Page 153 of Dark Angel
“My world is filled with danger.”
“Yeah, try working in Moscow for nine months, pretending to be a Russian who grew up in an orphanage.”
“Touché.” As Gabriel drove her toward the embassy, he said, “I’m not giving up my position in Cosa Nostra.”
“I’m not asking you to change,” she said. “Years ago, my dad gave me and Wolfie advice. He said, ‘when you find your person, accept them as they are. The goodandthe bad. They won’t change for you, no matter how hard you try to make them. If youcan’tlive with something you don’t like, you gotta walk.”
“Eyes wide open.” He pulled up to the curb. “Watch your six, baby. Do you want me to pick you up here tonight?”
“I’ll meet you at the hotel. We’ll either make something or eat in the restaurant downstairs. I’ll be disguised as Barbi.”
One quick kiss and she was gone.
She’s the one.
He’d fallen in love with a spy.
Could my life get more complicated?
Forty-minutes later, he pulled up to the Moretti home. While he could have called ahead, he knew the minute Angelo’s mom or dad heard his voice, they’d know. He wanted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.
This time, no bags of groceries, no flashy bouquet of flowers. Just himself. Dressed in all black. Hidden beneath it all, his Kevlar vest.
He parked at the curb, made his way to the front door. He rang the bell. No answer, so he sent a text.
Mrs. Moretti, I stopped by. Are you home?
Seconds later, the front door opened. A big smile from Angelo’s mom. She looked like she was headed out. A nice outfit, some makeup. She’d done her hair.
“What a nice surprise, G. Come in. I’m taking Nonna to the doctor later this morning, then to lunch at your family’s restaurant.”
He entered, she shut the door behind her. He kissed each of her cheeks. “Salve signora Moretti.”Hello, Mrs. Moretti.
“Is Mr. Moretti home?”
“He’s at the tire shop. He was off yesterday. She patted his cheek. “Where’s that movie-star smile, G?”
He just shook his head.
Per favore, Signore, dammi le parole. Please, Lord, give me the words.
Her light-hearted expression dropped. “Ohgod, no.”
Her knees started to give out. He supported her into the front room, helped her onto the sofa. She was clutching her heart. “Please, Gabriel, tell me you’re here for a different reason.”
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Angelo’s gone.”
A wail from the depths of her soul filled every corner of the room. Gabriel pulled her into his arms and held her while the pain, the loss, and the guilt filled him with agony.
Angelo’s grandmother rushed in. Her face went ashen white and she crossed herself, murmuring in Italian. Mrs. Moretti rushed over to her mom. Sobbing, the two held each other. The loss of their boy ripped through Gabriel like a tornado. With a gentle touch, he brought them to the sofa, sat beside them and did his best to comfort them. Nonna pulled a tissue from her apron, another for Mrs. Moretti.
They’d blame him. Hell, he blamed himself. This shouldneverhave happened. Those bullets were meant for him.
He stayed silent, letting the first round of grief wash over them. As he expected, it was more like a geyser. Tears filled his eyes as he consoled them as best he could. Even his beloved father’s death had been less painful than this.
Losing Angelo was like losing a brother.
His number two.
