Page 188 of Angel

‘Oh my,’ I murmured, my head spinning at the revelation.

Angel huffed. ‘We don’t have the full story, but every time she comes around Deke, it sets him off. Hell, they set each other off.’

Sofia and I locked gazes, and I sensed she saw what I had.

Ana De Stella was hurting, and it wasn’t for the Italian man by her side.

When Deacon returned to the terrace half an hour later, he collapsed into a wicker chair, staring at the shadowed horizon.

‘Am I right in saying he has no disciplinary authority over my son?’ he muttered, his timbre raw. ‘I get it’s a touchy subject, but when Raff says he’s scared, I want to tear that man apart.’

‘Take time to cool down, mate,’ Angel rasped, sliding a glass of amber whiskey across the wood to his mate. ‘Assess the situation, then have a rational conversation with Ana and Massimo.’

Jude nodded. ‘Agreed. Everyone needs to be on the same page before you talk to Raff again.’

‘Massimo drives me up the fuckin’ wall, though,’ Deacon bit out, staring down at his glass, his eyes stormy with churning emotion. ‘I can’t stand seeing her with him.’

The rest of us exchanged glances across the table.

‘You still care for her?’ I murmured.

Deacon let out a bitter, dry laugh.

‘My heart was hers, but she walked away from us years ago, and living with that agony ruins me daily.’

‘We can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Deacon,’ Sofia murmured.

He scoffed with churlishness.

‘I want to be shot of her. I’m done with feeling this fucked up every time I see her. Need some air.’

Deacon’s eyes flamed with dark, roiling emotion as he tossed the liquor down his throat, then stood and strode out to the garden, ending the conversation.

I tracked his departure, then locked eyes with Angel, whose gaze held a lingering sadness for his mate.

Glancing at the skies above, I sent a little prayer, hoping Deacon would one day find his peace and happiness, as we had.

A day later, Levi, Reign, and Bishop swarmed the villa for a wild forty-eight hours on their way to a musical residency in Ibiza.

Mason, the band’s manager, and his wife, Nari, also joined the chaos.

We gave the outdoor kitchen a massive workout with a giant cookout, where we all pitched in.

The resulting feast filled the long timber table.

We piled platters high with grilled rosemary steaks, wood-fired bread rubbed with olive oil, plus charred zucchini ribbons, and roasted corn.

Nari mixed a sparkling blackberry basil lemonade for me.

Levi and Deacon poured stiff shots of Dark ‘n Stormy, a delicious cocktail of dark rum, ginger beer, and lime over crushed ice, for everyone else.

When the main course was over, the six band members picked up their instruments to play the rest of us an impromptu acoustic concert on the raised wooden performance stage next to the bar.

Mila, however, was the star of the day, with the baby getting passed around for cuddles.

Reign cradled her against his vest, making ridiculous faces at her until she blew a massive drool bubble onto his shirt.

He handed her off to Levi as we all laughed.