Chapter One
ANGEL
Angel clocked the movement of his deck crew and figured they’d reached land.
“Aye, Mami, we’re getting ready to dock. I’ll have to call you back.”
“Okay. If not, I’ll just see you tomorrow.”
Emily’s voice was soft and soothing, stirring something inside of him.
“No, ma’am,” Angel contradicted. “My voice will be the last thing you hear before you close your eyes tonight.”
“I see. Well, okay, sir.”
Emily’s soft laughter made him smile. They’d been in a sort of long-distance relationship for a couple of months. Angel had only seen her once since their Christmas rendezvous. He’d had business with Luca Savelli. So, of course, he made time to see David, his grandson, and Emily, his new obsession.
Gunrunning, Bolivian heavy-hitter, Alejandro “Angel” Medina had a soft spot for the beautiful Emily Storm. She was a smart, funny, successful corporate attorney, running her family’s law firm.
Months ago, Angel manipulated his way into her Christmas plans. It was at the high-end ski resort in Canada where they created a bond that had them on the phone every night. They shared the events of the day before engaging in a little phone sex.
“Listen, you little workaholic… tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Don’t you even think about standing me up,” Angel demanded.
“I would never,” Emily responded with a chuckle.
She laughed because she was lying. Work had gotten in the way of their last planned date, but she promised it wouldn’t happen again.
“Adios, Mami.”
“Adios,” she repeated with the most American accent ever.
Angel laughed and disconnected the call. He took the stairs and stepped out into a foggy mist. They were in Dublin, delivering a shipment of weapons to the IRA from the Savelli Crime Family. As per usual, the capital city was cold, soggy, and void of sunlight. Angel walked across the deck, looking out at miles and miles of farmland, wondering why a person would choose to stay in such a dreary place.
Angel was eager to conclude his business with the Irish; eager to get to Emily. For him to get to Chicago in enough time, he had to leave the ship to his men and fly to the States from Ireland. After a successful docking in Dublin Bay, Angel turned to Nico Cruz, his right hand since they were children.
“Let’s get it done,” he commanded before grabbing his luggage and disembarking from the ship.
Waiting on the dock was Jason McCleary, underboss to Kelly O’Reilly.
“How was the trip?” McCleary asked, clearly making small talk. “I trust all went well.”
“I need a car,” Angel told him, ignoring his question.
He continued up the dock. Angel wasn’t one for small talk. Besides, he didn’t like the Irish scum. Did they expect him to forget how they went to Francis Savelli, campaigning to oust him from future shipping deals? Fuck Kelly O’Reilly! fuck Jason McCleary! Angel had nothing for either of them.
“I need a car!” he repeated over his shoulder to O’Reilly’s flunky.
Angel walked from the dock to the graveled parking lot and waited. Without having to turn around, he knew Jason was right behind him.
“I need to get to the airport,” Angel told him without turning around.
“I’ll drive you,” Jason offered.
Angel heard a chirp, activated by a key fob. It came from a black, four-door, pickup truck to his left. He walked over to the truck, hearing Jason’s footsteps behind him. He opened the back and placed his luggage in the backseat. Angel closed the door and climbed into the front seat. Even though he had little to say to the Irishman, he’d take the ride to the airport.
Jason climbed into the driver’s seat and looked over at him with a goofy grin. He was obviously waiting for Angel to inquire about the stupid look on his face, but he wouldn’t inquire, because he didn’t care.
Angel pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. He would spend the time it took to get to the airport, texting Emily.
