by Celia Aaron
They continued their pleasantries as I eased into a sitting room just off the main entry. I was too big to do much lurking, but I could get out of the spotlight and away from the heavy hitters.
“Didn’t know they let riff raff like you into these things.”
I ignored Nate.
Nate wasn’t good at being ignored. “You hear me, Frankenstein? I’m trying to bust your balls, but they’re made out of the same shit as Captain America’s shield. Or maybe kryptonite.”
He walked up to my elbow and offered me a glass of champagne.
I didn’t move to take it.
He downed it in one gulp. “Your loss, man.”
A few more people arrived, mafia bigwigs with young wives on their arms.
“I need a taste of that.” Nate jerked his chin at one of the women in a gold dress with fake breasts that seemed so big she might fall over.
“Go get it then, and quit bothering me.”
“He speaks!” He looked up at me, his eyes amused. “Good to see I still got it. Con always tells me I can rile anyone. Anyone. And this is proof. I got you to talk, and you’re just like a…” He gave me a long side-eye. “Like a big ol’ lump of ornery, angry, muscled, pissed-off testosterone. Worse than when we were kids. Prison made you even dicker. You know?”
If we’d been in prison together, Nate would have been dead long, long ago.
I sighed and scanned the crowd again. No mafia princess in sight, but the room was filling up quickly and a string band was playing somewhere deeper in the house. Some fancy shit.
Nate continued, unaware of how I was contemplating the many ways I would have punched his ticket behind bars, “I hate it when Con’s right, but he is so right. I have a gift.”
“Where is the angel of death?” I watched as Hector escorted Serge down a long hallway to the right. Vince was speaking to Peter, the two of them quiet.
“He had a job.” He shrugged. “Con’s the all work, no play sort. Like you.”
I grunted in affirmation. Con didn’t sound so bad, but I had to question his judgment if he let this goddamn horsefly buzz around him all the time.
The front door opened again, and this time a gaggle of women entered, each of them dressed up enough to put the bride-to-be to shame. Crass, but seemed par for the course when different factions were jockeying for position. The women played along to the same set of rules as their husbands. One-upping each other was a bedrock principle. I didn’t know much about the high-class mafia life, but I knew a shit-ton about enforcing dominance in any way possible.
Nate whistled low at the newcomers. “And that’s my cue.” He left his champagne flute on a table that probably cost more than his car and adjusted his tie. “I’m ready to dive right into that pool of pussy. Sparkling and fresh. If I’m not back in an hour … don’t do anything.” He shot me a grin. “Because that means I’ve got at least one more nut to bust.”
This time, the urge to punch him just to shut him up almost won out, but it passed when Nate finally fucked off and made a beeline for the women.
I shoved my hands in my pocket, which got a nervous glance from one of the door guards. I stared at him for far too long just because I knew he’d flinch. He did, turning his back to me and pretending to inspect the doorframe. Pussy.
The crowd grew, and I moved a little farther into the side room where I could keep an eye on everything but not stand out so much. I still attracted quite a few whispers and looks, but none of that bothered me. Knowing that I could kill any one of them with just my hands in under five seconds put me at complete ease. Funny how that worked.
A low hum of conversation filled the rooms, and servers with trays began circulating and offering prissy finger foods. None of them approached me.
Another five minutes passed, and I kept glancing up the staircase to the second floor. If the princess intended on making an entrance, that’s where she’d show. Probably in some insanely expensive gown molded to her too-thin frame. Would she be plastic like most of the women milling around? Likely. Keeping a vapid little girl safe wasn’t my idea of solid work for a guy like me, but I’d do it if it got me where I wanted to go.
Peter finally finished his chat with Vince and cut through the mob toward me. More than a few ladies turned their heads as he passed. We both had the same dark hair, square jaw, and sharp nose. But where his eyes were lighter and more expressive, mine were dark and a little more deeply set. I’d never tell him this, but he was the handsome one of us. Brutality had sculpted the lines of my face and body. I was just fine with that.
