I turned to see Angelo walking my way. He’d finally swapped out his slacks for denim, but he was still tucking his pantlegs into his now ruined cowboy boots. He’d bought a fancy pair and not the working kind. They didn’t stand up to mud and cow shit very well. His cowboy hat had a few smudges on it now too, but at least it looked like it belonged. To my surprise, he was a great worker. Kind of an idiot, but with a good heart.
“You don’t have to call me that, Angelo,” I sighed, turning to face him. “I’m not your boss.”
He paused, his brows furrowed in confusion. “But you’re the boss’s wife…” His eyes went wide. “Husband,” he corrected. “That makes you the boss too.”
I just rolled my eyes. There was no fighting with him. The man lived for formality. “What do you need, Angelo?”
“We’re running low on feed,” he said, glancing down at a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “I’ve been keeping track like you showed me, and we’re gonna need to put in an order soon if we want to keep the finishing steers fed through the end of the month.”
“Alright,” I nodded, impressed despite myself. Angelo was actually taking initiative. “What are we short on?”
He rattled off a list, and I made mental notes of what we’d need to call into the feed store. It was the kind of routine task that used to feel automatic, but now everything felt heavier. More significant. Like I was constantly aware that this ranch wasn’t really mine anymore, even if I was the one running it.
“I’ll give Morrison a call this afternoon,” I said. “We can probably get a delivery by Thursday if we order today.”
“Sounds good, boss.” Angelo grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but crack a small smile back. The guy was growing on me, as much as I hated to admit it.
“How are you liking it out here?” I asked, genuinely curious. “This can’t be what you expected when you signed up to work for the Valentis.”
Angelo’s expression softened, and he looked out over the pasture where the cattle were grazing. “Honestly? I love it. Living in the main house with your folks, working outside all day... it’s different from Jersey. Better, I think.”
I felt a pang of something, gratitude maybe, or relief that my parents weren’t being treated poorly. “They treating you alright?”
“Are you kidding? Your mom makes me breakfast every morning, and your dad’s been teaching me about the different grasses and cows. It’s like having a family again.” His voice got quieter. “I never had that growing up.”
The admission caught me off guard. I’d spent so much time thinking of Angelo as just another mobster goon, another threat, that I’d forgotten he was a person with his own story.
“That’s good,” I said, meaning it. “They’ve been through a lot. It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates them.”
“They’re good people, boss. You’re lucky.” He paused, then added, “And between you and me? Dante… he’s good people too. I know you two got off to a rough start, but he’s not like the rest of his family.”
I tensed at that. “What do you mean?”
Angelo glanced around like he was checking to make sure we were alone, then lowered his voice. “His father, Enzo... the man’s a piece of work. Cold as ice. I’ve seen him kill people for looking at him wrong. I used to have to clean it up.” He shookhis head, horror clear in his eyes. “But Dante, he’s different. He cares about the family, and he does right by them, but on his own terms. He’s not cold like the rest of them.”
“He still works for his father,” I pointed out. “Still does what he’s told.”
“Does he though?” Angelo’s eyes met mine, and there was something significant in his gaze. “You ever wonder what happens to the people Enzo wants...dealtwith?”
My stomach dropped. “What are you saying?”
Angelo lowered his voice even more. “I’m saying that Dante’s been protecting people for years. When his old man orders a hit, Dante roughs them up sure, makes it look good, then relocates them. Gives them new identities, money to start over. He’s saved more lives than you’d think.” Angelo’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “But if Enzo ever found out, Dante would be the one swimming with the fishes.”
I stared at him, processing this information. Dante had been lying to his father. Protecting people. Risking his own life to save strangers.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because you deserve to know who you married. And because I see the way you look at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s worth trusting.” Angelo straightened up, his voice returning to normal volume. “He is. That’s all I’m saying. And you didn’t hear that from me.”
He tipped his hat and walked away, leaving me standing there with my entire understanding of Dante Valenti crumbling and reforming into something new.
I spent the rest of the afternoon going through the motions of ranch work, but my mind was elsewhere. Every time I tried to focus on mending a fence or checking water troughs, Angelo’s words came rushing back.
Dante had been saving people. People his father wanted dead. For years, apparently, he’d been playing a dangerous game, and if his father ever discovered the truth...
I pushed the thought away, but it kept creeping back in. The gun in the drawer made more sense now. It wasn’t just about general mob paranoia. Dante was living a double life, and if the wrong person showed up at our door, it could all come crashing down.
By the time I headed back to the tiny house, the sun was starting to dip behind the mountains, painting the valley in shades of orange and gold. I found Dante on the porch, sitting in one of the old wooden chairs we’d dragged out there last week. He had a beer in his hand and was staring out at the horizon with that faraway look I was starting to recognize.
