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Roughly twenty to thirty yards away, in the shadowy alcove of a building, Angel is engaged in some sort of passionate discussion with several other men.
I frown. My brother does not look happy. He seems outright agitated, his hands speaking their own language in rapid-fire gestures while his lips move without ceasing. While he’s talking to only one of the men, there are several more around him, all of them dressed in the kind of clothing that blends in with a crowd—jeans, hoodies, boots. Practiced at scanning for such things, I can easily make out the subtle lines of concealed weapons.
I don’t recognize any of them as known enemies to the Valachifamiglia, but this is no gathering of friends.
“Have you noticed anything weird with Damon lately?” Vivi asks, coming to sit beside me on the bench. Oblivious to Angel’s nearby presence, she plops a shopping bag between us and digs into its contents. I drag my attention back to her, trying to continue surreptitiously watching my brother at the same time. What had she…?
Oh, yes. Damon.Dannare.
“Ah… maybe? I’m not sure. What do you mean?”
She pulls out a new lip gloss and unscrews the cap, then uses her phone camera to apply it. “I feel like he’s been avoiding me. It’s weird. He never wants to do anything anymore.”
I close my eyes on a slow blink before opening them and glancing over at Angel. “He’s there to do a job, Vivi. Not be our friend.”
“I know that,” she grumbles. “It’s just…he was our friend, you know? Or at least, he acted like he was.”
And that’s probably one hundred percent my fault. I turn my head so she won’t see my expression.
“I wouldn’t take it personally, Vivi. Father was looking for him the other day after you guys were on the terrace. Maybe he said something to him. You know how he is.”
Vivi makes a tiny sound of agreement. “Hey, is that Angel? What—”
It looks as though the tension level in the little group down the street has risen several degrees. The jut of Angel’s chin is distinctly combative. “It is. Stay here.”
Without further analysis, I stand and approach the circle of men. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like the looks of the group. A closer study confirms my earlier opinion—I don’t recognize any of them, which is alarming. As the son of the head of the Valachi crime syndicate, Angel has to use some caution for whom he’s seen with. The network of our allies and enemies is vast and bewildering, especially as an individual’s status can move from one to another in the space of minutes.
Being seen with the wrong person could put a target on all our backs.
“Angel!” I call, trying to divert attention and defuse the situation. Heads lift and eyes track my progress as I grow near, and I realize belatedly, as Angel’s gaze widens on something behind me, that Vivi must have followed.
“Fangoolo,” Angel says, breaking the tense silence hovering over the group at my arrival. All of the men immediately form a protective group around the one who seems to be in charge, ranks becoming obvious when they do. That one there—he’s second-in-command of this motley crew. Those two—they’re lesser soldiers.
It tells me what I need to know, though. This is no social club.
The men eye me boldly, one of them stepping forward and wiping at his bottom lip with a dirty thumb. “Well, well,” he says. “What have we here?”
I only barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.
So original.
“What thecazzoare you doing here?” Angel tosses the cigarette he was using more as a crutch than actually smoking to the ground and stubs it out. Shoving past one of the men just in front of him, he grabs my shoulders and pushes me a couple steps away.
“We were shopping,fratello,” I answer coolly. “What about you? Strange place for a meeting.”
I don’t like the way one of the men in particular is watching Vivi. She edges slightly further behind me, crowding against my back as two of them break ranks and circle to stand behind us.
“Hola, pretty.” One with heavy tattooing reaches out a finger and trails it along Vivi’s cheek.
She flinches, and I slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch her,” Angel says. He shoves the man, and instantly, another grips his shoulders, pulling him back.
“Feisty.” The man I think of as the leader doesn’t break eye contact with me. He has been menacing but quiet to this point, watching the action unfold with a reptilian gaze. Now he tilts his head to the side, tapping a finger against his chin as he considers something. Several inked tears drip beneath both eyes, and the image of a cross disappears into the collar of the shirt he wears. “I like her, Angelus.”
I don’t like the way he says Angel’s full name—technically correct, but with a sibilant Latin accent.
“Yeah? Like it from a distance. We’re leaving.” I put an arm out, a silent command to Vivi to stay behind me and a warning to anyone interested in crossing it. I tip my chin, outwardly calm as I start to move both of us to the side, away from the men who surround us. Inwardly, though, I’m a mess.
