14. Angelo

14

ANGELO

T he roar of the fire stops me in my tracks. I stand on the street, watching flames engulf the Alvarez family's flower shop. The acrid smell of smoke fills my nostrils, and the heat from the blaze sears my skin even from this distance.

Genesis’ screams pierce through the roar of the fire, a sound that will haunt me for years to come. Her parents are beside themselves, fighting against the police officers holding them back. Mrs. Alvarez’s face is streaked with tears, her voice hoarse as she begs someone, anyone, to save her daughter.

This is wrong. All wrong. Children should never be caught in the crossfire of our world. Her parents’ sins are not hers to bear. Gino Timpone has gone too far this time.

I hear a firefighter shouting orders, preparing to enter the inferno. But there’s no time. Genesis’ screams are getting weaker.

Without thinking, I sprint toward the burning building. Someone yells for me to stop, but I ignore them. The heat intensifies as I burst through the door, immediately assaulted by thick, black smoke.

The interior of the shop is unrecognizable. Flowers that once brought beauty and joy are now fuel for the raging fire. Glass shatters somewhere to my left, and I duck instinctively.

“Genesis!” I call out, my voice barely audible over the crackling flames.

Then I see her, curled into a tight ball in the corner, her body shaking with sobs and pain. Fire licks at her skin, and the sight makes my stomach lurch.

I rush to her, scooping her into my arms. As I turn to leave, a searing pain explodes across my back. The fire has melted through my shirt, burning my skin.

I grit my teeth against the agony, holding Genesis close. Her whimpers of pain fuel my determination. We have to get out. Now.

The smoke is thicker now, making it hard to breathe, hard to see. I stumble toward where I think the door should be, praying I’m going the right way.

The heat is unbearable, the roar of the fire deafening. But I push on, one step at a time. Genesis needs me. I can’t let her down.

Just when I think we’re lost, I see a faint glimmer of light. The exit. With one last burst of energy, I lunge forward, bursting out onto the street.

As fresh air hits my lungs, I hear shouts of relief. Paramedics rush toward us, and I gently lay Genesis down on a stretcher.

“You’re safe now,” I whisper to her, my voice rough from the smoke. “You’re going to be okay.”

As they wheel her away, the world starts to spin. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is Genesis’ parents, tears of gratitude streaming down their faces.

I jolt awake, covered in sweat, the phantom smell of smoke still in my nostrils. It takes me a moment to realize I’m in my bedroom, safe. The fire was years ago, but the memory still haunts me.

I run a shaky hand through my hair, trying to steady my breathing as my stomach churns with nausea. Glancing to my left, I see Fee sleeping peacefully beside me, blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside me.

The memory of that night—rescuing Genesis from the burning flower shop—is seared into my mind as permanently as the burn scars on my body. Besides losing my father, it’s the most traumatic thing I’ve ever experienced. And it still haunts my dreams.

Unconsciously, my hand moves to touch the patchy burn marks on my left shoulder and back. They’re a constant reminder of that night, of how close I came to dying. But they’re nothing compared to Genesis’ scars, which she’s chosen to cover with intricate tattoos.

I bring my knees up to my chest, trying to ground myself in the present. Inhale for four counts, hold for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat. It’s a technique I learned years ago to manage the panic attacks that followed the fire.

After a few minutes, when I feel like I can move without my legs giving out, I carefully get out of bed. I pull on my boxers and a shirt, wincing slightly as the fabric brushes against my scarred skin.

The balcony beckons, promising fresh air and open space. As I step outside, the cool night breeze washes over me, helping to clear the fog of memory from my mind. The New York skyline stretches out before me, a tapestry of lights against the dark sky.

I lean against the railing, letting the familiar sight of the city calm me. It’s been years since that night, but the impact it had on all our lives is still reverberating.

La Familia honored me for rescuing Genesis, elevating my status within the organization. But the backlash against the Timpones was swift and severe. They sent Gino away, banished from New York, never to return.

