Page 3 of Dark Angel
Teddy jumped back to the hallway, his back against the wall. Greystone ducked behind a chair, but Gabriel didn’t move.
Instead, he raised the long gun and he opened fire.
RATATATATATATATATATATAT!!!
Casings flew from that gun as he unleashed a torrent of bullets. When he stopped, there was silence.
Complete and utter silence.
No groans, no pleas for help. Gabriel had done the devil’s work… and the devil was pleased.
As Teddy entered the room, Greystone stood. The brothers stood shoulder to shoulder eyeing the carnage.
“It’s a fucking bloodbath,” Teddy bit out. “What the hell just happened?”
“Jesus, G., what the fucking fuck,” Greystone growled.
“I had a problem,” Gabriel said. “Now, I don’t. I’d love to stay and chat, but we’re standing in the middle of a crime scene, so if you lovely ladies would escort me out, that would be fucking awesome.”
Gabriel headed toward the back door.
Teddy and Greystone took in the macabre scene before regarding each other. “This is why he runs Cosa Nostra,” Teddy murmured.
“He’sinsane,” Greystone muttered.
Strangely, that made Teddy chuckle. “No more than you or me.”
“Yes, more,” Greystone argued. “Way,waymore.”
PROLOGUE
ITALY
One day before Gabriel Santini returns to the US for the family holiday party at Santini Ristorante.
GABRIEL
Gabriel Santini loved going dark. Dropping off the grid was a necessity… like breathing. Yeah, he loved his family, but the last few months had been too much.
Too damn much.
When he’d returned to the States to help his brother, Luciano, he’d brought the trouble home with him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. If there was anything he liked, it was trouble. While most moved away from conflict, he charged forward like his life depended on it. He had no fear.
None.
It was four in the morning. Like most nights, he couldn’t sleep, so he pushed out of bed, covered his naked ass in a pair of Santini Original silk lounge pants, slipped into the luxurious silk robe. With his CANiK 9mm pistol in hand, he opened thebalcony door and breathed deep. December in Italy. The cold air rushed his lungs, chilling his warm skin.
His villa was perched on an elevation, and he gazed out at the city’s twinkling lights. Rather than sit, he stood in the shadows.
Watching, listening.
The life he’d built for himself meant the enemy could be lurking nearby, waiting for the right time to strike. His upscale neighborhood was quiet. Just the way he liked it.
He’d been back in Milan for days, but he hadn’t stopped by Santini International Euro. Instead, he’d sent his trusted friend, his loyal ambassador, his underboss, Angelo Moretti, to make the rounds. According to Angelo, the multi-billion-dollar clothing empire was purring like a kitten. For the past few months, Luciano had stepped in. Unlike his older brother, Gabriel ran things tight, kept an eagle eye on each and every department, every single person. Luciano—Lulu to the fam—had been like that, but his new wife had brought a calmness that had rubbed off on him.
Pussy-whipped fool.
Rather than send Angelo to his Tuscan winery, he’d gone his damn self. Santini Vineyards was one of the few places on earth that soothed his raging soul. Once there, he walked the sun-drenched slopes, then tasted several varieties of Chianti, a Cabernet Sauvignon, and a Sangiovese from his Super Tuscan collection.
