“I asked what he’ll do,” I insisted.
“To Sergio?” He shrugged. “Depends how badly your husband panics.”
My husband. The word pierced straight through me.
“He won’t panic,” I said.
Angelo looked at me then, really looked at me, and the amusement in his eyes made my skin crawl.
“Oh, cara,” he murmured. “You have no idea what you are to him, do you?”
The elevator chimed. The doors opened into a private suite that smelled like leather, liquor, and rain against glass. The room beyond was enormous, wrapped in dark windows overlooking the city. Lamps glowed gold in the corners. A fire burned low along one wall, too sleek and modern to be comforting. Everything was beautiful.
Everything was wrong. Angelo stepped in first and gestured lazily. “After you.”
I moved inside slowly. The door slid shut behind us. My heartbeat changed. Not louder. Lower.
He walked to the bar and poured water into a crystal glass, then set it on the table nearest me. I stared at it.
Angelo laughed under his breath. “He really did a number on you.”
My gaze snapped to his.
“You think everything is poisoned now?” he asked.
I said nothing. His smile softened again, almost pitying.
“Leo loves making people afraid of ordinary things. Food. Wine. Medicine. Gifts.” He picked up the glass and drank from it himself. Then he poured another and held it out. “Better?”
It should have been. It wasn’t. But my throat was painfully dry, and my hands shook when I took the glass. I drank too fast. Cold water slid down my throat, settling hard in my empty stomach. I hated that my eyes burned. Angelo watched me over the rim of his own glass.
“Sit,” he said.
The word hit differently from Leo’s mouth. Leo made commands sound like chains. Angelo made them sound like invitations you were foolish to refuse.
I sat on the edge of the sofa, careful not to sink too deeply into the cushions. My ankle throbbed from the escape, the old bite aching like a warning. The room was too quiet. Too high. Too much like Leo’s penthouse. Angelo took the chair across from me, one ankle resting on his knee. For a few seconds, he only looked at me.
“You’re prettier when you’re angry,” he said eventually.
My spine stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk to me like that,” I said.
He tilted his head. “Like what?”
“Like I’m something you’re considering buying,” I hissed.
His smile returned, slow and pleased. “I wondered how long it would take for your claws to come back.”
“I didn’t come here for this,” I reminded him.
“No,” he agreed. “You came here because Leo broke your heart.”
The words landed so unexpectedly I almost flinched. “He did not break my heart.”
“No?” Angelo leaned back. “Then why do you look like that?”
