Angel (Made Men 5)

“You sure there’s nothing else you wanted to tell me?” His dark voice stopped her as he flicked his lighter, lighting the cigarette he held between his lips.

Does he know?

“Y-yes.”

“All right.”

Adalyn said a little prayer, thanking God that Lucca didn’t know about the ring.

She tried to leave once more, but again he stopped her.

“Room 22008.”

What? She looked back at him, confused.

Warm smoke escaped his mouth as he said, “Go talk to him.”

She stared at the number 22008 before her, wondering if she really should do it or if this was a test. Her mind was telling her this was a bad idea, whereas her body was already raising her hand to knock on the door.

Did Lucca really say this was okay? Her knuckles meeting the door answered for her.

The longest minute of her life passed before the door was finally swung open to reveal an angel dressed in jeans and a snug black T-shirt that revealed his full-arm tattoo sleeves to her for the first time. It took everything she was to stop looking at the inked skin and to look up at his face.

“H-hi. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Not moving from the doorway, Angel pointed up at a camera in the hallway that was focused on his door. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Lucca actually told me to come see you.”

He stared at her for a few seconds before he finally moved to the side to let her in.

Walking in, she saw the room was just a basic hotel room with a queen bed, a TV, and a little table and chairs. It wasn’t on the penthouse floor but the floor below the Caruso residence.

As he closed the door behind him, she grew nervous, never considering she would have gotten this far.

Angel was the one to break the ice as he crossed his tatted arms over his chest.

“So, I guess, since you’re here and not Lucca, you decided not to tell him about the ring.”

“I don’t know wha—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Adalyn. I’m not stupid,” he cut her off coldly.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a dick to me, I wouldn’t have wanted to tell him,” she said matter-of-factly.

As if she wasn’t nervous enough, Angel stalked toward her.

“Understand I’m not a nice person, and I treat you no differently than anyone else. Have you even seen me talk to the other Carusos, besides Tom?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, knowing the answer already. “I talk to Tom because I have to. So, don’t worry, sweetness; you’re not special. I don’t like anyone.”

“Then do yourself a favor and just leave, jerk,” she spat.

Having had enough of his attitude already, she headed for the door.

“You misunderstood.” Snatching her wrist as she passed, he pulled her back to look up into his dark eyes. “You think I want to fucking be here? I’m being forced to stay here.”

“W-what?”

“I’m collateral, sweetness. Lucca’s keeping me here to keep peace between the families, to keep the Lucianos in line.”

It was all making sense now. She had wondered why the hell he was there after Chloe had been kidnapped by his father. She couldn’t help asking the question that now filled the air between them … “What happens if your family doesn’t stay in line?”

“What do you think?” Releasing his tight grip on her wrist, he lifted his hand, making a gun with his fingers, then pointed it to the side of his temple.

Adalyn swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. The look behind his eyes showed her something wasn’t quite right about him. He was beginning to let her in; let her see what his eyes truly held.

She backed up slowly, fear settling in, though she didn’t know if it was hers or his at this point, but she could see it—see how he felt.

He was trapped. Trapped like an animal.

“You should have told him what I did.” He followed her until the back of her legs hit the nightstand and there wasn’t an inch of space between them. “Because sooner or later …”

She closed her eyes when he moved the mock-trigger of the finger gun he held to his skull. It was like the sound of a gun went off in her mind.

Feeling a tap on her head, she opened her eyes again to see his fingers were still in the shape of the gun, but now it was pointed at her. Breathing heavily, she tried to back up again, but the nightstand kept her in place. All she could do was hold on to it to keep her stable.

“Now, if he finds out you know”—he lightly pressed the tip of his inked finger deep into her skin—“there might be a bullet with your name on it, too.”

“You’re fucked up,” she whispered, realizing the depths of which he was.