Page 43 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Are you coming?” he asks instead of answering the question.

I ignore the red light ahead and the blaring of horns that follows. “Of course I am, Angel.”

His breathing slows and evens out. Maybe he’s just catching his breath, but I want to believe that knowing I’m on my way gives him the peace and comfort he needs.No one will hurt you again, Angioletto. No one.

I blow through another light, rounding the corner onto Washington, and spot Dante standing on the corner of the bustling street. At first glance, nothing looks out of place. He just looks like a man out for a day of shopping, waiting for a rideshare or a friend. Having my eyes on him, seeing him standing and breathing and in one piece calms my racing pulse down to normal again. Whatever scared him enough to call me like that can be dealt with.

I pull to a stop. He darts looks over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to materialize and pounce on him. When his gaze finally lands on me, I notice a glassy, faraway look in his eyes. It takes another second before he jolts forward, reaching to open the car door. He winces and shuffles his whole body back to pull the door open instead of just tugging it with his arm.

He slides into the passenger seat, and all the things that weren’t noticeable while he was standing on the street corner are like neon signs now. There’s a raw abrasion on his cheek, the collar of his shirt is torn, and he moves stiffly as he buckles himself in and then gingerly pulls his hands into his lap.

“What the fuck happened?” I ask through clenched teeth, brushing my thumb gently over his cheek, feeling the swell of the bruise and smearing the droplets of blood that haven’t quite scabbed over yet.

“Can you just drive?” He doesn’t look over his shoulder at the sidewalk, but the way he stiffens for a second makes me think he wants to. I narrow my eyes and scan the street. Is there anyone lingering? Anyone watching? Not that I can see. “I’ll tell you what happened, just go first.”

I lean back into my seat. As much as I want to jump out of the car and hunt down whoever hurt him, my first priority is making sure he’s okay. Revenge will wait, and it will only get sweeter. I pull away from the curb, stealing glances at Dante as I follow the traffic laws this time.

“Injuries first, Angioletto. Do I need to take you straight to the hospital?” It’s never been hard finding the right level of detachment. It’s necessary in this line of work when anyone you know could end up dead without warning. But right now, the only thing that keeps the quiver out of my voice is the years of practice I’ve had staying steady and even in fucked up situations.

“I’m fine.” He wraps his hand around his forearm but manages to match my feigned cool detachment.

“Bullshit,” I bark. Dante winces again and I grit my teeth, taking a deep breath. “Angel, I’m trying to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t be honest with me. Now, tell me where you’re hurt before I pull the car over and spank it out of you.”

His breath hitches. “I really don’t need the hospital. I have a couple of scrapes and bruises. My shoulder was dislocated, but I already set it. And I have a… um… burn.” He squeezes his hand around his forearm again. “All I need is some ice and painkillers, and I’ll be fine.”

I grind my teeth again, causing a headache to bloom behind my eyes. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I count a coupleof slow breaths to calm myself down and then I press the dashboard smart screen to bring up my contacts and press to call the first one on my favorites list.

The sound of a phone ringing fills the car and Dante shifts in his seat. I’m going to get the rest of the story out of him, but I need to prioritize.

“Salvatore,” a familiar, smooth voice answers after only two rings. He’s lucky I’m not Lorenzo; he’d ream him out for not picking up on the first one. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a situation. I need you to come to my apartment.”

He’s quiet for a fraction of a second. I’m sure he wants to ask what to expect, but he knows better than to do that over the phone. “I’ll be there.”

We hang up without bothering with any goodbyes.

“Who was that?” Dante asks as I turn down my street and our apartment comes into view.

“Biaggio,” I answer. “He’s the family doctor.”

I hit the button to raise the gate to the underground parking garage and head for my assigned space. There’s a second one marked with my apartment number that sits empty. I wonder what kind of fit Dante would throw if I bought him a car. He would probably get up in my face, hissing about not needing to be taken care of or not wanting to be bought, then pretend to fight me as I bend him over the hood and make him scream my name. I enjoy the fantasy for half a second before turning off the engine and shifting in my seat to get a better look at him.

My eyes land on his swollen cheek and the fantasy evaporates. My attention for the last few minutes has been on getting Dante home where he’s safe, but now that we’re here, the bigger picture comes back into focus.

“Where’s Antonio?” My voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the venom dripping from the question. Dante was supposed to have protection, so where the fuck is Antonio?

DANTE

Fucking Antonio. Was it a coincidence that I was attacked right after he left? Maybe the ginger asshole who jumped me was watching all day, just waiting for me to be alone so he could have his chance. Or maybe there was more to it than that. I can’t be sure, but I want the chance to find out.

“Promise me you won’t kill him.” Not that he wouldn’t deserve it. And fuck, okay, it would be stupidly hot to see Salvatore shoot someone in the head for disrespecting me. In spite of the throbbing pain in my shoulder and in my forearm where that guy burned me, my cock twitches in agreement.

Salvatore’s nostrils flare and the controlled mask he had in place when he picked me up slips, letting all his thunderous rage shine through.

“Why would I need to kill him?” he growls, baiting me to tell him what happened, why I was out on the street alone and who attacked me.

Antonio’s threat to make him think I’m a traitor rings in my ears again. I’ve been honest with Sal about what this is, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t left room for doubt. As far as he knows, I could have made up the whole thing about needing protection as a way to lower his defenses and slip easily into the Morettis’ world. I could be feeding information to the feds or any other enemies they have. The only reason he has to trust me is my word versus Antonio’s.

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