Page 20 of Cage the Storm
She’s impossible to ignore, but I can’t forget who she is. Luna D’Angelo. Cunning. Calculated and determined to get what she wants. So, I need to stay one step ahead and figure out her endgame before she figures out mine.
And I can’t afford distractions. Not now. Not after what I did.
I close my eyes, and it all comes rushing back. . .
Blood covers the walls and drips from the ceiling. My Canali suit is splattered in red, and it coats my hands in death. The darkness took me to a place I hadn’t visited in a long time, but now it’s over; I need to get out of here. Today I avenged my brother’s death, and it’s far from over. No one fucks with me and my own without consequences.
A quick call and clean-up assures me they’ll be here within ten minutes. It’s not ideal, but I have no choice.
Thank fuck they were in an abandoned warehouse outside of the city. The gunshots wouldn’t have been heard for miles around. Now, we wait, and if anyone unexpectedly walks through the door, they’ll join the bodies littering the floor. I can’t believe how easy it was to take out five men within seconds. I’m good, but Mateo and my men had my back. For the first time since I entered this building, I turn to acknowledge my right-hand man.
“They’ll be here in less than ten. Ensure they take enough close-ups so there’s no doubt about their identity. Then I want this fucking hellhole burned to the ground.” Killing my brother was their first mistake, and their last. “Reach out when it’s over.”
I walk out the same way I came in, but not without remorse. With every kill, I lose another piece of my soul. I wasn’t cut out for this life, but like so many others before me, I was born into it. If my eldest brother Giovanni hadn’t gotten himself killed, I’d still be running the legal side of the business. Now I’m expected to pick up where he left off in all aspects of his personal life, as well as his business.
In the Caputo family, we don’t question traditions. They’re written in stone, and no matter what the outcome, they’re never broken. Especially when you’re next in line to wear the proverbial crown for the Caputo family.
Not by choice, mind you, but by necessity.
A knock drags me into the here and now. Mateo’s signature. I don’t move. He steps inside, knowing he doesn’t need permission.
“Three bodies.” He delivers the statement with the certainty of a man who has seen too much. “Cremated, as you ordered. No loose ends.”
I turn to face him, keeping my expression neutral. Mateo’s good at reading people, and I refuse to let him see the conflict brewing inside of me.
“And the report?” I ask. He drops the folder on my desk with a quiet thud, then slides it closer.
“Everything’s in there. Pictures, names, potential fallout. Minimal, but not nonexistent.”
I glance at the folder but leave it untouched. Instead, my focus turns to Mateo, standing like a soldier awaiting orders. He’s more than just protection; he’s a trusted ally, the one person I can always count on.
“Good,” I say finally. “Anything else?” He stalls for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to catch my attention.
“D’Angelo,” he says, and the name lands like a blow. “He’s asking questions.”
Mateo’s eyes stay locked on mine, waiting. He knows better than to offer unnecessary details, but the way he mentioned D’Angelo—so directly, so intentionally—grates against something raw in me.
“He’s asking questions?” I repeat.
“Not just casual curiosity. He’s digging. Quietly, but not so quietly, I couldn’t catch wind of it.”
I drag my fingers through my hair before standing and crossing the room. D’Angelo never does anything without intent. If he’s asking, he’s already halfway to his answer.
“He doesn’t know the details,” Mateo continues. “Not yet. But if he keeps pushing, someone will slip.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. D’Angelo is many things, but most dangerous of all, he’s relentless. If he has questions, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied and peels back every layer he’s determined to expose.
“He won’t drop this,” I murmur.
“No,” Mateo agrees. “He won’t.”
I stare at the folder on my desk, thinking about the names inside and why they were eliminated. D’Angelo may suspect, but that’s different from knowing.
“You want me to redirect him?” Mateo asks, always efficient, always prepared to oversee problems before they become liabilities.
I shake my head. “No.”
He waits patiently.
