Page 35 of As Angels Sin

Fia, because it was her father. Simone, out of respect for her best friend.

The rest of them? All offering sympathy in bad faith.

As I look at her, seeing the despair on her face, whilst well-wishers engulf her, my shadow puts everything into perspective for me. It uses no words this time. It makes no attempt to push me into some vile deed.

It just places an image in my head. My Fiametta, alone, afraid and weeping. So similar to what’s actually on display, and yet somehow so different.

I know what I must do.

These men made my Little Flame cry.

Now I’m gonna make them bleed.

Chapter Sixteen

FIAMETTA

“You came,” I say, when Crue makes it over to me. I saw him from a distance, just standing there with his hands in his pockets, his glowing green eyes locked on me. I feared the interruption was going to scare him off. He isn’t much of a people person, but I could hardly chase my fellow mourners away.

“Of course. I had to be here.” Does he mean for me? Oh Lord, please let him mean for me. I guess I’ll never know, for sure, because Crue doesn’t elaborate.

“Did you say goodbye?” I’m not sure what to say. Neither is he, it seems, but he answers with a nod.

“How did it make you feel?” I’m talking to him as if dealing in death isn’t his business. But my questions aren’t really for him.They’re for me. To get a read on my man, the brute who has claimed me and won’t let me go. We are in a situation that is new to both of us here.

“A little confused,” he says, and, somehow, that makes me laugh. Not loud, and not for long, but he’s the first person here who’s brought a smile to my face today. “I thought these things took weeks to arrange.”

“They do, but not in the Mafia. Everything happens quickly. Out with the old, in with the new.” Tears lump in my throat at both parts of that sentence. The old is saying goodbye to my father. The new is living with a tyrant.

“I saw you talking to Matteo.” I change the subject, afraid I’ll start wailing again, if I don’t. Sure, it’s going to happen a lot over the next few days. Maybe even weeks. But if I can stop it from happening in front of Crue, I will.

“I was.”

“Anything interesting come out of it?” Based on how bad the negotiations went when he and Father met, a couple months ago, I wouldn’t be surprised if Matteo was jumping for joy after hearing of Father’s passing.

“Nothing good. Not yet at least.” He remains standing rigidly in front of me.

To put him at ease a little, I say. “You can put your arms around me, if you’d like.” Phrasing it as if it’s an option to feel less uncomfortable, but really, it’s for me. I’m the one who needs his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I want him to hold me with the promise that everything’s going to be okay.

I need to feel safe, and he’s the one who can do that for me.

He does. His stiff arms drop onto my shoulders, and awkwardly wrap around my neck. He pulls me into him, latching on as if he was falling down, rather than offering me support.

I’ll take anything I can get right now, and I nestle my head against his chest, listening intently for his heartbeat. When I findit, the slow, rhythmic thumping sound stills me. It soothes my racing mind and makes me draw in my first proper breath in days.

“I know about the engagement.”

“You do?” I ask, not moving from my position. I’m not surprised. Crue has a way of finding secrets, no matter how well they’re hidden.

“Matteo told me.”

“Did he send you an invite?” Making fun of a bad situation is the best cure for heartbreak and suffering. Next to a tall glass of something bitter, unpleasant and high in alcohol content.

“Just shy of that. He asked me to be Tomas’s man of honor.” His voice is neutral. Soft. As if he’s inching closer to remorse, but can’t quite grasp it, the same way he can’t grasp the timing for terrible jokes. At least I think it’s a joke.

I chuckle anyway, because if it is or isn’t, he’s trying. In the unique way only Crue can muster. He wants things to be right.

“It’sbest manfor the groom.” I rub my cheek against his suit’s soft lapel. It’s cool and soothing against my cheeks, which have been cried raw.

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