18. Angelo

18

ANGELO

I ’m practically dragging Thompson away from the school, my grip tight on his arm. He’s bitching up a storm, his voice grating on my last goddamn nerve.

“This is a violation of my rights!” he sputters, trying to wrench his arm free. “You can’t do this! I’ll sue you personally, you thug! Do you know who I am?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know exactly who you are. A small-time accountant with a gambling problem who’s about to lose everything if he doesn’t shut the fuck up and listen.”

Thompson’s face pales, but he doesn’t stop. “You… you don’t know anything! I’ll call the police!”

“Oh, please, be my guest. Tell the captain hi. We’re great friends.”

Thompson opens his mouth, but I’ve had enough. In one swift motion, I pop the trunk of my car and shove him in, slamming it shut on his protests. His muffled screams echo as I slide into the driver’s seat, cranking up the music to drown him out.

I pull around the corner into a nearby alley, cutting the engine. The sudden silence is broken only by Thompson’s frantic pounding on the trunk. I take a moment, savoring the quiet, before stepping out of the car.

Casually, I saunter to the back of the car and pop the trunk. The stench of fresh piss hits me, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Fucking gross, Thompson,” I mutter.

His eyes are wild with fear as he looks up at me, cowering in the trunk. Good. Fear is exactly what I need from him right now.

“Now,” I say, my voice light, “are you finally ready to listen? Or do we need to go for a longer drive?”

Thompson shakes his head frantically. “Please,” he whimpers, “I’ll listen. Just… just don’t hurt me.”

I smirk. God, this is delightful. “Hurt you? Nah, I’m not gonna hurt you, Thompson. I’m gonna help you. See, I know about the fifty grand you owe to Big Mike. I know about the money you’ve been skimming from your firm to cover your bets. And I know that if your wife or your bosses find out, your cozy little life is over.”

His face crumples. It’s clear he didn’t really think I knew the truth when I first led him away from the school. What an idiot.

“How… how do you know all that?”

I tap the side of my nose. “I make it my business to know things, Thompson. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna drop any complaints against Lou Saldano. You’re gonna enroll your shitty kid in some anti-bullying classes. And you’re gonna make sure he never lays a hand on Lou again. In return, I’ll make your debt to Big Mike disappear.”

Thompson's eyes widen. “You… you can do that?”

I nod. “I can. But if I hear that your kid so much as looks at Lou the wrong way, well…” I let the threat hang in the air.

“Okay.” Thompson nods frantically. “Okay, I’ll do it. I swear.”

I smile, all teeth. “Good choice. Now, let’s get you out of there. You smell like piss.”

Thompson looks down, his face turning beet red as he realizes the physical evidence of his fear.

“Who are you?” he whimpers.

The urge to tell Thompson that I’m his worst nightmare is almost too tempting, but I refrain. It wouldn’t be dignified to be so corny.

Instead, I lean in close. “Let’s just say I’m the guy who makes sure little boys like you don’t wet their pants in public again.”

Thompson’s face drains of all color, his eyes widening in terror.

I help him out of the trunk, wrinkling my nose at the smell. Thompson looks at me hopefully. “Can… can you give me a ride back to the school?”

I snort. “Fuck no. You just defiled my car with your piss. Now I’ve got to get it detailed.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “The school’s a block that way. Have fun with your walk of shame.”

Thompson opens his mouth to protest, but I’m already sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Remember our deal,” I call out as I start the engine. “Keep your kid in line, or next time, we’ll take a much longer drive.”

I peel out of the alley, leaving Thompson standing there in his piss-stained pants. As I head toward my car shop, I can’t help but chuckle. Sometimes, this job has its perks.

Now, I just need to corral one of my guys to clean the goddamn trunk. And maybe pick up some air freshener on the way. The smells of fear and piss are not a great combination for leather seats.

I pull into my car shop, the familiar smells of oil and rubber greeting me as I step out. Joey, one of my best mechanics, saunters over, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Boss! Didn’t expect to see you today. What’s the occasion?”

I grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “Joey, my man. I’ve got a special job for you.”

Joey’s blue eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like this?”

“Because you’re a smart guy.” I chuckle. “I need the car detailed. Inside and out. Especially the trunk.”

Joey groans. “Aw, come on, Boss. I’m a mechanic, not a maid.”

I lean in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “I’ll make it worth your while. How about a bonus? Say… double your day rate?”

Joey pretends to consider it, stroking his chin. “Make it triple, and you’ve got a deal.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Joey.” I laugh. “Alright, triple it is.”