“Where is the girl?” He stopped at my elbow and peered at the newcomers flowing through the front doors. “We’re going to be here all night as it is. And the more time everyone’s gathered, the more chances for the Irish to show up.”
“Were they invited?”
“Of course,” he grumbled. “Not inviting them would have started an even bigger war.”
I snorted. “For being a bunch of hardass mob guys, everyone sure gets their panties in a twist if the social graces aren’t observed.”
“It’s stupid, but that’s the way it is.”
I didn’t have to tell him I thought it was all an idiotic show. That things would be better if we threw away the guise of getting along and engaged in open bloodshed. But I wasn’t in charge, and I didn’t want to be.
Some of the voices at the bottom of the stairs quieted, and then the hum throughout the rest of the room died down.
“About fucking time.” Peter snagged a champagne flute from the nearest tray and gulped it.
I stared up at the second-floor landing.
Dainty, too-girly shoes appeared, then long olive legs. A few of the women near the front door laughed like cawing crows and then settled down. I didn’t look at them. Couldn’t look at them. My gaze was caught in a snare, my heart burning like I’d just eaten a handful of cayenne peppers and washed it down with Tabasco. What the fuck was going on?
Her white skirt appeared, then the rest of her slowly dropped into sight. When I saw the first dark curl of her hair, the small point of her chin, and finally the deep whiskey color of her eyes, the burning inside me intensified to a wildfire. My Angel. It was my Angel.
“David?” Peter leaned closer. “Is that? Is that her?”
Holy fuck. It was. I’d know her anywhere. No matter how bizarre she looked—like a woman wrapped in a little girl’s ribbons—I would see right through any disguise.
She wasn’t able to see me from this angle, but she turned her head all the same, those same eyes I’d dreamed about a million times sweeping over the room and seeking me out.
“Holy fuck it really is her.”
“Angel.” My voice was a whisper, a draft through a haunted house.
“There’s my Angelica!” Hector Blanco pushed through the throng at the bottom of the stairs, Lorenzo following close at his heels. “My baby girl sure knows how to make an entrance.” He joined her on the stairs and took her elbow, then motioned for Lorenzo to come up.
I stepped forward, the steel that ran the length of my spine heating and demanding retribution against any man who touched my woman.
“David.” Peter rested his hand on my arm, a low note of warning in his tone. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I do know that you need to stand down.”
“Ever since I adopted Angelica, my life has been enriched. She’s brought me so much joy that I simply don’t know how I’m going to be able to live without her.”
A smattering of “aww” rose from the dumbest people in the crowd, the ones who believed the bullshit freely flowing from Blanco’s fat mouth.
“But, when the heart meets its match, what can you do?” He took Lorenzo’s hand and joined it with Angel’s. “I would never stand in the way of true love, and that’s what we’re here to celebrate this evening. So everyone, raise a glass to my beautiful daughter Angelica and her handsome groom Lorenzo!” He took a proffered champagne from a waiter and led the toast, t
aking only a sip as the room drank and erupted in well wishes and cheers.
Lorenzo brought Angel’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
I took another step forward.
Peter’s grip tightened on my arm.
Angel kept her eyes down, her dark lashes hiding her from me. What may have looked like a demure bride-to-be was actually a suffering soul. I could feel that truth deep inside the cold shell around my heart. How had she gotten here? What sharp twist of the knife brought her into the path of a man like Hector Blanco?
I couldn’t stay back, my feet moving on their own, the people in front of me making way as soon as they glanced back and saw me.
“David!” Peter hissed behind me.
Blanco waved toward the back of the house. “Let us dine, friends. The table is set, and the wine is never-ending.” He leaned over and whispered in Angel’s ear.
Finally, she looked up. A forced smile spread across her face, and Blanco nodded with approval. Her gaze swept the room, but landed on me with unerring precision.
