Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XVI | Two Sunrises

THE MOMENT I STEP ONTO THE AIRPLANE, my heart drops into my stomach.

Plush red velvet cushions line the seats, with black marble tables separating the areas. It is sleek, sexy, elegant. Yes, the airplane is, in fact, sexy.

At the back of the plane, I see the bathroom and make a beeline towards it. Dominic is behind me, and Angel will be arriving soon.

The plane takes off in twenty minutes. I need to calm down.

After Dominic woke me up this morning, I had an unbearable moment of panic. Where I remembered last night, when Nathan called me and I cradled myself in that burning shower. Then, when Angel kissed me . . . and I left her room, hot, in more ways than one.

I lock the bathroom door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror.

Dull, tired green eyes. Brown hair, blonde at the tips where I dyed it months ago. My face is more tan, thanks to the Italian sun, but there's something missing.

It's the piece Nathan took from me.

After inspecting myself for another ten minutes, I unlock the door and step back out into the common area. All the Mafia men, dressed in their sharp-cut black suits, are occupying the seats.

As I look towards a free spot, I make eye contact with Angel. And I stop breathing.

The seat across from her is the only one left.

With a calm, unbothered walk, I stride to the velvet cushion and sit down as though my insides aren't boiling at the thought of her words.

Not now. Not ever.

That is when another surprise makes me lose my focus.

Dante Rosso is sitting at the back. I had forgotten about him, the way the Mafia had dragged him into Angel's palace, as he thrashed in their arms. The thought fills me with guilt. I'm supposed to be his friend, and I forgot.

"Dante?" I say. He is sitting with Dominic, and he's shackled to the seat.

The plane, full of the Falcone crew, turn to look at me. But I can't stop myself. I'm furious now, more than before. What do they want with Dante?

"What is he doing here?" I demand to Angel.

Her eyes are cold. "I don't need to explain anything I do."

The words are so harsh, so . . . unfeeling. They make me pause. Yesterday, when she knocked on the door and carried me out of the shower, she seemed more sensitive. Compassionate. Understanding.

But it must have been a lie.

Because now, as heat spreads to my cheeks, and I stand up in outrage, she does nothing more than give me a lazy, insolent stare. As though I am nothing to her.

"Are you okay?" I ask, louder than I should. Fine, if she wants a show, she can have one.

Dante gives me a bleary smile. His face is painted in bruises, and he looks hazily over toward me. Both his eyes are swollen shut. He's a university student, I think furiously. He's done nothing to deserve this.

Dominic, who appears to be Dante's guard, narrows his eyes at me. I can see the flex of his thick muscles through the white shirt. Tattoos snake down his arms, and they tighten as he grips the edge of his seat.