Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XXVIII | Suicide Squad

This chapter is dedicated to OP-rah275

You've been an amazing supporter to Chasing Her! I love your dedication to this story and you're one of the reasons I keep writing this book!

"HE KILLED HIMSELF," I BLURT OUT, and everyone in the library turns to stare at me, eyes wide. I make a face and lower my voice. "Sorry, sorry."

When Dominic motions for me to continue, I whisper, "Maurizio killed himself on the way to Fortrose in some small town. Hung himself from a barn he stayed the night in. He wasn't featured in any of the death lists, but he was in the newspaper."

"How'd you figure to look in the newspaper?" Maria asks.

I don't even want to look her in the eye, but I force myself to meet her stare and say, "I figured there's more than one way to die. And suicide was considered a sin, so it wouldn't be in the death list because it's pretty much considered evil. So I looked in newspapers on a hunch, and there it was."

"Well? Read it to us," Angel says.

For a second, I feel hopelessly alone. Dominic hates me. Angel feels nothing for me, and Maria . . . well, Maria fucked the girl I'm falling in love with.

But I straighten my shoulders and read out, "Maurizio Colora was a merchant on his way to Inverness, Scotland, and he stopped to stay the night in Yurie, Fortrose at a barn. Guests at the nearby tavern say he was a friendly elderly man with many stories. No one could have supposed that later that night, he would . . ." I finish it for them, letting them fill in the blanks. "His last known words were to the bartender, saying that the Jewels were where they always were. Speculation arose that he may have been intoxicated with laudanum. He left a note behind, but it is unknown what the letter was writ, for his son kept it in his possession."

Immediately, Angel curses. "That sniveling, drunk, bastard Horace! He kept the suicide note from us!"

"The letter was lost in a house fire sixty years ago," I say stiffly. "Horace didn't have it."

Angel goes silent, but I see the iciness in her expression.

Maria seems to be avoiding my eyes. Good. Serves her right. I'm pissed right now.

Dominic clears his throat at last. "So this letter is just gone."

"It was photographed," I say. "It's at the Louvre in Paris. It's not lost yet."

I'm hurt and confused and most of all, furious. At how Angel has treated me. I told her my story, and she doesn't give a shit. But that's on me-for caring too much, for letting everything out too fast, too soon. My own damn fault. I should never have trusted a Mafia boss.

"Alright, let's go," Maria says, her brown eyes flickering. She has a heart-shaped face, large eyes, a soft nose. She's beautiful. Maybe this is who Angel wants. Not me.

I stand and nod coldly. "Let's go."

THERE ARE TWENTY MINUTES LEFT TO THE FLIGHT, which means I'm twenty minutes away from seeing the city of my dreams. Paris, home of baguettes and croissants and perfume and stereotypes.

This is the time that Maria decides she wants to come up next to me. Her hair is twisted into an elegant knot and her long lashes flutter in the afternoon sunlight as she says, "What happened last night . . . it's not what you think."