Page 8 of His Angel

Suddenly, his expression shifts from solemn to lighthearted. A playful smirk dances on his lips as he adds in a soft tone, “Besides, who could ever dare to think of marrying someone with such an appalling taste in milkshakes?”

“Oh, come on. You have to try it at least once.”

“No, thank you. You already made me try artichokes on pizza, and I still haven’t forgiven you for that culinary nightmare.”

We laugh as he stands, offering me his hand, and pulls me to my feet with an easy strength, steadying me as my legs wobble slightly from the earlier attack.

My gaze drops to the inhaler lying in the corner of the elevator, and I bend to pick it up. “Not that I’m complaining, but why do you have an inhaler with you?”

He shrugs. “Been carrying it since that time you scared the hell out of me at the pier, wheezing like you were gonna pass out. Figured I’d rather have it and not need it than watch you fight for air again.”

Emotion thickens my throat, and I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest as I hug him. He stiffens for a split second, caught off guard, then relaxes, his arms folding around me.

“You don’t know what you mean to me, Anthony. You’re always there—every time I’m falling apart, every time I can’t breathe, literally or not.” I squeeze him tighter. “I don’t know how I’d survive this hell without you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “You don’t have to, because I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.” His lips quirk into that familiar half-smile, and I feel it—the gratitude, the love, the kind that doesn’t need romance to burn bright.

I press the inhaler into his hand, closing his fingers around it, and hold his gaze, letting him see it all—the tears prickling my eyes, the shaky smile I can’t hide.

“Thank you,” I say again, but this time, it’s more a heartfelt spill of everything he is to me. “For this, for you, for being my best friend, for fighting for me when I can’t. I don’t say it enough, but I’m so damn grateful for you, Anthony.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care, because it’s true, and he deserves to hear it.

He squeezes my hand, the inhaler between us a silent testament to our bond, and pulls me back into his chest, his chin resting on my head.

“Always,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. “Always.”

The elevator jolts to a stop, the doors sliding open, but we linger there a moment longer, wrapped in each other, two souls tethered by trust and a promise that no one—not Michele, not the Paladino family, not the world—can break.

Ever.

Chapter3

EVERLY

Present

He’s everywhere. In my mind. My soul. My blood. My dreams.

My nightmares.

Even if I wanted to escape him, I wouldn’t be able to because everything I am reverberates with the echo of him. Like he’s woven into the fabric of my being.

Isaia…

The first thing I register is the weight of the sheets sticking to my sweaty skin like a second layer I can’t peel off. The scent follows next, deep and musky, laced with the tang of salt and the crisp bite of ocean air. The sound of waves crashing. Rhythmic. Distant.

My eyes blink open to a soft, muted room bathed in sunlight. My head throbs, and my thoughts are scattered as I try to piece it all together.

The blood. The screams. The lies.

The last time I saw Anthony alive.

What have I done?

My chest tightens, ribs locking around a sharp, unbearable ache, the grief burrowing into my bones. Anthony’s face flashes in my mind, the lies I told playing on repeat. And then…the life fading from his eyes.

Nausea rises. It’s a bitter sting at the back of my throat, and I wrap my arms around myself, as if I can hold together the jagged pieces that have begun to shatter.

“I was starting to think you’ll never wake up.”

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