Joey grins triumphantly and calls out to the other guys. “Hey, fellas, gather ‘round! Boss has got a special job for us!”

The other mechanics crowd around as Joey pops the trunk. The moment he does, the smell hits him like a truck. He recoils dramatically, holding his nose.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the hell died in here?”

The other guys start howling with laughter as Joey’s face contorts in disgust.

“Boss,” he says, his voice muffled behind his hand, “you’re gonna need to triple my salary for this one. No, make that quadruple!”

I can’t help but join in the laughter. “Sorry, Joey. A deal’s a deal. Triple rate, and I’ll throw in a bottle of the good stuff.”

“Make it two bottles,” Joey counters, “and I won’t ask any questions about why your trunk smells like a frat house bathroom.”

“Deal,” I agree, still chuckling.

As Joey reluctantly starts gathering cleaning supplies, Mike, another mechanic, sidles up to me.

“So, Boss,” he says, his voice low but eyes twinkling with mischief, “who’d you stuff in the trunk this time? Please tell me it was that asshole from the pizzeria who always skimps on the cheese.”

I give him a mock stern look. “Now, Mike, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

This sets off another round of laughter and good-natured ribbing. I lean against a nearby car, soaking in the atmosphere. This shop, these guys—it’s a world away from the high-stakes negotiations and power plays of my other life. Here, I’m just the boss who occasionally brings in mysteriously soiled cars and pays well for discretion.

I watch as Joey starts hosing down the trunk, dramatically gagging the whole time.

“Alright, you fucks,” I call out, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Show’s over. Back to work. And Joey?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Make sure you get in all the corners. I don’t want to smell even a hint of piss when you’re done.”

Joey salutes sarcastically. “Aye, aye, captain. Your piss-free chariot awaits.”

As I head to my office, the sounds of laughter and good-natured teasing follow me. Just another day at Angelo Pirelli’s car shop—where the cars are clean, the jokes are dirty, and the boss’s trunk sometimes smells like a port-a-potty.

But hey, that’s just business.

When I sit down at my desk, I pull out my phone and text Fee.

Went to the shop. I’ll be home late.

Fee’s response is almost immediate.

That’s fine. Shawn came over to see how we are doing, and Lou is now giving a dramatic re-enactment of her fight with Jake.

A laugh escapes my lips as I imagine Lou’s enthusiastic retelling of her victory. That kid’s got fucking spunk, that’s for sure.

I’m knee-deep in paperwork, juggling the delicate balance between our legitimate operations and the not-so-legal side of things, when my phone starts buzzing. The screen flashes Restricted Number , and I pause, my hand hovering over the device.

My gut tells me to ignore it. Unknown numbers rarely bring good news in my line of work. But curiosity gets the better of me. I clear my throat, adopting my best ‘don’t fuck with me’ voice, and answer.

“Pirelli speaking.”

At first, there’s nothing but heavy breathing on the other end. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This had better not be some fucking kid playing games.

“Who is this?” I demand, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The breathing continues, ragged and unsettling. Then, faintly in the background, I hear music. As the melody becomes clearer, my blood runs cold.

It’s “ Volare ” by Domenico Modugno. My father’s favorite song.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. This can’t be a coincidence. My father’s been dead for years, and that song… we played it at his funeral. Very few people know its significance.

“Who the fuck is this?” I roar into the phone, my composure slipping. “How did you get this number?”

The music gets louder, drowning out the breathing. I can almost see my father, singing along in the kitchen on Sunday mornings, his voice off-key but full of joy.

“Nel blu, dipinto di blu Felice di stare lassù…”

“Answer me, goddammit!” I shout, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight my knuckles turn white.

The song continues, mocking me with its cheerful melody. Then, just as abruptly as it started, it cuts off. There’s a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken threats.

A voice, distorted and unrecognizable, whispers, “The sins of the father, Angelo. They always come back to haunt us.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I snarl, my heart racing.

A chilling chuckle comes through the line. “Oh, Angelo. Always so quick to anger. Tell me, how do you plan to save Perfezione when you couldn’t even save your own father?”

My grip tightens on the phone. It’s the only thing I can do to prevent my hands from shaking. “Who is this? What do you want?”

“And Sofia,” the voice continues, stretching out her name in a way that makes my skin crawl. “ So-fi-a . How will you protect her?”

“Is this Gino?” I demand, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Listen, you piece of shit, if you go near her?—”

“You’ll what?” the voice taunts. “You’re powerless, Angelo. Just like you were when your father died. Just like you’ll be when I take everything from you.”

