Page 8 of Unhinged Little Angel

I ease myself down into the chair, glancing at the envelope every few seconds while I navigate to the Department of Justice website and type a name into the search bar.Don Moreno.His profile loads in just a few seconds and next to his mugshot his status is listed as: Incarcerated, Awaiting Release. I let out a slow breath. So, he’s still where he belongs. For now, anyway.

I slam my laptop shut again and inch forward in my seat, glowering at the envelope.

“Fuck you,” I mutter. How dare some stupid tan paper make me feel small and vulnerable, even for a second. I snatch it off the table and crinkle it in my fist to test the contents. At least nothing is ticking, so I try my luck and tear into it.

I turn it over to dump the contents onto the table. A handful of photographs spill out. Photographs ofme. They’re mostly boring, just pictures of me coming and going from the building, dressed for work or on my way out for a jog. Until the last one. The last photo is me, clear as day, just like all the others, dressed in dark, oversized clothing, my hands bloodied and hatred shining in my eyes as I glare down at the battered man at my feet.

That flash the other night… It wasn’t headlights, it was a camera.

“Fuck you,” I hiss again, tossing the pictures back onto the table. They’re clearly a threat. Maybe it’s a threat that they’ll go to the police about my ‘hobby,’ but more likely just wanting me to know I’m being followed,watched. And if Don is still behind bars, it’s either unrelated—unlikely—or he managed to make friends and convince them that helping him get his revenge will somehow benefit them too.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I grind out between clenched teeth, gathering up the photos and stuffing them back into the envelope so I won’t have to keep looking at them.

This is worse than I thought. He’s not going to settle for trying to spook me, not if he’s getting other people involved and having them stalk me. I need a plan, arealplan that doesn’t involve waiting around for his release date to see what he’s spent his time behind bars planning.

I swallow hard, an idea already forming. It’s fucking insane and could backfire on me in at least a dozen different ways, but that’s never stopped me before. Instead of giving myself timeto talk myself out of it, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Don thinks he’s ready to play with the big boys? We’ll see about that.

SALVATORE

“This looks really good.” I finish looking over the spreadsheets my nephew, Luca, prepared and hand them back to him.

“You think Lorenzo will go for it?”

I nod and take a sip of the black coffee he offered me when I came by. “The numbers look solid. I’ll sit down with him next week and lay the groundwork, then we can bring you in to officially pitch it to him. How does that sound?”

Luca’s chest puffs up a little and I give him a fond smile. He’s not the knobby kneed, dirty faced kid tugging at the sleeve of my suit jacket anymore. I recognize that hungry look in his eyes, that burning desire to prove himself to the boss and earn his place in The Family for more than just his name.

“Thanks, Uncle Sal.” He gives me a crooked grin and I can’t resist the urge to lean over and ruffle his hair. Even if he is all grown up, it doesn’t hurt to remind him that he’s still a baby face with a long way to go before he’s earned the respect I know he wants.

“No problem, kid.” As I take another sip of my coffee, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I hold up a finger to tell him one second, then unbutton my jacket to reach for it.

Dante’s name lights up the screen and my stomach does a flip. We exchanged numbers months ago when he did some hacking work for us, and I had to spend a few days keeping an eye on him while we worked out a plan to take down a massive child trafficking ring trying to put down roots in our city. But he hasn’t called me since. As much as I’d like to hope that this is a social call, my gut tells me that’s about as likely as Elvis crawlingout of the grave and belting out a lively rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes.”

“Angioletto,” I purr into the phone, just in case it is my lucky day. “Please tell me this wasn’t a misdial.”

Dante chuckles and I hear the slightest hint of a tremble in it. Something’s wrong. I sit forward in my seat, clutching my phone tighter and frowning. Luca raises his eyebrows in silent question, and I shake my head and stand up.

“Dante?” I say his actual name firmly, with an edge of authority that I’m dying to pour into every word I whisper into my angel’s ear as I pin him down and show him how good it feels to let himself go for a change, to trust and submit andfeel.

He makes a breathy sound that strokes my cock to life then clears his throat.

“It wasn’t a misdial,” he says, his usual defiance and determination bleeding into his tone now. “Will you come over?”

I’m tempted to pull the phone away from my ear and double check that it really is Dante’s number on the display. He’s asking me to come over?

“Right now?” I ask, to gauge his reaction more than anything. Is he in danger and can’t tell me?

He hesitates for a second before responding. “No, later is better. Tonight? Is ten o’clock good?”

“Is this a booty call or a cry for help?”

He sputters a laugh, and the sound lights me up the same way the breathy one did before.

“Just…” He lets out another heavy breath into the phone. “Will you come?”

It doesn’t escape me that he doesn’t answer my question.

“Ten o’clock tonight?” I confirm.

---