Until now.

The thought of Gino being back in the city, threatening Fee and Lou, makes my blood boil. I grip the railing tighter, my knuckles turning white. I won’t let him hurt anyone else. Not Genesis, not Fee, not Lou. Never again.

“Angelo?”

I turn to see Fee standing in the doorway. She’s wrapped in my robe, tightening it around her body as she steps onto the balcony. The sight of her, sleepy-eyed and concerned, makes my heart skip a beat.

“What are you doing up?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

She moves closer, lightly touching my arm. “I had a nightmare about Jonah taking Lou,” she admits. Up closer, I can see how pale her face is, how tears are still streaking down her cheeks. “When I woke up, I felt the cool air and saw you out here.” Her eyes search my face. “Angelo, what’s wrong?”

I try to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”

But Fee’s dark gaze is steady, her voice firm. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. Please, let me in.”

It must be how tired and stressed I am, but her words, so sincere and caring, break through my defenses. I take a deep breath, turning to face her fully.

“I had a nightmare too,” I confess. “About the night I rescued Genesis from the fire.”

Fee’s eyes widen. “Is that how you met her?” she asks.

I nod.

She takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. “Tell me about it,” she says softly.

And so I do. I tell her about the flames, the heat, the fear. About hearing Genesis scream and knowing I had to save her. About the pain of the fire searing my skin.

As I speak, Fee listens intently, her thumb tracing soothing circles on my hand. When I finish, she reaches up, gently cupping my face.

“You’re incredibly brave, Angelo,” she whispers. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

I lean into her touch, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. “I still have the scars,” I admit. “On my back and shoulder.”

Fee’s mouth opens into a perfect ‘O’. “I wondered where those scars came from,” she murmurs. “I just didn’t want to ask.”

I shrug, feeling a little self-conscious. “Well, now you know.”

Fee nods, her eyes full of compassion. “We all have scars, some visible, some not.”

“What are yours?” I ask, realizing I want to know everything about her.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze dropping to our intertwined hands. “Well, there’s the physical ones from giving birth to Lou,” she starts. “But the deeper ones… they’re from Jonah, from my mother’s neglect, from years of struggling to keep Perfezione afloat.”

I listen as she opens up about her past, about the pain and loneliness she’s endured. About her fears for Lou, her worries about the future. With each word, I feel myself falling for her even more.

When she finishes, we stand in silence for a moment, the weight of our shared vulnerabilities hanging between us. Then, slowly, I pull her into my arms.

“Thank you,” I murmur into her hair. “For trusting me with this.”

Fee looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you for trusting me too.”

In that moment, under the vast New York sky, I realize something profound. Our scars, our pasts… they’re not weaknesses. They’re proof of what we’ve survived, what we’ve overcome. And together, we’re stronger for it.

I lean down, capturing Fee’s lips in a tender kiss but pull back before I can deepen it. I smile softly at her. “Come on,” I tell her, tugging at her hand. “Let’s go back to bed.”

We’re a team, a family.

And nothing—not Jonah, not Gino, not our own fears—can tear that apart.

The next morning, Jimbo, Romero, and I meet to discuss business matters. I settle into my chair, Jimbo and Romero taking their usual seats across from me. The morning sunlight filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across my office.

“Alright, gentlemen,” I begin, cradling my cup of coffee, “what’s the latest on our shipments from Jersey?”

Jimbo clears his throat, his weathered face serious. “We’ve hit a snag, Boss. The longshoremen are demanding a bigger cut.”

Romero leans forward, his voice low and calm. “I could have a word with their union rep. Remind him of our… arrangement.”

I consider this for a moment, placing down my mug to drum my fingers against the gleaming desk. “Not yet. Let’s try negotiating first. We don’t want to ruffle too many feathers right now.”

