Page 58 of As Angels Sin

“But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about my doorman. How can I help you, Crue?” Straight to the point.

This will be the only time I ever wish Matteo preferredchit-chat. A handful of pointless comments would give me the time to find an answer to his question. Oh well, I’ve had enough of today as it is. Let’s just get it over with.

“You’re actually my third stop.” I lean forward in my chair and pretend to tie my shoelace. Of course, I’m not vulnerable. I have my ankle gun. But I came out to complete three sacrifices: the False King, the Executioner and the Judge and Jury.

One will have to satisfy the hunger. The others won’t die by ritual.

“I tried reaching out to the others, but I couldn’t get a hold of them.” Hard to do that without a séance. “So, I came here.”

Matteo’s eyes narrow, as if he knows something is up. I’m not surprised. It’s easy to spot a big steamy pile when it lands in front of you, when you’ve lived a life cutting out the bullshit and getting right to it.

“Let me give Tomas a call. He won’t decline it.” Matteo opens a drawer and reaches inside it. In a blink, he has a gun in his hand, and it’s aimed at my chest.

“Funny looking phone,” I say, easing back into my chair, my finger on the trigger of my pocket-sized pistol.

“What have you done, Crue?” He ignores me.

“Exactly what I said I would.” My breathing slows to near imperceptible inhalations. “I didit.”

My body tenses, expecting a hot bullet to sear the flesh. But my mind opens. It frees itself from the fear of death’s approach. My shadow — always there, watching, waiting, and ensuring my survival —is nowhere. Not even a tiny black spot at the back of my mind.

It’s just Matteo and me, on our own.

Matteo sighs and shakes his head in disappointment, but he doesn’t pull the trigger. He doesn’t want me to die here. He probably has some wild idea about how he’s going to torture me before the inevitable. Or he prefers splattering my brains over his lawn. It would be easier to clean up the gray matter. The birds would do half the job for him.

“Put your hands up, Crue. I think you know what happens now.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Don’t test m—”

It was a question that I knew would piss him off. I asked it with the sole intention of distracting him. Before he can answer in full, or make a threat I won’t listen to anyway, I lift my hand and squeeze the trigger twice. Both bullets hit his chest, and leave two little pin pricks of blood against his white shirt.

Matteo grunts. He looks down, and then up.

Oh fuck.There he is. My perfectly punctual shadow. Just in time to hear the returning bang, and to feel the displacement of flesh caused by Matteo’s larger caliber bullet. The impact topples me over in the chair and I crash to the floor, head-first and hard.

I hear a raspy breath from above, then a second, and then I hear a knock on wood that must be his head hitting his desk.

It was quick and concise. Totally the opposite to my battle with Mark, yet the wounds are much worse. Although, that makes a kind of sense, doesn’t it? Although I didn’t realize it when I met him, I’d have preferred Mark to stay alive. We could never have gone back to how things were, though. He’d always have been an enemy. It was a drawn-out fight where both tried to make the other see reason.

Matteo is different. A swift, sudden death is the only way to handle a man like him. There is no need for mind games, or a cerebral assassination. Just sending him to the black is all he deserves.

I assumed two bullets would do the job, but as I lie there with my eyes growing heavy, I realize I have made a mistake.Assuming makes an ass out of you and me. In this situation it also turns my insides into outsides.

It’s funny. For all the kicking and screaming I’ve seen; in sending so many to their ultimate fate, I have no desire to do the same.

It’s peaceful.

Quiet.

And as the thrum of eternal sleep surrounds me, I shut my eyes and smile. My shadow’s here. It’s always here. It’s the last remnant of myself and my past, turned guide until the end.

Chapter Twenty-Six

FIAMETTA

The call came through from the Mount Sinai Hospital at a quarter past four in the morning. After making a call of my own, Simone and I arrived a few minutes before nine. We entered a chaotic reception and were led through many halls, ending up in a waiting room, no bigger than the log cabin.

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