurt.

He was enjoying himself.

I’d rushed down here torescuehim … and …

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic thudding of my heart, but it didn’t help. I felt ridiculous and humiliated, as if I had been punched in the gut. Warring with those feelings was something else I didn’t want to name, and trailing after them was shame.

Of course, he wasn’t in danger. Of course, he was fine. He was Angelo Santelli—gorgeous, untouchable, and seven years older than me.

And I was just a stupid fifteen-year-old girl who had had a crush. That’s all it was. I wasn’t in love with him.

A crush that I vowed then and there to leave behind in that garage. Sniffling a little, I hunched in on myself and hurried through the living room and back to the part of the house I should be in. I had been stupid.

“Theo, wait! I want to talk to you.” A door slammed behind me.

I didn’t even want to turn around at the sound of his voice. Had he seen me watching? I could already feel my cheeks getting red with embarrassment, and I wanted to die on the spot at the thought of him actually talking to me. I thought about running, but I didn’t want to have this conversation where anyone else could hear it. Making myself stop moving was an effort, but turning around was even harder.

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