My mind is racing, a thousand thoughts competing for attention. I need to end this call, check on Fee. Make sure she’s safe. But I can’t seem to hang up, can’t break free from this nightmarish conversation.

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I growl, trying to regain control of the situation.

“Oh, but I do,” the voice purrs. “I know everything , Angelo. About your father, about Sofia, about little Lou. I know about the nightmares that wake you in the cold, dark hours of the night. I know about the guilt that eats away at you, day after day. You feel so much guilt that you couldn’t save your father.”

My breath catches in my throat. How could they know all this?

Suddenly, the voice changes, becoming unmistakably Gino’s. He laughs, a sound that chills me to the bone.

The music in the background shifts. Instead of Volare , I hear the steady, ominous ticking of a clock.

“Time’s running out, Angelo,” Gino says, his voice low and menacing. “For you, for Sofia, for everyone you care about. Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

The ticking grows louder, seeming to sync with my racing heartbeat.

“What do you want, Gino?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything,” he replies. “And I’ll take it, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left of you but a hollow shell. Just like your father.”

The line goes dead, leaving me in silence broken only by my ragged breathing.

I stare at the phone, my mind reeling. Whatever game Gino’s playing, he’s just raised the stakes to a level I never imagined. He’s not just after Perfezione anymore. He’s after me, my family, everything I hold dear.

All because I’ve allied myself with the Saldanos.

My hands shake as I hit Fee’s number on speed dial. One thought echoes in my mind. I’ll be damned if I let him win.

No matter what it takes, I’ll protect what’s mine. And Gino? He just signed his own fucking death warrant. Fuck what La Familia says. This is personal.

The phone rings, each second an eternity as I wait for Fee to answer. Please, let her be okay. Let this all be some sick bluff.

“ Hi! This is Sofia Saldano of Perfezione. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, so please leave me a message .”

A cold dread settles in my gut as I hang up. My fingers are already dialing Shawn’s number before I can think.

She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Shawn, it’s Angelo,” I bark out, my voice tight with tension.

“Angelo? Angelo Pirelli ? How the hell did you get my number?—”

I cut her off, impatience and fear making my words sharp. “Doesn’t matter. Where’s Fee? She’s not answering her phone.”

There’s a pause, and I can practically hear Shawn’s confusion. “She went to Perfezione. Left Lou with me until she gets back.”

My hand slams down on the desk, panic surging through me like an electric current. Fee went to Perfezione right after I received a phone call from Gino mocking me for trying to protect the shop? That can’t be a coincidence.

“Why? Why did she go there?”

“I… I don’t know,” Shawn admits, her voice small. “We were having a great time, then she got a text. Her face went white, and she just asked me to watch Lou. That was about ten minutes ago.”

I hang up without another word, my mind racing. Ten minutes. She could already be?—

No. I can’t think like that.

I fling myself out of my office, nearly taking the door off its hinges. My employees stare as I barrel past, their startled expressions barely registering.

I dive into one of my classic cars, a ‘69 Camaro, and the engine roars to life. Tires screech as I peel out of the shop, leaving the smell of burning rubber in my wake.

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the seconds ticking by. Fee’s face flashes in my mind—her smile, her eyes, the way she looks at me like I’m someone worth loving.

I can’t lose her.

The city blurs around me as I weave through traffic, ignoring red lights and blaring horns. Every delay, every second stuck behind a slow-moving car, feels like a personal affront.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

The fear is a living thing in my chest, clawing at my insides. What if I’m too late? What if Gino’s already…

I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I can’t think like that. I have to believe Fee’s okay. She has to be okay.

As Perfezione comes into view, I say a silent prayer to a God I’m not sure I believe in anymore. Please, let her be safe. Let me get there in time.

Because if anything’s happened to Fee, there won’t be a force on this earth that can stop me from tearing Gino Timpone apart with my bare hands.

I screech to a halt in front of Perfezione, not caring if I’m parked illegally. My heart’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat as I leap out of the car.

The shop is eerily quiet, like a tomb. No signs of life, no movement. The panic that’s been building since that phone call threatens to overwhelm me.

I draw my gun, the weight familiar and comforting in my hand. “Sofia!” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty shop as I sweep through, checking every corner, every shadow.

Nothing.

The silence is oppressive, feeding my worst fears. Where is she? What if I’m too late?

I round the corner to the back office, and suddenly, I freeze. The scene before me is so unexpected, so surreal, that for a moment, I can’t process what I’m seeing.

Sofia is standing there, alive and seemingly unharmed. But at her feet…

It’s not Gino's body lying there, as I half-expected.

It’s Jonah.