Page 63 of Unhinged Little Angel

Enzo clears his throat again and fiddles with his tie. “Yes, well, you’re a Moretti now, and we look out for our own.”

Dante meets my eye again and a smile twitches on his lips.

“Always,” he finishes, just like I did the other night.

“Always.”

Chapter 24

DANTE

I expected to feel nervous, jittery, right on the edge of patience and sanity. But as Salvatore and I sit in the quiet, empty, blandly furnished apartment, I’ve never felt calmer in my life. I eye the ceiling fan and Salvatore leans in to nuzzle my ear.

“It’s sturdy enough,” he assures me, and for a minute or two, we both just watch the rope sway in the soft breeze from the air conditioning, biding its time just like we are.

When Salvatore offered me his gun the other day, to let me be the one to punish Antonio for what he did, my hesitation wasn’t for his sake. I know I could have pulled the trigger and slept just fine knowing there was one less prick like him in the world. But there’s something special to me about the idea of Don’s being the only life I’ll ever directly take myself. I want one name on my ledger, one single unwashable stain on my soul, and I’m saving it for Don.

My hands are steady as a rock, my heartbeat is even and unhurried. It’s not even about rage anymore, and it’s definitelynot about fear. It’s about finishing what I should have ten years ago and then washing my hands of all of this.

“He’s coming,” Salvatore says calmly, dismissing the alert on his phone from the camera we placed in the stairwell on our way in.

I nod and tilt my face towards his. He smiles and cups my jaw, pressing a slow kiss to my lips in a promise that I’m not alone and I never will be again.

“I love you,” I murmur.

Salvatore’s grin widens. “I know.” He throws the cheeky answer back at me, and I roll my eyes.

“Okay, now go.” I shoo him towards the bedroom and take my place on the couch, in full view of the door, and I listen to the sound of his footsteps approaching. The distinct shuffle step of his gait tugs at my memories, filling my head with thoughts of the timesbefore. Before I knew what he was, before everything changed, before I saw the world the way it really is.

Keys rattle and then the lock clicks and the door swings open without any hesitation. Don isn’t even looking at me, absorbed by putting his keys back in his pocket and fiddling with his phone. Declan kept his word; he’s not expecting me at all.

I shift my weight to the edge of the couch and clear my throat. Don’s eyes finally snap towards me, all of his distractions forgotten. The blood drains from his face, and damn have the years taken a toll on him. His previously round face is gaunt, and when he curls his lips back in a snarl, his teeth are yellowed and cracked… the ones that aren’t missing, that is. I curl my fingers into a fist, remembering the sting of my knuckles connecting with his mouth, spit and blood flying between pained, gargling grunts.

“Uncle Donnie,” I say sweetly. “You sounded so excited for our little family reunion, I figured, why wait?” I get to my feet smoothly.

His surprise is quickly melting away, but I can see the calculations going on behind his darting eyes. He’s been sold out, betrayed, no one coming to rescue or defend him now. He lets out a hoarse laugh.

“This is perfect, kid. I thought I’d have to track your punk ass all over this city to get a little one-on-one time with my favorite nephew.” He moves deeper into the apartment, leaving the half-open bedroom door at his back and a few feet of space still between us.

“Why would you have to do that when you’ve had your friends in the Irish mob following me for weeks?” I cock my head, sugary sweetness still dripping from every word. “I just want what you want, Don.”

He narrows his eyes. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

I reach back and savor the way Don braces himself as I pull the pen out of my back pocket nice and slowly. He lets out an obvious breath when he sees what I’m holding, and I jerk my chin towards the yellow pad of paper on the coffee table.

“For everyone to know the truth,” I say, the smile unwavering on my lips.

Don doesn’t hear Salvatore’s footsteps behind him, he’s too busy wheezing another laugh at me.

“Oh, are you planning to write a confession to the judge, admitting that you perjured yourself on the stand? Admitting that I never fucking touched you?”

I click my tongue against my teeth. “No, no, no, Donnie. You’re going to write a confession about what you did to your own son. And feel free to include any other last words you might want to get off your chest, other confessions weighing you down, apologies to your wife, whatever feels right. Thisisa suicide note, after all.”

His eyes dart to the side and he notices the rope hanging from the fan for the first time.

“Are you fucking cra—” The click of Salvatore’s gun cocking cuts off Don’s protest.

“There’s a body bag in your future, Donnie boy, one way or another. But I’d really like to make my husband happy and clear his name with those traitors you call family. So, either you can makemehappy and write the fucking note like he told you to, or you can find out what happens when a man like me becomes veryunhappy.”

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