Page 55 of Angelo's Vengeance

Narrowing my eyes at the screen, I considered, “Unless you’re willing to move over here?”

“Nice try, and I’m flattered - but pass. I’m sticking to my side of the ocean, but you need someone to keep you on track. I agree with that.”

We caught up for a bit—she discussed her latest intern disaster, the bizarre fashion trend she was raging against, and a quick analysis of Milan’s recent couture week, which we both decided was too beige for our souls.

“I think it’s time you rooted yourself in New York,” she said, twirling a stylus like a weapon. “Start small. A pop-up or a capsule collection. You’ve got eyes on you now.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my voice hitching slightly. “But I need to know it’s safe. That it’sreal.”

Vivienne’s brow arched, her gaze piercing through the screen. “Is this about what happened in Florence?”

I nodded. “The way those clients pulledout... I’ve never stopped thinking it was fishy. But I couldn’t prove it. And I didn’t want to believe?—”

My phone buzzed with a notification for a video call.Veronica Petrova Walters.

“Hang on,” I told Vivienne. “I think I’ve got a hacker on line two.”

Vivienne shrieked with delight. “Oh my God, answer it! Sounds very glamorous. We’ll catch up later.”

A cool, striking blonde in a deep blue tattered t-shirt that made her eyes pop appeared at a desk piled with papers and multiple monitors glowing behind her as I accepted the call. She was stunning in a petite, waifish way. Designing clothes for her would be so much fun.

“And you’re Theo,” she said with a smile, with none of the Russian accent I expected.

“That’s me,” I said, squinting. “And you are?” Although I already knew who she was. She was one of those women who skirted the mafia world. She had their respect, and I respected the hell out of that. Angelo mentioned Veronica, and so did Kostas when I texted him earlier today.

“Veronica Walters. Maxim’s cousin.Kostas and Angelo asked me to look into something for you.”

I knew Kostas would have contacted her, but my heart skipped a beat when I realized Angelo had taken the time to message her. “Angelo? He didn’t tell me.”

She smiled faintly. “He likes to protect you. I did tell him I’d need to tell you, since I prefer full disclosure. We’ll meet at some point, so things can’t be anonymous. After all, Max is family.” Her eyes crinkled around the edges, and I searched for a resemblance to the icy Russian that I grew up fearing, but came up short. She looked nothing like him. “I’ve been digging into the abrupt collapse of your client base in Florence. At first glance, it appeared to be market shifts, personality conflicts, and perhaps some garden-variety envy. But when I peeled back a few layers, I found fingerprints.”

My pulse quickened. “Whose?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

“Exactly who we suspected. Carlotta’s.” Veronica forked a spoonful of cottage cheese into her mouth, humming a little as she did so, and I had to suppress a little shiver. I hated the stuff.

Hearing it was vindication. At least there wasn’t anything I had done wrong. There had been months of anxiety during which impostor syndrome had wreaked havoc on my psyche. Now I knew it was part of whatever game Carlotta was playing.

“She orchestrated a subtle campaign,” Veronica continued, clicking something on her keyboard. “Anonymous reviews. Discreet emails to investors suggesting to buyers that you had connections to certain... controversial figures. And more directly, she threatened two of your early backers. I have logs.”

“What a bitch.”

“I don’t think she intended to ruin you,” she said. “She wanted you out of Florence. Off balance. Vulnerable. Initially, it looks like she wanted you back in New York with Angelo. That’s what it appears to me. Then she changed tactics with the whole kidnapping scheme — but that looks like it was all a minor distraction.”

I laughed, but it came out hollow. “Didn’t seem minor to me.”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.” Veronica’s lips twitched. “She’s ambitious. Twisted. But intelligent. What she didn’taccount for is that once you root yourself somewhere new, you bloom.”

I ran my fingers over the edge of my sketchpad. “I thought I was paranoid. I told myself I was imagining it. The whole ‘someone is out to get you’ thing.”

She forked more cottage cheese into her mouth and then spoke around it. “Paranoia is just pattern recognition with a bad PR rep.”

I barked out a laugh. “God, you’re dramatic.”

“I’m Russian. It’s a birthright.”

“True.” Tapping a pencil on my sketch pad, I considered. “I appreciate you taking the time to look into it. It’s been something that messed with my head. Now I can think about moving forward and how I want to do that.”

“Your work is amazing. I’m sure you’ll be able to start fresh, but I have gone through and scrubbed what I could regarding negative reviews or emails. I’d recommend a mini-PR campaign with whatever you do going forward. If you send it to me, I can give it a boost through certain avenues.”

---