Page 30 of As Angels Sin

“And where do you think you’re going?” Tomas’s voice comes through the closed door.

“Home,” Fiametta answers.

Am I part of her home, now?

Don’t lose sight of the mission.

Right. No daydreaming about a future with her and our child.

“Are you trying to run away? You won’t get far, little girl.”

“I’m not running,” Fiametta fights off his implied threat. “I am leaving with Father’s permission.”

“What?” Tomas’s voice lowers, and becomes nearly inaudible behind the closed door. “And you didn’t think to run it by me?”

“Why would I?” she replies.

Yes. Stay strong. Put him in his place. I won’t let this fucker get in the way again.

I mean it, too, until Tomas says, “Because I’m your husband-to-be. My say-so should count for something.”

His words knock the wind out of my lungs. The reaction lingers so long, I start to feel lightheaded, and I forget to breathe while I try to piece together the fucked-up arrangement Tomas has forced onto her this time. After being lightheaded to the verge of collapse, air suddenly fills my lungs through my savagely flaring nostrils.

There he is. Ready to take what’s his. My killer-in-waiting. My own next kill.

Even my shadow’s torment can’t penetrate the raw fury that’s coursing through my entire being.

Do it. Kill him. End our suffering. Grab him by the head. Pull him into the shadows. Plunge your blade into his neck and bathe in the warm, red ooze.

I want to obey. I want to kick in the door and make Tomas suffer, the way he has made Fiametta suffer. I want to see the fear in his eyes. See the hesitance followed by the realization that he’s the sole reason I have him on my killing floor. I will speak to him, and tell him all the terrible things I’ve done to get there. I’ll listen to his cries and wails as my words turn from my own deeds, to what’s about to befall him.

Most importantly, there will be no blade this time. Absolutely not. He’ll die by my hands, wrapped around his throat and squeezing tight. I will suffocate him rather than quickly extinguishing his breath. I’ll watch it flicker and sputter, as he claws for oxygen, before he’s gone.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not here. I’m still an outsider and, in some ways, still an outcast to these people. I am just a hired gun, who’s meant to play the starring role as Don Lorenzo Napoli’s good lapdog.

If I want any chance of seeing Tomas’s perfect end come about, I must wait. I must bide my time. Fiametta will understand. She’ll have to.

There is no future for our child and us, if I run in blindly.

So, I will continue listening and watching, a silent avenger looming in the shadows.

Chapter Fourteen

FIAMETTA

Ihave been so overexcited by Crue’s reaction to my good news that I haven’t been able to sleep. He left a few hours ago, wanting to slink through the shadows to avoid Father’s patrolling men. So, instead of sleeping, I find myself packing once again.

I didn’t lie about having my bags ready, after Crue left. But those ones held my clothes and a few sparse belongings. This time my cases hold everything else. All of the trinkets I brought to make this room feel more homey. My scattering of teddy bears and toys on the chest of drawers that haven’t been moved from their place since Crue bumped into them. My copy ofPride and Prejudice, and the first edition of it that Crue left on my nightstand. They’re the little things that hold so manymemories, and that got me through the months I had to stay in Father’s mansion.

Tomas’s abrupt arrival in my bedroom shatters my good mood. It’s just like him. He has a way of putting a dampener on pretty much every amazing thing that comes my way, without even knowing he’s doing it.

I’ve had enough, and as Crue is taking over Tomas’s role as my personal guard, I’m not afraid to let him know it.

“It’s a marriage of convenience and we both know it,” I reply to his comment about his being my husband-to-be. “Let’s not pretend you actually give a shit about me,” I roll my eyes and continue packing away the last few things.

“You’re right about that,” Tomas says, and when I turn to face him, his sickening, yellow-toothed grin is on full display. “But I expect my bitch to show me some goddamned respect.”

“Yourbitch?” I emphasize the word.

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