Page 37 of As Angels Sin

“Then he will have the pleasure of dying first.” As much as I love his comforting touch, it’s those words that bring me the greatest satisfaction. I’ve never wished death on anyone. Instead, I’ve always tried to see the bright side to the worst of the worst. Hell, Crue’s the perfect example. But this time I can’t. Not where it concerns Tomas. He went out of his way to make me suffer, time and time again. Occasions that I could never directly speak about it. Not with words, not with body language, not with anything.

Now, he must pay.

“Nothing and no one will ever harm you again, Fiametta. Not under my watch. I will make you whole again.”

Chapter Seventeen

CRUE

What are we doing here?

“They called. I came.”

After you made them look like a gaggle of cocks.

“Geese.” It’s a flock or brood of chickens. Gaggle sounds better, though. Especially in the context.

She’s going to get you killed.

Probably, but for the first time in my life, I’m doing something for the benefit of someone else. I’m reluctant to say that I feel an emotional involvement, beyond the blinding rage that usually dictates my emotional responses.

Wanting to help Fiametta feels... well, good. Dangerously so. I feel as if I have the strength to move mountains, anything, as long as it brings a smile to her face again. Dark and heavy ismore my style than hers. She’s best served by descriptions such as bubbly, giddy and adorable.

Shut the fuck up. If I had guts, I’d be spewing them over the carpet.

I still my mind, not because of my shadow, but because I’ve arrived at the door to Lorenzo Napoli’s office. A few days ago, it was his place of death, and now it’s inhabited by a man whomustdie and two others I can’t trust anymore.

Even Mark has let me down. My oldest friend. My brother. He’s siding with the devils who torment my Little Flame, and for that he has to suffer the same fate.

I stop and listen for a moment. I tune all of my senses on the door, trying to catch anything that is being said behind it. But there’s nothing. Only a hollow thrum, akin to pressing your ear to a seashell.

Well, here goes nothing.

I don’t knock before entering. Matteo’s sitting behind the desk in Lorenzo’s old seat — though, I’m sure it’s not the same one he was shot in. Mark’s standing in the far-right hand corner of the room, next to a long, short display shelf. Scatterings of Lorenzo’s personal belongings are on top, with books stacked below. He’s holding a copy of one, thumbing through the pages and pretending to read. Tomas is sitting in front of Matteo, lazily slurping on a glass of whiskey.

It's clean in here. There is no sign that a man was shot and killed here so recently, if at all. There isn’t a drop of blood on any of the carpets. From my experience, no matter how damned good you are, it’s impossible to clean every last drop. Some tiny splash always manages to get left behind. It could be a stained shirt cuff or tiny drop on a wall that most people would confuse with a fleck of dirt.

But this office is pure. Spotless. It was probably torn down and rebuilt, to resemble the room it once was. It’s a pity I have tokill them. I could use the number of whoever did this meticulous clean.

All three turn to face me as I enter.

“You look surprised, Crue. Why is that?” Matteo asks.

I close the door behind me but don’t travel too far into the room. “I’m wondering why you’re in Tomas’s seat.” It’s a joke. It’s also the truth and I am trying to stir the pot. It’s all right and all wrong.

“Oh, Tomas knows the deal. You don’t have to worry about him trying to do a repeat of Lorenzo,” Matteo scoffs.

Sure. But Tomas needs to worry about me.

“You called and I came. Why am I here?” I’ve never shown any of these men fear, and I’m not going to start now, just because they might be coming for my head. World-weary and cautious has been my attitude until now, but even that façade is a waste of energy. I’ve made up my mind and it’s time to stand strong.

“I don’t think I put my point across well at the funeral.” Matteo turns to Mark. They don’t do their eyebrow wiggling telepathy this time. “You don’t have to be on guard here, Crue. It’s a safe space. You can sit, drink and be merry. We’re all friends here.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself,” Matteo rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair. “There’s no carrot and there’s no stick, Crue. It’s what I tried to tell you earlier, and I’m repeating it now. We are square. You can stay or you can go. But what you won’t do is get in the way of my business.”

“Or else?” I finish what he doesn’t want to say. “That sounds like a pretty big stick to me.”

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