The false smile melted away, and her eyes grew wide. I cut a path toward her even though Peter was at my back and yanking on my suit coat like a kid with his mother’s skirt. In that moment, it didn’t matter why she’d ditched me, where she’d gone, or how she’d gotten here. I just needed her, my pull toward her stronger than anything I’d ever felt.
A commotion started behind me, and Peter’s yank grew more insistent.
“David!” His voice wasn’t chiding and quiet anymore. It had an edge. I knew the tone all too well. Shit had just gotten real.
Lorenzo turned and ran up the stairs. Blanco yelled something in Spanish. Angel’s mouth dropped open in horror as she stared at whatever was going on at the front door. Her fear affected me like a gut punch. I had to get to her.
“Happy engagement, motherfuckers!” someone yelled, and then the harsh sound of a semi-automatic lit up the room.
13
Angel
The masked men let loose with a spray of gunfire. Before I could duck or run or do anything at all, David snatched me into his arms and dashed up the stairs.
Screams and the melee of shots created a cacophony as people tried to run from the attackers, but once David turned the corner toward the bedroom wing, I lost sight of the panic. Others followed us up, but David had already rushed the length of the hall and pushed into the bedroom at the very end.
He put me on my feet, then dashed to the writing desk against the window, grabbed the chair from it, and wedged it against the door.
I just stared like a feeble-minded fool, too shocked by the bullets and the hulk of a man who’d ghosted on me when we were still stupid kids.
He turned to me, his expressive eyes on lockdown. “Is there a bathroom?”
“Yeah.” I pointed. This was an unused second master, but I’d inspected it long ago, when Blanco had first dragged me to this beautiful prison.
“Get in the tub, all the way down.” He pulled two pistols from shoulder holsters and backed away from the door at an angle.
More screams. More shots. Whatever was going on outside this room was utter chaos.
“What are you doing here?” I backed toward the bathroom.
“Doing a job.” He didn’t take his eyes off the door. “Now get in the tub.”
I wanted to protest, to argue I could take care of myself. But that wasn’t true anymore. Hadn’t been the case since Blanco and that piece of shit Jorge grabbed me five years before. Instead of making some stupid, empty speech to save my pride, I ran through the tiled bathroom and slid into the tub to save my life.
After long moments of terror, the gunfire seemed to subside, but the screaming didn’t. A few additional shots sounded from outside, and men yelled as tires screeched and more gunfire added to the din. I’d only seen three masked intruders. They killed the two guards at the front door with knifes to the throat. Didn’t even give the bastards a chance. Then they’d started shooting. I clenched my eyes shut against the image of bodies dropping, people scattering, and blood blooming along fancy dress clothes. Instead, I tried to focus on David. What was he doing here?
The screaming quieted though someone was wailing nearby. A brief hope flitted across my mind that Hector and Lorenzo had met their doom through the killers’ bullets, but I didn’t believe luck that good existed, especially not for me.
“David?” a man called from the hallway.
A few moments later, voices rose in the bedroom. Whoever it was, David had let him into the room.
“—had to be. They had some people here, though. Just happened to be at the back of the house when the shooters showed up.”
“Fucking Irish.” David’s low growl sent goosebumps prickling along my arms.
“They won’t claim it. And unless our guys manage to catch the—”
“They got away?”
I climbed out of the tub and crept to the bathroom door.
“All three gone. They had souped-up motorcycles sitting just outside. Blanco’s guys weren’t ready. No chance. And our guys were protecting Serge and Vince.”
“I know you’re there, Angel.” David’s voice rang out close by, and he appeared in the doorway. “You hurt?”
Just looking at him, I had a hard time catching my breath.
His eyebrows lowered. “Oh, shit. You are.” He grabbed me by my upper arms and walked me to the bed. “Where?” Sitting me down, he ran his hands along my torso and down to my hips, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
I grabbed his wrist, or as much of his wrist as I could. “No, I’m not hurt.”
