𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 ✓ [𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎]

chapter twelve ✕ sister, sister

𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲
𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐦
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀
[unedited]

"I could've sworn you told me your dad was dead." I say, thinking back to a conversation months ago.

"I assumed he was." Angelo replies. "There was a gunfight; Osaka, '07. My brother and I got one last big check and then radio silence for another decade and a half. We had our suspicions, but nothing was ever confirmed. Until now."

We sit in one of the bedrooms, the both of us lazily sprawled on the bed. It's already afternoon and we've been asleep for most of it. At least, I have.

"How old were you when he left?" I ask.

"Ten." He recites, almost monotonously. "Not too long after my mother died. My mother and grandmother were the ones who took care of us and I guess he didn't want to be bothered, so he left us a half a million each and a birthday cards for the next five years. It took Armando a whole lot to convince me not to personally hunt him down."

"So, what do we do now?"

Angelo sighs. "Wait, I suppose. As much of a deadbeat father as he's proved, he's not an idiot. He knows how to get his way. But he's plenty dangerous. And so is his business."

"And yours isn't?" I question with a raised brow.

"I'm organized. I know how to keep myself in check. My father doesn't bother with such thing. He's messy. He knows how to handle it in his own confusing way, but not many others do. And if he wants me to inherit any part of that, I'm going to have loose ends to clean up from here to Nairobi."

  He shuts of his business like exterior for a moment and softens a bit, sitting up in the bed. The muscles on his back bunch as he stretches and checks the time on the nearby grandfather clock.

  His eyes narrow at the clock and he lets out a sigh as he get up out of bed.

"We should get dressed." Angelo says, heading to the dresser on the left.

"Where are we going?" I ask, following suit.

"For someone who could care less about a debt deadline, my father is surprisingly punctual. That very much includes meals. It's more than likely he'll have someone up here in the next few minutes to escort us to the dining hall if we don't do so ourselves and I'd rather not be disturbed."

  I nod, rifling through a nearby closet. As of this morning, I've been provided a new wardrobe but the clothes look like they're running a little small.

  I settle on a pair of grey slacks with a paper bag waistband that looks like it might have some give to it, sliding it up my body. I find a white turtle neck that runs a little tight around the chest, but nothing uncomfortable enough to make me take it off.