Page 54 of Unhinged Little Angel

The fear pounding in my chest quickly morphs into throbbing rage. I spring off of the couch faster than I should have. Refusing to let Sparrow see me wince in pain, I snarl at him instead.

“How fucking dare you. This is my private business. If I want Salvatore to know, then I’ll tell him. You have no goddamn right.”

He sets his jaw and glares right back at me. “That’s why I didn’t give it to him. I’m giving it to you.”

His response is so reasonable it only pisses me off more. If I can’t be angry at him, then the only thing I’m left with is this hollow feeling in my chest knowing that an entire, messy part of my life is summed up inside that folder and the knowledge that’s already been dogging me for days that Salvatore deserves to know the truth before Don is released.

“It’s more complicated than what’s in the court documents,” I mutter.

“It usually is,” he says agreeably.

I grind my back teeth and stare at the folder like it’s a living thing, a beating heart under the floorboards taunting me to unburden myself of years’ worth of secrets.

“I’ve never talked about it. Any of it. I don’t even know where to start with Salvatore,” I confess, my throat tightening at the thought of finally spewing all of this poison. What if he sees me differently once he knows?

“Start with what?” I startle at the sound of Salvatore’s voice, and surprisingly, so does Sparrow.

Sparrow meets my eyes, glances at the folder, then back to me. I can see the silent question written all over his face. He’ll take the folder with him, and I don’t have to tell Salvatore anything if I’m not ready. I give a small shake of my head. I can’tkeep running from this. Maybe it’ll even feel better for someone else to know the whole story.

I pick up the folder and hold it out towards Sal, standing in the entrance to the living room with Sparrow still between us.

“Do you want—” Sparrow starts to ask, and I shake my head again.

“We’re good. Thanks for bringing this.” I wave the folder. He turns to leave. “If you want to hang out or anything, you can stop by another day,” I call out before he’s gone.

He stops and shoots me a fleeting smirk over his shoulder. “Will do.”

Salvatore’s hands are in his pockets and he’s staring at the folder the same way I was just a few minutes ago when Sparrow showed up.

“Is that…?”

“I haven’t looked inside, but I’m guessing it’s the court transcripts and police reports. There’s a lot more to it than what’s on the official record, but I think you should read it first. Then I’ll tell you why my Uncle Don is coming after me and why I had to lie.”

Chapter 21

SALVATORE

His uncle? My blood boils. I already wanted to welcome this asshole home from prison with a bullet between the eyes, but knowing he’s Dante’s own family, his flesh and blood… now I think I want to make it hurt.

Dante thrusts the folder at me with a twist of a sad smile on his lips and then slips out onto the balcony with Luca. I stare at it in my hands for a minute. I asked Sparrow to dig this up, but I’m not sure I can handle what’s inside without losing my fucking shit. Just knowing he brought it to Dante instead of me is all the proof I need that whatever is in there, it’s worse than I thought. I’m already seeing red, and I haven’t even cracked it open yet.

I loosen my tie and shrug off my jacket, then I toss the folder onto the coffee table and head into the kitchen to pour myself a drink. Something tells me I’m going to need it. I open the liquor cabinet and unscrew the cap on an expensive bottle of scotch, waving it under my nose before I grab a glass and pour a generous amount. The patio door opens again, and I hear Luca’smuffled voice telling Dante he’ll see him tomorrow, then the beep of the security system as Dante re-arms it behind him.

I take a sip from my glass, focusing on the smooth burn as it slides over my tongue and down my throat. Physical things, controllable things, that’s what I need to focus on before I dive into the horrors in those court records. With the bottle in one hand and my glass in the other, I head back into the living room. Dante stands behind the couch, looking at the folder on the table like it’s a rattlesnake coiled to strike. The stiff set of his shoulders and the uneven rhythm of his breaths are more effective in snapping me out of my bullshit than a whole bottle of scotch could be.

“Come here, Angel.” I wrap my arm around him, careful of his shoulder, and pull him with me to the front of the couch and onto my lap.

It takes a little shuffling, but I manage to set the bottle down and pick the folder back up while Dante helps himself to a sip from my glass. He shifts around until he’s comfortable and then slumps against me and rests his head on my shoulder. This time it’s a hell of a lot easier to flip the folder open and face what’s inside. If he could live through it, then I can read about it. And once I know everything, I can fix it all for him. Maybe I can’t erase what happened, but I can erase the people who did it, and I can make sure no one ever hurts him again.

There are two separate police reports and court documents to go along with each one. I ease into it with the first report, filed against Dante by Don for aggravated assault. Don’s account is that Dante came to his house in the middle of the night, and when he answered the door, Dante attacked him, allegedly unprovoked. The photographs and medical report that accompany the complaint given to the police show a middle-aged man who’s been beaten black and blue, missing multiple teeth, his nose shattered and his jaw dislocated, among alaundry list of other injuries. Flipping through them fills me with deep satisfaction. I think I fell in love with Dante the minute I laid eyes on him, and this reminds me why. Every bruise, every broken bone tells the story of his strength. I don’t have to read another word to know Don deserved every blow my vengeful Angel rained down on him. For Dante’s part, he doesn’t deny any of it. There’s a brief written confession and a guilty plea in court. He was sentenced to five years in prison and was released early due to overcrowding.

I nuzzle his forehead and press a kiss there, then take another fortifying sip of my drink and flip to the second case. I tighten my arm around Dante and steady my breathing as I start to read the complaint filed by him this time, against his uncle. It’s a detailed account of a decade of sexual abuse that goes on for pages, listing specific dates and describing escalating acts that turn my stomach. His weight on my lap as I flip the pages with shaking hands is the only thing keeping me from jumping up and upending the goddamn coffee table. His steady breathing is the only thing holding me back from going to the kitchen to find a box of matches, setting this whole file on fire, then finding Don and doing the same to him. The swollen, bloody face and shattered jaw aren’t nearly enough punishment for what he did. As long as he’s breathing, I won’t rest.

“You said he never touched you,” I growl through clenched teeth, crumpling the edges of the pages in my fist. “Was that the lie?”

Dante shakes his head. “That was the truth.” He taps the court transcript that’s now on top of the pile. “That’s the lie.”

I want to believe him, but the details, the dates, Dante’s attack on Don, it all points to the same thing. Why would he lie about such vile fucking things? Even his own guilty plea makes the rest of it feel true. I can’t wrap my head around it. Clearlythe allegations weren’t a lie to get himself out of trouble, so what were they?

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