Page 5 of Angelo's Vengeance

“Why are you down here?” His eyes were narrowed at me, suspicious in a way that was unfamiliar to me. Normally, he was kind and smiling. “You were spying on me,” he accused flatly.

“I didn’t mean to,” I managed to get out, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m sorry.” I thought about telling him I was worried he was in trouble, but now it seemed stupid.

“That was private. You should have been upstairs.”

His face twisted as he regarded me, and I imagined how I must appear to him: my long hair frizzed from spending most of the day with Frankie in bed watching movies, dressed in pajamas that were far from grown-up. There was even a zit patch on my face, and I wore my bright pink flannel pajama bottoms with orange crocodiles with my Supergirl t-shirt. I wasn’t fooling anyone that I was grown up … not that I was trying.

“Look, you need to stop,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I had clearly reached a new level of hell. I didn’t misunderstand his meaning, but I would deny it as long as I breathed.

“I’m a man. You’re…” He waved dismissively, sending a rush of embarrassment coursing through me. “Whatever this is, I will never be interested in you. Would never be interested in you, even if we were the same age. Got it? Is it crystal clear? Stop embarrassing yourself. That’s all you’re doing right now. Being an absolute embarrassment. If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to keep you from coming over.” His lips pinched together. “Maybe I should do that anyway.”

“Wait.” The word was desperate, pleading as tears spilled over not just with humiliation now, but with the thought that he might ban me from spending time with Frankie. He had the power to do that, but I hadn’t even considered it. It hadn’t even been on my radar as a possibility. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“No, just stop.”

With that parting shot, he disappeared back into the garage, leaving me with the weight of his words.

Never.

Embarrassing.

Crystal.

The roar of an engine shook the door down the hall, and the screech of tires echoed as I crept back up toward the bedroom where Frankie slept. Before I got there, I sat on the stairs, slumping against the banister, letting my face rest against my knees, and allowing the tears to flow as I sobbed.

CHAPTER 4

ANGELO

PRESENT - ANGELO - AGE 36

Fortune smelledlike new money and old power. The scent of paint, whiskey, and the faintest trace of sawdust still lingered in the air. The club had been rebuilt—bigger and better—ours. As I sat in the new VIP lounge, I couldn’t help but admire my own damn work. It was like a fucking phoenix rising from the ashes. I chuckled, recalling it had been reborn twice now.

I stood near the bar, taking it all in—the expanded VIP lounges, the second floor overlooking the club, the bulletproof glass. It was a fortress designed to print money. I had designed the bar with a Prohibition gangster theme. It looked kickass. Even my brother Remo thought it was cool, and he was hard toimpress. Every inch of the club had been designed perfectly. We hadn’t even had the grand opening yet, but I was sure it would be a hit.

"Not bad," I muttered, rolling the scotch in my glass.

"Not bad?" Conall O’Kelly scoffed from his place on the leather couch, shaking his head like I had personally insulted him. "Say it properly, ye stubborn bastard. This place is afucking masterpiece. I hate to say it, but I’m glad it burned down. It’s even better than before. Maybe ye needed a bit of practice.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. "Hell of an expansion," Conall continued, stretching out like he owned the place. The Irish bastard probably thought he did, but I let it slide. After all, he owned part of it—he could stretch a little. "Ye finally got tired of hiding that you’re the most ambitious fucker at this table?"

I smirked, flicking the cap off the scotch bottle. "Took a page from your book, O’Kelly. Turns out, thinking bigger pays off."

Maxim Volkov lounged to my right, looking absurdly relaxed for a man with a newborn in his arms. The baby, tiny,swaddled, and blissfully unaware that he was in a den of criminals, rested against his chest while Maxim sipped his drink like this was a typical Tuesday. Of course, baby Vasily should have been relaxed—the world would drip in blood before we let anything touch him.

Ilias Anthakos leaned back with an amused snort, watching the baby as if it were napalm. “Cora, let you bring the kid?” He raised an eyebrow that indicated he knew the answer already.

Maxim shrugged, adjusting Vasily in one arm. "Cora needed sleep. It’s the same thing. Here or there. What’s the difference?”

Conall coughed into his fist. "You mean you were supposed to watch him at the townhouse while she napped? She didn’t give you permission to take off with the baby.”

Maxim only grinned, the smug, satisfied kind that we were used to right about now from him. "Believe what you want. I was doing her a favor." This was him at his finest — trying to convince himself that he did a good thing until Cora rained hell down on him for making her life harder. “She’ll be glad for a nice nap.”

"Sure, you eejit. I’ll bet my sister will bescreaming bloody murder when she wakes up and finds you and the baby gone. Just warning you that I’m not taking the fall.”

I was pretty sure we all agreed with Conall on that.

We had already experienced a few incidents like these, so I didn’t doubt Conall was right. Cora hadn’t liked Maxim taking the baby in the past, and I didn’t think she would this time, either. Maxim shrugged, snuggled his son a bit tighter, and gave him a gentle poke through his blankets. It was unsettling seeing him like this—all gooey. I had been used to Maxim being an unfeeling icicle, and seeing him have actual human feelings made me want to simultaneously hurl.

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