His sigh of relief hit me right in the heart. And when he met my gaze, I caught a glimpse of the boy I’d known a lifetime ago. But it was only a flash. His armor came up at a rate I envied.
Rising, he turned away from me, his impossibly broad back like a wall of steel.
“You came for me.” Those words carried a hopefulness I hadn’t felt in years. “You finally came.”
His shoulders tensed and rose as he turned toward me. God, he was the same boy—bigger, angrier, and with more knowledge in his eyes than I’d expected—but it was him.
“Fuck,” Peter said under his breath.
“You came.” Tears pricked behind my eyes, but my wonder was quickly tempered by a question, one that had plagued me for years. “Why didn’t you come before? What happened to you?”
“To me?” The warm look that had begun to spread across his face shattered, and the granite façade returned. “What happened to you?”
“Why didn’t you look for me?” I stood, though I still had to crane my neck back to hold his gaze.
He took a step toward me, and Peter shook his head in a curt warning.
I had to know the answer. I had to know why he hadn’t found me. Was it truly because he hadn’t looked? “Why didn’t you—”
“Angelica!” Hector’s voice cut through everything and brought me crashing down.
“Fuck.” Peter ran a hand through his hair and opened the bedroom door.
Hector rushed in, his face ashen though he seemed unharmed. “Are you okay?” He pulled me into his arms, and I tried to hold my breath to avoid the stench of his cologne.
“She’s unharmed.” Peter peered out the door. “Can’t say the same for some of your guests.”
Once he was assured his asset was intact, Hector let me go and turned to David. “You kept her safe. Thank you.”
David didn’t respond, just stared at Hector as if he were a particularly loathsome species of insect—which he was.
Lorenzo practically fell in the door, his greasy dark hair a mess and his eyes wild. “Dead. There’s a dead body on the stairs.” He hitched a thumb behind him.
“Glad you’re safe.” Hector walked over to him.
David didn’t move, though he watched me with an intensity that felt almost like a physical touch.
“We need to check casualties and get help.” Peter spoke to Hector. “With your permission, I’ll
see what I can do.”
“Of course.” Hector waved down the hall. “My man Jorge will coordinate.”
Peter disappeared out the door, and Lorenzo collapsed onto the bed beside me. His musty scent of sweat and fear wafted over me, and I had to fight the impulse to get up and escape him.
“As long as the happy couple isn’t harmed, everything will be all right.” Hector worked up a strained smile, then turned to David. “Thank you again. You’re Serge’s man, correct?”
David nodded, his eyes flickering back to me for only a moment. I wanted him to keep looking at me, to tell me what I was desperate to know. That stupid little girl heart that I’d given him the night beneath the oak tree—it needed an explanation from him. But this wasn’t the time or the place, especially not with my fiancé sitting right next to me.
Hector pointed at David. “He told me he would be assigning someone to watch over my little Angelica, and I have to say I appreciate that he isn’t taking the threats against us lightly. Without you, we may have suffered a great loss today. I’m glad you’ll be around until the wedding to keep my sweet Angelica out of harm’s way.” His faux-gratitude turned into a sneer. “Those fucking Irish will pay.”
“You know for certain it was the Irish?” David’s tone was even, hard. I could imagine him snapping Hector’s finger off, or possibly his entire arm, without batting an eye.
“Of course.” Hector threw his hands up in dramatic telenovela style. “Who else?”
David grunted.
Lorenzo let out a hard breath, as if he still couldn’t calm down. He rose and rushed to the bathroom, the sound of him retching echoing out.
What a twat. David seemed to match my sentiment with the slightest twist of one corner of lips, but it was gone before I could really see it.
“Would you be so kind as to watch over my daughter and her groom while I see to my guests?” Hector headed toward the hall, his request more of an order than an actual question.
David understood that, since he remained where he was, his eyes returning to mine as Lorenzo threw up again.