Page 4 of His Angel

The way his eyes narrow when he notices my shirt gives me this incredible feeling of accomplishment. It’s the small wins that count.

We walk into the office that smells like old money and aged whiskey, with a hint of impending doom. The room’s a cavern of dark mahogany, every surface polished to a glassy sheen that reflects the dim glow of a brass chandelier overhead, its light flickering like it’s struggling to breathe in this suffocating space.

I greet Mr. Tony Paladino—Anthony’s father, with a polite smile. He grins at my shirt, and I lean closer to Anthony. “At least your dad has a sense of humor.”

My mom walks in, wearing a formfitting navy-blue dress with pearl white accents and heels that give her an extra couple inches. The perfect mobster wife…which is precisely what she is even if she chooses not to believe it.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“What we’re about to discuss involves her, too.” Michele takes a seat behind his desk, shoulders squared, like an emperor out for world domination.

“What is this about?” Anthony glances at his dad, who merely remains silent with a slight curve of his lips.

“Your dad and I have been discussing your future.” Michele pours himself a glass of whiskey, and the sharp, oaky tang wafts toward me, mingling with the sour undercurrent of his cologne. Too much musk, too little soul.

“My future?” Anthony looks at his dad, then back at Michele.

“Both your futures.”

Nerves start to burn, warning prickling the back of my skull, and I press my knee against Anthony’s, needing that touch for comfort.

Michele sips his whiskey, making a god-awful slurping sound, then looks at Anthony. “My step-daughter?—”

“Everly,” I sneer. “I have a name.”

“—she just turned eighteen, as you know,” he continues, ignoring me, his tone smooth as oil but cold as the marble bust of some dead Roman glaring from the corner. “In a few weeks, you’ll be twenty-one and well on your way to taking over the family business.”

“I’m still far from taking over the family business. My dad’s best years are still ahead of him.”

“True,” his dad quips. “But we need to prepare for any scenario, which is why I want you to learn the inner workings of the organization now, sooner rather than later. One never knows when the reins might need to be handed over.”

“Well, then,” I slap my knees and stand, “this conversation clearly has nothing to do with me, so I’ll just see myself out.”

“Sit. Down.” Michele’s icy tone sinks into me, but when it comes to this man, I can be a real stubborn little shit, so I turn to face him.

“You’re discussing Anthony’s future, which has nothing to do with me.”

“Yet.” That single word hangs there, heavy as the ornate gold frame on the wall behind him, its edges glinting like a guillotine.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” Anthony bites out, his expression stone with dark edges I’ve never seen before. “That’s not happening.”

“What? What’s not happening?”

“Everly, please sit down.” My mom glowers at me.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Anthony stands, sliding an arm around my waist, pulling me behind him as he faces Michele. “It’s not happening. So, whatever you’re planning, change it so it doesn’t include her.”

“Son—”

“I’m serious, Dad.” Anthony whips around, eyes blazing at his father, the intensity making the air feel electric. “You know I’ll do everything for this family. I’ve proven myself to you over and over, done everything you’ve asked, but not this. Not her.”

“I'm not sure I understand your sudden defiance, Anthony,” Michele chimes in. “This is not a family matter that requires your opinion.”

“Now, Michele,” Mr. Paladino raises a brow, “I agreed to your proposal with one condition, remember?”

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