Jimbo nods approvingly. “Wise choice, Angelo. Speaking of choices…” He pauses, a glint in his eye. “How are things going with Sofia and Lou?”

I feel my shoulders tense, but I keep my expression neutral. “That’s not relevant to business, Jimbo.”

Romero grins, making exaggerated kissing noises. “Oh, it’s relevant, alright. Boss here follows Fee around with heart eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet.”

I scowl, reaching out to swat at Romero, but Jimbo’s stern voice stops me.

“Both of you, knock it off,” he says, every bit the disapproving uncle. “Angelo, I’m asking because I care. How do you feel about Sofia?”

I hesitate, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. But Jimbo’s patient gaze wears me down.

“I… care for her,” I admit reluctantly. “Her and Lou both. But it’s not love. It can’t be.”

Romero raises an eyebrow. “Why not, Boss?”

I clench my jaw. “Because love isn’t for me. The people I love become targets, or they get hurt. I can’t risk that with Fee and Lou.”

Jimbo leans back, his eyes thoughtful. “Love’s always a risk, Angelo. But it’s also what makes life worth living.”

Romero nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, Boss. You gotta be open to it. You deserve happiness too, you know.”

“But you still have to be cautious,” Jimbo warns, his wrinkled face serious. “Especially with Gino on the loose.”

I lean forward, my eyes narrowing. “What do you mean about Gino, Jimbo?”

Jimbo’s face grows grim. “Word is, he set a car bomb in Alberto Caputo’s car. Didn’t go off, but the message was clear.”

I feel a surge of anger but keep my voice steady. “That’s a fucking bold move. We need to take him out.”

“It’s not that simple, Boss,” Romero interjects. “We need to know how deep his Chicago connections run.”

I nod, a plan forming. He’s right. “Romero, I want you in Chicago. Get the answers we need.”

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Romero’s face. “With pleasure, Boss.”

The rest of the day is a blur of meetings. I negotiate a new territory agreement with the Rossetti family, subtly reminding them of the consequences of crossing the Pirellis. I authorize a hit on a traitor within our ranks, my voice cold as I sign what amounts to his death warrant. Throughout it all, I maintain the mask of Don Pirelli—calculating, ruthless, untouchable.

But as the last meeting wraps up, Jimbo and Romero’s words from earlier echo in my mind. Do I deserve to be happy? The thought of Fee’s smile, of Lou’s laughter, brings a warmth to my chest that I quickly suppress.

Almost without thinking, I pull out my phone and text Fee.

“What are you up to?”

Her reply comes quickly.

“Hoping to check on Perfezione, but it’s still a crime scene. Feeling a bit lost.”

A plan forms in my mind.

“Be ready in an hour. Wear something nice.”

An hour later, I’m pulling up to my brownstone in one of my classic cars, a gray 1965 Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. Fee emerges, looking stunning in a simple black dress.

“Where are we going?” she asks as she slides into the passenger seat.

I give her a rare, genuine smile. “It’s a surprise.”

“What about Lou? Who is picking her up from school?”

God, she’s so fucking adorable. “Lou will be having a fun afternoon with Aunt Shawn,” I reply.

We drive through the city, the sky an absolutely brilliant shade of blue. I take us to a small, exclusive restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The ma?tre d’ greets me by name, leading us to a private balcony overlooking a hidden garden.

Fee’s eyes widen as she takes in the twinkling lights strung above us, the lush greenery below. “Angelo, this is beautiful.”

We order, and as we wait for our food, I find myself opening up to her in a way I rarely do with anyone.

“I used to come here with my father,” I tell her softly. “It was our special place.”

Fee reaches across the table, taking my hand. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

As we eat, we talk about everything and nothing. Fee tells me about her dreams for Perfezione, her eyes lighting up as she describes the designs she wants to create. I find myself sharing stories from my childhood, memories I haven't revisited in years.

After dinner, instead of heading straight home, I take us for a drive along the coast. We park at a secluded spot overlooking the water, the city lights twinkling in the distance.

