Page 57 of Angelo's Vengeance

"Mr. Santelli called ahead," Norris saidwith a slight smirk. "Said he wanted something...simple and elegant. There is dessert on the counter. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave a slight bow and left us with a wink.

Simple. Right. Like anything about this man was ever simple.

I perched on one of the chairs while Angelo washed up, rolling my pencil nervously between my fingers. When he finally sat down across from me, a wall of heat, strength, and something distinctly dangerous radiated off him, and I found myself blurting out, “So, how was work?"

He gave me a look like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or flip the table. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with those almost hazel eyes. “Well, good news. We found Renzetti."

I blinked. “You did? Renzetti? As in, the guy who’s been setting fires and trying to murder everyone? The a-hole who almost sold me off? That’s great news.” They had been tearing apart every location they could, looking for where he might have scurried off to.

"That’s the one," he said grimly, reaching for the breadbasket and tearing off a hunk ofcrusty loaf. "Found him hiding in a Cardoni property on Long Island. The place was locked down tight. Private security. No digital footprint."

That meant they got him. The thought made something in me relax. The idea that he’d been squatting somewhere nearby and plotting hadn’t sat well. I leaned forward, utterly hooked. “But you got him. Was it bad?"

He shrugged one massive shoulder. "Could’ve been worse. He had some resistance—mercenaries, not real soldiers. Paid men. They scattered the second they realized we weren't screwing around."

I shivered at his casual ruthlessness, but not in fear. His tone was similar to how someone else might describe fixing a broken engine or taking out the trash: efficient and unapologetic.

"And Renzetti?"

Angelo's mouth twisted. "Dead. We tried to get him to talk, but he went down swinging. Kind of.”

"Good," I whispered, relieved. Dead was good.

He tore another piece of bread, his handssteady even as a storm brewed in his eyes. "Found signs Carlotta had been there too. Clothes in a guest room closet. Even a glass of wine, but otherwise nothing that could help lead us to her."

I set my chin on my hand, heart thudding. "She’s slippery."

"She’s worse than slippery, but I’ll find her eventually.” His voice darkened. "And Renzetti...he wasn’t the brains. He was a pawn. Carlotta’s pawn. Always was."

I swallowed. "What now?" I wondered what sort of limbo it left us in, with Carlotta still out there.

He gave me a small, grim smile. "We keep looking. And we tighten security—all of us. But we go on with our lives. I have a feeling that Carlotta will continue to do what she does. We’ll get her.” There was confidence in every line of his body when he spoke.

“I believe you.” I did, too. Angelo wouldn’t quit until he figured out her game. Now that he knew she had been in the shadows this whole time, he would focus on using every resource he could to find her.

He reached for his wineglass, swirling thedeep red liquid thoughtfully. "Speaking of all of us … I was thinking."

"Uh-oh,” I teased, but my heart leapt a little. After everything that had happened, I realized I was ready to move forward with Angelo. Earlier, I had been sketching baby clothes, not only for Frankie but also for myself, potentially. A wedding had been on my mind. Maybe he was going to bring it up?

That earned me the ghost of a genuine smile. “Maybe we could have a family dinner? Like your siblings. Frankie. Conall. Maybe Remo, too."

I straightened, excitement sparking through me even though that wasn’t the question I had truly hoped for. “Really?” As a teenager, we always had big family dinners, the quintessential loud Greek family with everyone talking over everyone else. My brothers were unbearably protective, but they were awesome.

He nodded. "It’s time. We need a real family dinner. Start acting like what we are."

My chest squeezed, a messy mixture of joy, nerves, and something I wasn’t ready to name. "I’d love that."

The corners of his mouth lifted slowly,dangerously, and breathtakingly. "Good. I’ll talk to Ilias about it and see what day is good. Perhaps you could call his cook? She’s pretty great. You want to do Greek?”

Evgenia was a fantastic cook, and she had been with our family for many years. She’d make you cry over her food, and I loved her kataifi. I wondered if I could convince her to make it for me. The honeyed dessert was one of Polina’s and my favorites. The thought of my sister brought a poignant pang. I missed her terribly.

After that, we ate in a warm bubble of almost normalcy, with the candlelight casting golden highlights in his hair and the kitchen feeling cozy around us. I told him about my day, how I’d spent the morning on a call with Vivienne.

“She thinks I should hire a New York assistant,” I said, waving my fork, but I watched him cautiously for his reaction. “Someone to help me get set up here.” Mafia men had certain views about their wives working, and I knew that was where we were headed: the altar. This was the make-or-break moment for Angelo—how he handled my work.

He nodded, approving. "Smart. What do you think about that?”

“I haven’t decided yet how to proceed. If I want to have the same sort of setup, or focus online? I could do a pop-up now and then. That would involve less commitment.”

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