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I stare at Angelo then, my brain so slow to put the pieces together. That had been what had tied him to Victor, the promise of getting revenge on my father. Victor obviously hadn’t provided Angelo with the chance to kill him, but Pavone… apparently had.
Angelo had defected? After everything, Angelo had chosen to switch sides?
I knew better than anyone how terrible Victor could be, but I hadn’t realized Angelo’s loyalty had been so tenuous.
I’m a little disappointed that he’s only here to murder my father, and not to… to rescue me. Except I don’t want his brand of rescue.
As for my father… The whole reason I was trapped in this marriage was because of some deal between him and Pavone.
I guess Pavone hadn’t needed my father alive.
The sounds of my mother sobbing bring me back to myself. She’s curled up on the sofa, avoiding looking at the mess. Maybe it’s good that she’s drunk. If she’s lucky, she won’t remember this.
Vanessa won’t be as lucky. She’s trapped in Damien’s hold, terror evident in her wide eyes. When she catches my gaze, she mouths something to me that I can’t make out.
Pavone claps my shoulder and steps away from me. “Damien, call somebody to clean this shit up. Angelo—I’ve got a few jobs I think you’d be perfect for.”
“What about…” I hear myself saying, even though I shouldn’t be calling attention to my presence. I swallow and force myself to continue. “What about my mother and sister?”
Pavone pauses to look between me and Vanessa. “You’re the hotter one. I don’t need your sister. Angelo, you want her?”
Vanessa makes a noise and shakes her head. She’s terrified of Angelo, and I don’t blame her, although maybe she should be more worried about the guy with his hand around her throat.
“Nah. Not my type,” Angelo answers flatly. He starts wiping down his gun with a soft cloth.
Pavone laughs. “Is what they say about you true? You’re a fag?”
Angelo still has a fucking gun in his hand, and Pavone calls him a fag? He’s either incredibly overconfident or fucking stupid. Maybe it’s a mixture of both.
But Angelo doesn’t react. “Yeah,” he says instead, his voice still devoid of emotion. “I’m a fag.”
“Please, Emilio,” I say, catching his hand with my own. “I’m behaving. Please leave my mother and Vanessa alone. You want them to be good guests at the wedding, right? For everyone to see you as the new family patriarch?”
Pavone looks at me with something dark in his eyes, an expression not even Victor ever matched.
Then he smiles. “Sure. Damien, you can take care of Vanessa for now. Make sure she’s comfortable and that she’ll be in good shape to attend the wedding. As for Eva…” He makes a vague motion. “Find some of the guys who want to keep a withered old hag like her entertained.”
I don’t like the sound of any of that.
“Emilio!” I protest. “We’re all doing what you want. You don’t have to…” Have to what? Whore my family out? Why am I even surprised he’d do something like that?
“Oh, I know I don’t have to do anything, babe,” Pavone says with that smile still on his lips. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t make sure the ladies in my care were properly taken care of?”
I glance at Angelo despite myself, and I find his gaze. Maybe this is all a trick. Maybe this was just a way to get in with Pavone to take him down, and he’s planning on gunning him down at any second.
But no. He’s put the gun away, and he seems more interested in watching than in doing anything. I look helplessly between him and Rossi, wanting to demand that he release Vanessa, but I’m terrified to provoke Pavone any more than I already have.
Pavone kisses my cheek in a mockery of affection. “With your dad out of the way… what say you and I celebrate, babe? Nobody else is going to care about the last of your virtue, anyway.”
Vanessa lets out a choked sound, reminding me that she and our mother are still in the room, and I pray neither of them will contradict me when I lie. “B-but I was… I was saving myself… for marriage…”
I notice Angelo’s eyes widen a bit, but he thankfully doesn’t say anything either.
Pavone, on the other hand, starts laughing. “I think that ship has sailed, babe. Angelo! How often would you say Corvi fucked her? I know that small-dicked loser could barely make a difference to her cunt, but a used pussy is a used pussy.”
Angelo shrugs. “I dunno. I wasn’t interested in watching. I’m not into cunts.”
“Aw, just give me a guess,” Pavone says, squeezing my waist. “I’m sure he liked to flaunt his prize.”
