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With that, Angelo dropped her rather unceremoniously on the bed and stalked out of her room.
Chapter 7
Dinner was a subdued affair, so quiet that the only sounds were knives and forks occasionally scraping against plates in that dreadful way cutlery did when the world was awful. Gemma was not hungry. She had not been hungry in days, not since she had betrayed her best friend in the world and then seen her killed.
“You will eat, girl or I will make you eat.” Angelo took a moment to threaten her in between bites.
Gemma acquiesced by having the smallest mouthful possible and then pushing the rest of her meal around her plate, so it started to resemble a mash of the concept of dinner. Willow was dead and gone, and that chapter of her life - what felt like her entire life, was over.
“Wow. That smells good!”
A voice she didn’t recognize suddenly came from behind her. Bobby’s eyes widened. Even Angelo’s expression transformed from dour authoritarian to excited lover.
“MARK!” The two of them exclaimed the name at one time.
Gemma swiveled around to see who they were so excited about. She knew about Mark, of course. She knew that he was Angelo Vitali’s second in command, the man who had vanished along with Tilly Braybrooke. He was also a disgraced ex-FBI agent. And he was hot.
Mark was far more handsome than surveillance had indicated. He looked like the quarterback, the prom king, the absolute archetype of blond-haired, blue-eyed male perfection. Gemma felt a wave of extra strength awkward wash over her just looking at him. There were too many feelings conflicting with one another. She was angry, sad, scared, furious, and now, shy.
“Where’s Tilly and the baby?” Bobby asked the obvious question.
“They’re safe,” Mark said. “They’re not with me.”
“Holy shit, man!” Bobby was too excited to inquire further. Angelo got up and embraced Mark with great affection. The three of them ended up in a masculine embrace of mutual excitement and relief. The mood in the room had shifted dramatically and instantly with his arrival. Gemma could feel the joy which she had no part in.
As the greetings went on and on, Gemma sat there, feeling very much like the un-needed fourth wheel.
“Oh, this is Gemma,” Bobby added when he finally realized she was there too.
“Hi,” Gemma said, waving her fork at Mark.
“Hello, Gemma.” He smiled at her, but he seemed too tired to really give a shit. She wondered what he knew about her if anything. He’d probably learned to accept almost any oddness by now.
“You and Gemma finish your meal,” Angelo said to Bobby. “Mark and I need to talk.”
Bobby sat back down, a grin on his face as if all the horrid events of late were washed away by Mark’s return. Angelo and Mark left the room together. Mark slid his hand into Angelo’s as they stepped out of the door.
“Wow. This has been a really great day,” Bobby enthused.
“Has it,” Gemma said with pointed flatness.
“Sure. Mark is back! It feels like things are starting to get back to normal. Me, Angelo, and Mark.”
Gemma noticed the absence of her name, but Bobby didn’t. It was as though she had immediately ceased to exist the moment Mark walked in the door.
“You’re going to like Mark. He’s the closest thing we have to an actual good guy. And now Willow’s gone, we have fuck all to fear.”
She made a non-committal sound, which didn’t matter because Bobby wasn’t listening to her anyway. He was too busy listening to the sound of his own voice and issuing congratulatory statements mostly to himself as if Gemma wasn’t the one who had found Willow and brought her in.
Angelo might have pulled the trigger, but it was Gemma who was responsible for Willow’s death. That would be a guilt weighing on her conscience for the rest of her life.
“So. Everything has been organized?”
“Yes, as agreed,” Mark said, taking the tumbler of whiskey Angelo offered him.
It was as if he had never left. It had been little more than a year since they were last in one another’s presence, and yet now, with Mark back in the same room, there was natural ease. Angelo could not take his eyes off the younger man. There was something of the sunshine in Mark, an inner essence of goodness. The first time he had sensed it, he had wanted nothing more than to corrupt it. Now he was glad he had been unsuccessful in that endeavor.
“I have missed you,” Angelo said.
“I have missed so many things,” Mark replied, though Angelo was not certain that he meant any of the words coming out of his mouth. This was a homecoming, to be sure, but it was not one of fanfare and glee. It was subdued and understated, and the very casual nature of it belied the significance.