Fee turns to me, her eyes soft in the moonlight. “Thank you for this, Angelo. I needed it more than I realized.”

I reach out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You make me happy, Fee. I want you to know that.”

She leans into my touch, a smile playing on her lips. “You make me happy too.”

As I lean in to kiss her, I feel something shift inside me. The walls I’ve built around my heart, the ones I thought were impenetrable, are starting to crumble.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid of what that might mean.

The kiss starts tender but quickly deepens as the connection between us ignites. There’s something different tonight, something that feels like the start of something neither of us can resist.

Our kiss grows more heated, more urgent. My hands roam over her body, feeling the curves I’ve been aching to touch. The memory of our last time in this car flashes through my mind—how she fucked me with her mouth, how I was left wanting so much more before that bastard Jonah interrupted us.

Tonight, I’m not holding back.

I slide down the strap of Fee’s dress, my lips trailing along the curve of her shoulder before moving to the swell of her breast. “Fuck, Fee,” I murmur against her skin, feeling her shiver. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this.”

She moans softly, threading her fingers through my hair, arching her back to press herself against me. “Then stop thinking,” she whispers, her voice breathless, “and take me.”

That’s all the encouragement I need. Without breaking our kiss, I maneuver us into the back seat of my Rolls-Royce, our movements hurried and desperate. The leather is cool against my skin, but the heat between us is scorching. I push her dress up around her hips, revealing the lace of her panties.

“God, Fee,” I groan, running my hand over the fabric, feeling the dampness that’s already soaked through. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

She bites her lip, her eyes dark with desire as she looks up at me. “Only for you, Angelo. Always for you.”

I hook my fingers under the waistband of her panties and pull them down, tossing them aside. Her breath hitches as I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her hot and ready. “You’re perfect,” I tell her, my voice low and rough. “So fucking perfect.”

“Please,” she whispers, her hips bucking against my hand. “I need you inside me.”

I don’t make her wait. I free myself from my pants, my cock hard and aching. I guide myself to her entrance, teasing her for a moment before sliding inside. The tightness, the heat—it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Fee’s head falls back against the seat, a moan slipping from her lips as I fill her completely. “Oh, fuck, Angelo,” she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. “You feel so good.”

“You like that?” I growl, thrusting into her in a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes her whimper. “You like how I fuck you, Fee?”

“Yes,” she cries out, her hands gripping my back as I drive deeper. “I love it. I love the way you fuck me.”

Her words spur me on, my pace quickening as I take her harder, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the car. The windows fog up, the scent of sex thick in the air, and all I can think about is how incredible she feels, how desperately I want to make her scream my name.

“Say it again,” I command, my voice rough with need. “Tell me how much you love this.”

“I love it,” she moans, her voice breaking with each thrust. “I love the way you fuck me, Angelo. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping until you come all over my cock,” I promise, my hands gripping her hips as I drive into her with relentless force. “I want to feel you come, Fee. I want to feel you squeeze me tight.”

Her moans grow louder, her body trembling as she nears the edge. I reach between us, finding her clit and rubbing it in time with my thrusts, pushing her closer to that breaking point.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, her body arching off the seat. “Holy shit, Angelo. I’m gonna?—”

“Do it,” I urge her, my voice raw with need. “Come for me, Fee. Come on my cock.”

Her climax hits her like a tidal wave, her walls clenching around me as she screams my name. The sight of her, the sound of her pleasure, is too much for me to handle. With a final, deep thrust, I spill inside her, groaning as the pleasure crashes over me.

We collapse together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. I pull out of her and immediately draw her into my arms, holding her close. Even though we’re both damp and sticky, Fee snuggles into me, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

I press a kiss to the top of her head, my heart swelling with something I can’t quite name. All I know is that I’ve never felt safer, more at peace, than I do right now with her in my arms.

God, I’m so fucked.