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Right now, he and Vivi sit on the wicker patio couch, appearing to be engaged in a playful debate that involves a thumb war. Vivi is laughing, her face tipped back and open to the sun. For once, it’s empty of the chronic anxiety she battles when our parents are around.
He did that. Damon gave her this beautiful confidence by spending time with her, listening to her teenage agonies, and making her laugh.
It gives me hope.
I don’t think too far beyond that. Hope for what? I don’t want to name it. Doing so would give this tendril of feeling life and substance beyond this moment, and for my own sanity, I can’t allow that.
As if he’s in sync with my thoughts, Damon’s gaze lifts and snags mine through the window. He tips his chin the slightest bit, acknowledging me silently, and I send a tremulous smile in response. I lift my hand from the dough before me, intent on acting normal and waving, when something shatters on the floor behind me and makes me jump.
Whirling around, I utter a low moan when I spy my next bowl of dry ingredients coating the island and floor, along with two of the loaves I’d just prepped for rising. Angel paces back and forth through the mess, tugging at his dark hair.
“Angel! What on earth—”
He jerks a hand at me, cutting me off. “Don’t start with me, Lu. I’m not in the mood.”
“I can see that!” I want to wail. He’s ruined my bread. No time to be upset about it, though. I have to calm the raging beast.
I slide into the spacious pantry and mudroom area to find the broom, but more significantly, to give myself a moment to take a deep breath and count to ten. “Serenity now,” I murmur, channeling one of my favorite syndicated television shows, and then grab the broom and return to the kitchen. “What happened, Angel?”
He drops into a chair at the island bar and stares gloomily at his hands. “What do you think?”
I squint over at him as I sweep ineffectually at the spread of flour on the aged brick floor. I have a pretty good idea of what brought him raging into my sanctuary and knocking things around. His name is Lorenzo, and he goes by Father.
“Let’s see…” I muse, striking a playful pose with a finger to my chin. “It’s either the dealership was out of the newest Maserati, or Cook forgot to pick up that awful cocoa-flavored cereal you like, or—”
Angel snorts a laugh in spite of the anger that still lingers in the stiff lines of his body. This is my most important job, perhaps—peacekeeper. There’s always some ugliness that needs smoothing over, some hurt that needs mending. He sobers almost instantly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “No,” he says. “All that’s fixable.”
I frown. “Everything can be fixed,fratello. Talk to me.”
“I—” With a shake of his head, Angel clamps his lips closed.
“What the hell happened here?” On a gust of cool wind, the French door to the terrace opens, and Damon sweeps in, followed by Vivi. He eyes the carnage of flour and dough with flinty eyes.
Damn it.I’m sure Damon is only trying to help, but this confrontation is sure to make things worse. My eyes beg him to retreat.
Angel rises, a sneer on his lips. “Nothing for you to worry about,stronzo. Run along back to daddy. Oh, wait… that would bemydaddy, wouldn’t it?”
Vivi gasps, turns on her heel, and walks back outside. I don’t blame her. She’s as non-confrontational as can be and will do anything to avoid a disagreement.
There’s a nearly imperceptible hardening of Damon’s generally hard-to-read expression. Instinctively, I know whatever happens next will not go well for my brother. I take a half step forward, reaching out a hand. “Okay, let’s not do this, please—”
“Get out of the way, Lu.” Angel draws himself up to his full height, his bristle-covered chin jutting forward. Damon says nothing, merely watches with a gaze I can only think of as predatory.
Awareness floods me.He wants this, I realize. He’s itching for it.
“No.” I place a hand on Angel’s chest and gently push him backward. “You’re not doing this, Angelus Christiano.” I use his full name to try to jog some response other than this willful desire to brawl, but he ignores me.
“Luciana.” I turn around at Damon’s interruption. He doesn’t look at me, instead keeping his gaze focused on my brother. On the threat.
“Damon—” I start.
“Luciana, it would be best if you left the room, now.”
Tears threaten, and I bite my lip, hard, to quell them. “You can’t be serious.”
He looks at me at that. “I don’t joke,bella ragazza.”
Pretty girl.My cheeks heat with a furious blush. I’m about to reply, to tell himit’s fine, I have everything under control, when Angel butts in, shouldering me a step back and into Damon. His hands come up reflexively, settling on my upper arms.
