Page 75 of Angelo's Vengeance

I smirked. “You’ll see.”

“If this is a bait-and-switch brunch situation, Angelo, I swear to God—although I’m not unhappy to be out of the house,” she added.

“No bait. No switch.” I reached over and laced my fingers through hers. “Just trust me."

She huffed, but I saw the smile tug at her lips. She’d been glowing since I came home. And louder. Busier. Her entire brain was firingon all cylinders as wedding planning consumed every spare thought. It was infectious.

“Frankie thinks we should do a garden theme,” she said, quickly picking up the thread. “But Cora wants old-world glamour. You should’ve seen her Pinterest boards. It’s like Versailles and the Met Gala had a baby. Both are pretty funny since Cora didn’t plan her wedding, and Frankie didn’t even get one.” She frowned. “Maybe that’s why they’re so invested.”

I chuckled. “And what do you want?” It seemed like she was struggling with that, trying to balance what everyone else wanted. Someone needed to ensure that Theo got what she wanted.

Theo leaned her head against the window. “Color. Texture. Layers. Nothing boring. And I want there to be food stations, not a sit-down dinner. People should graze and dance, not be stuck beside someone’s drunk uncle.”

“You realize we’re still probably inviting that drunk uncle.”

“Sure, but he can wander.”

She turned to me, eyes sparkling. “You don’t mind me going crazy with this, right? Iknow you probably pictured something quieter. Classier.”

“Theo,” I said, slowing as we pulled up to the curb, “I picturedyou,which means chaos. Glitter. And a string quartet playing AC/DC. I loveyou. Whatever you want for a wedding. Whatever that looks like is what I want.”

“I love you, too, babe.” She laughed as I parked, then frowned. “Wait… why are we stopping here?”

I got out and walked around to open her door. “Come on. You’ll see.”

The building appeared unremarkable from the outside—an old warehouse with faded signage and worn concrete steps. However, the interior had been completely renovated into something breathtaking. I unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her enter first.

The moment the light hit her face as she stepped inside, it was worth every second of keeping the secret.

She froze. “Oh my God.”

The studio was massive, sunlight spilling across the warm hardwood floors. Exposed brick walls framed the room, and tall windows overlooked the street. Empty rolling racks stood, and the central table was bare—but itradiated promise. I’d had a couple of industrial sewing machines brought in, embroidery machines, and so much fabric that there were racks filled with it. There was even a private nook at the back, partially walled off, featuring a vintage drafting desk and a moodboard already pinned with swatches I’d stolen from her sketchbooks.

She walked in a slow circle, mouth slightly open. “Angelo… what is this?”

“It’s yours.”

She blinked at me. “What do you mean?”

I leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You wanted to startMythos Designshere in New York. This will give you space to work. Professional. If you wanted. No pressure.” Looking around the space, I tried to organize my thoughts. I thought I had prepared the speech, but I had been wrong. “When this whole thing started, you left New York to pursue something. I don’t want you to ever feel cheated or that you made a bad bargain. In Florence, you had started something great. My mother messed that up for you.” I still wasn’t saying it right.

She moved slowly, reverently, touchingthe beams, running her hand along the windowsill. “This is insane. I ….”

“You deserve everything.” I reached for her, wrapping my arms around her, pressing my face to her shoulder. “I’m going to make sure you have it.”

She tilted her face to mine, eyes glassy. “You know you aren’t responsible for what your mother did.”

The words hit like a hammer. But I didn’t flinch. “I know, but I’m still connected to that woman and what she did.” I hadn’t confessed to Remo yet that I’d had a chance to find out who his father was, and I’d turned it down. I wasn’t sure it’d do him any good to know that information. “The studio isn’t about her. I want you to be happy here.”

“This is gorgeous. I love it.” She leaned in for a kiss, letting me bend her back so I could nip at her throat.

There were still calls I needed to make—loose ends in Naples and Singapore, and a few men who needed reminding that the Commission was neither weak nor fractured, but that could wait.

CHAPTER 42

THEODOSIA

The afternoonof my wedding began with a cup of decaf tea and a sense of panic that only a designer-turned-bride could feel when she realized her hand-embroidered gloves had gone missing. I had been running full steam to finalize the details for the last two weeks. Deciding to make my own dress, as well as Frankie and Cora’s, had proven to be a bit more than I could handle. I had barely made it.

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