Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

IX | Forgotten

"WHERE WERE YOU last night?" Vittoria asks.

Morning sun streams through the curtains, and Vittoria stands above me as I rub my eyes, blinking blearily from the sleep.

My silver dress is at the foot of my bed. I remember tossing it there last night after I returned. With no way to contact Violetta, she told me to wait.

Wait for them to sell it, to auction it, I don't know. Dominic gave me a searing stare, but Violetta's soft smirk was warm.

I wondered if she felt it, too. This tension. This passion.

But no―there couldn't be anything. Not if she was with Dominic. And that possessive look he gave her made me certain that they were together.

No, if I knew one thing, it was that I wouldn't cheat. And I wouldn't help anyone else cheat either.

"Well?" Vittoria's eyes are dark, but playful. I know she had fun last night, with or without me, but she still seems to care.

"I just felt sick," I say weakly. "I had to throw up. It was embarrassing and I didn't want to bother you, so I left."

Guilt gnaws at me, but I give her a smile.

She puts her hand on my forehead. "You don't feel hot, or sick."

Then, suddenly, her face becomes more serious, as though the weight of the sky has been cast on her shoulders. "Cadenza . . ." My full name. Not a good sign. "Last night, a painting went missing from the museum. They're not announcing it publicly, but my family has connections to the Santa Cecilia curators. If you had something to do with that―"

Not once, in any of this time, did I consider that she would know about the thefts.

"No," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I had nothing to do with that. I was really just sick."

Vittoria's eyes are serious. It's too much―I've never seen her in a mood that was anything less than playful.

"Cade," she says. "If anyone could take something from that museum, it would be you."

For for the first time, I wonder at how everyone appears to think I'm more intelligent than I am. But then I realize―could I be the one wrong? After all, I did manage to steal two paintings, and I do know everything there is to know about art.

Except I can hear Nathan's voice in my ear. No one will ever think you're good enough. I'm telling you the truth, what no one wants to tell you. You're just not very smart.

I ignore that searing hiss, and I give Vittoria the most genuine look I can muster. "I promise. I don't know anything about those artworks. I just came home early."

She nods, but I can tell she doesn't believe me.

As Professor Lunetta talks, I feel a small buzz against my thigh. Dante Rosso, who is sitting beside me―and has been for the past week―gives me a wink.

"Secret lover?" he whispers. "A forbidden affair? Romantic tryst?"

I roll my eyes.

Unknown number
West Fountain. Midnight.
Sent at 11:06 a.m.

Immediately, I know it's Violetta. Before Dante can read it, I shove it back into my pocket and he gives me a wounded look. "Am I not privy to your dashing adventures? You know I live precariously through you."

I don't tell him what I'm thinking, which is that he, by no means, lives through me. Dante has enough of his own affairs and romantic trysts to last a lifetime. Known for being a player, Vittoria told me he's slept with half of the women―and men―in this Sicily.

"Pay attention," I hiss at him.

This is the moment Professor Lunetta calls my name. "Signorina Conti, am I occupying too much of your busy time?"

I groan inwardly. "No, Professor."

Several people turn to look back at me. This isn't the first time Lunetta has called on me. It seems we have a feud waged between us.

"Do you feel as though my lectures are wasteful? Useless?"

"No, Professor."

Dante is trying to hold in a fit of laughter next to me. I want to turn and give him a withering look, but Lunetta and I are locked in a stare now. Her glasses are thin and wire-rimmed, and her blond hair is a disaster of curly ringlets. Her earrings are enormous, glittering triangles and she is wearing a flowing dress down to her feet, patterned with moons. Despite it all, she paints a vicious picture.

"Why are you here, Conti?"

This time, the attack feels more personal. "To learn."

"Are you?"

"I would be if you didn't keep singling me out."

For the second time, I am kicked out of class.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I find myself in the Accademia's office, trying to wrestle an answer out of one of the secretaries. "I want an appointment. With the dean."

"I can't, Signorina Conti. It's against the rules. You're only a first year."

"I've never heard of ridiculous rules like that before!" I'm close to thumping my fist on the desk, but the secretary looks scared enough. My temper is rising, and I don't know how to stop it. "I want to switch classes. Okay? Is that too much to ask for?"

"I just―I can't give that to you―you need to talk to someone higher up―"

I groan. "When can I talk to someone higher up?"

"You can't!"

Behind her, there is a hallway. I see two men, dressed in formal suits, enter an office. I storm past the secretary, who immediately jumps to her feet, and stride down the hallway.

I'm ready to enter the office when I hear voices talking, low, harsh.

"The Angel is looking for something now," says one. Deep, rich. "I want to know what it is, and I want it first. He can't have it."

"Sir, I'm doing my best, but I'm worried she's going to catch on―"

It sounds familiar. It sounds like Dante Rosso's voice.

Before he can say more, the secretary grabs my arm. Her face is red, fearful, and I don't protest as she drags me back to the front.

"The most I can do," she says in a quivering, trembling tone, "is to give you an appointment with Lunetta herself."

I nod quickly, but I'm still thinking of the voice I heard.

They were talking about Angel. The last Falcone, Vittoria said. Whoever he is, he must be powerful, if those men wanted what he had.

But the second voice . . . Dante's.

No, it couldn't be. Dante would still be in class. Now, I know I'm hearing things that aren't true.

But still I can't forget.

My phone gives a sharp, short buzz. I look down.

Unknown number
Leave your hair down. I like it better that way.
Sent at 11:27 a.m.