Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“As you wish.” She nods. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
After she takes her leave, Angelo checks his watch. “I need to make a call before dinner.”
“Okay. I’d like to get some fresh air.”
He searches my eyes, unhappy by whatever it is he sees there, but he doesn’t argue. “Don’t wander too far.”
I nod and leave him to make his call as I retreat the same way we entered. The interior of the house is drenched in opulence with marble floors, sweeping ceilings, and gilded fixtures. But what I really want to see are the gardens and the view.
I step outside and amble over to the rose bushes, pausing to admire the glittering lights of the city below us. It feels like I’m on top of the world here.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I pivot in the direction of the voice, my skin crawling the moment I see Carlo Pagnotto standing there. His beady eyes feast on my body like I might be his next meal, and I find myself having an awful thought. He was on my father’s list of potential suitors. So why didn’t Il Diavolo kill him?
“Abella fuckin’ Moretti.” He lets out a low whistle. “You look like a gift from heaven in that dress.”
“It’s Vitale,” I correct him.
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s right. You climbed your way all the way to the top, didn’t you?”
I don’t miss the insinuation in his words. He wouldn’t dare say that in front of Angelo, but because he’s got me alone, he thinks he can get away with it. He’s either forgotten I have the Vitale name to protect me now, or he’s too stupid for his own good.
“What can I say?” I smile sweetly. “Angelo is the kind of man who makes a woman want to climb all over him. I hope there are no hard feelings, Carlo.”
“Make no mistake, I let him have you.” He closes the distance between us, his voice hardening. “No piece of pussy is worth whatever he paid. But maybe I should’ve shelled out the extra cash after all. I would have enjoyed breaking you.”
God, this man is disgusting. I hate that my father auctioned me off to the highest bidder, and everyone knows it. Carlo Pagnotto is the scum of the earth, and I can’t imagine why Angelo would think he was worth keeping around.
Before he killed his wife, he put her through years of abuse. She came to Aegis for help, but ultimately, she didn’t get out in time. I doubt he lost a moment’s sleep over what he did to her.
I can’t even look at his face without feeling the urge to vomit. So when Angelo steps out of the shadows and pulls me back against him, I breathe a sigh of relief. His solid warmth at my back feels like a sanctuary, and as he slides an arm around my front protectively, he’s sending a clear message.
His.
“Carlo.” His voice is quiet and restrained. “Following my wife into dark corners?”
“Of course not.” Carlo holds up his hands and shrugs. “Meant no disrespect, Angelo. Abella and I go way back. In fact, she was friends with my wife. Isn’t that right?”
The slightest of tremors creeps up my spine as I quietly acknowledge the subtle threat woven into those words. He knows I wasn’t friends with his wife. At best, we crossed paths at Society events. The first time I even spoke with her in-depth was when she came to Aegis for help. His indication that we were friends means he must know that somehow.
He wants me to know it, too.
As I’m considering it, I wonder if it’s possible he found the Bellamorte his wife intended to use on him. It was disguised as perfume, so it doesn’t seem likely. But what else could it be?
We’re always careful, and Mariella only gives the most dire cases poison. It’s always better to extract the women if we can. Too many deaths will draw attention. But if it’s a situation where it’s the only way to get them out alive, then it’s worth the risk. As long as we never get caught.
Angelo’s palms sweep over the goosebumps along my arms, and I can feel his gaze on me. I don’t want him to sense that something’s amiss, so I do my best to adopt a neutral tone.
“Your wife and I were little more than acquaintances,” I tell Carlo. “But I was sorry to hear of her passing.”
“Yes, well.” His lips curve at the edges. “Onto the next one.”
I stiffen in Angelo’s arms, unable to hide my visceral reaction to that flippant remark. The man is pure evil. He’s also heavily intoxicated, judging by the alcohol wafting off him. I hope he drowns in it.
“Abella, go inside and warm up,” Angelo murmurs against me. “I need a word with Carlo.”