Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
EAMON
The walk home from the bakery should have been peaceful. Sweet Relief was only a few minutes from Charles’s house, a pleasant stroll through Charming’s tree-lined streets, where neighbors waved from their front porches, greeting Charles by name while shooting me curious looks.
The late afternoon sun set the maple trees on fire, their leaves a breathtaking riot of gold and crimson.
A gentle breeze sent a few leaves spiraling down to the sidewalk, where they crunched softly under our feet.
The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of wood smoke from someone’s fireplace.
Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from front stoops, and Halloween decorations were up everywhere—friendly ghosts hanging from tree branches and cheerful scarecrows propped against mailboxes.
It was the kind of perfect autumn day that belonged in a tourism brochure, the sort of scene that made city dwellers fantasize about small-town life, casting everything in that golden light that made the whole town look like a bloody postcard.
But Charles walked beside me like a man expecting an ambush at every corner.
His shoulders were rigid with tension, his eyes darting to every car that passed, every person we encountered on the sidewalk.
His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, probably to hide the fact that they were shaking, and every few seconds, I caught him taking those shallow, careful breaths that meant he was trying not to hyperventilate.
The contrast was jarring—this picture-perfect small town where nothing bad was supposed to happen, and Charles radiating fear so palpable I could practically taste it.
A couple walking their golden retriever smiled and called out a cheerful “Evening!” as they passed, and Charles managed to smile and wave back, but I could see the effort it cost him.
The moment they were gone, his face crumpled back into barely controlled anxiety.
I’d seen plenty of scared protectees over the centuries, but something about Charles being afraid made my chest feel like it was being crushed in a vise.
Maybe it was because he was usually so bright and optimistic, always finding something to smile about even when he was stressed.
Seeing that light dimmed by fear made me want to hunt Carlo down and introduce him to some very old-fashioned Irish justice.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Charles said quietly as we turned the corner onto his street.
“What thing?”
“That thing where your jaw gets all tight and you look like you’re mentally planning someone’s murder.”
Fuck. I was supposed to be reassuring him, not adding to his anxiety with my own bloodthirsty thoughts. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
“About Carlo?”
“About keeping you safe,” I said, which was true enough.
Charles nodded, but I could see the tension in his shoulders as we walked up to the house. He was trying so hard to hold it together, to be brave, and it made me admire him even more. Most people would be falling apart by now.
“I think I’m going to make dinner,” Charles said the moment we were inside, already heading toward the kitchen like it was a sanctuary. “Something that takes a lot of prep work. Keep my hands busy.”
I understood. Cooking was his way of coping, his method of creating order when everything else felt chaotic. “Sounds good. I’ll just, uh, check in with the precinct. See if there are any updates.”
The lie rolled off my tongue easily enough, but I hated having to deceive him. Everything between us was built on deception, and the weight of that was starting to feel unbearable.
My iPad chimed with an urgent AngelCloud alert just as Charles began pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. Perfect timing, though I tried not to think too hard about whether that was a coincidence or divine intervention.
“I’ll take this outside,” I said, holding up the tablet. “Official business.”
Charles nodded distractedly, already lost in the familiar rhythm of meal preparation.
I slipped out to the back porch, grateful for the privacy and the cool evening air.
The alert was marked high priority, which never boded well.
I tapped it open and immediately wanted to throw the bloody thing against the wall.
“Surveillance footage requires immediate review,” the notification read, followed by a time stamp from about an hour ago. Below that, a location that made my blood run cold: Charming Banquet Hall.
I tapped the play button, and nothing happened. I tapped it again. Still nothing.
“Come on, you piece of shite,” I muttered, jabbing at the screen with increasing frustration. “Just play the fecking video.”
Finally, the screen flickered to life, but instead of sound, I got complete silence. I could see Carlo’s mouth moving as he spoke to someone off-camera, but I might as well have been watching a bloody mime show.
I poked at various icons, trying to find volume controls. Instead, I somehow managed to switch to a different camera angle that showed only Steve’s feet, then another that appeared to be mounted inside a ceiling tile, and then one that gave me a lovely view of the parking lot.
“For feck’s sake. Where’s the volume on this thing?”
After what felt like an eternity of technological incompetence, I finally found what looked like a speaker icon and tapped it.
Sound exploded from the device at what had to be maximum volume, Carlo’s voice booming across the quiet evening like he was announcing a football match.
“—Lost a family heirloom and I’m trying to—”
I frantically jabbed at the screen to lower the volume, accidentally enabling what appeared to be closed captions in Portuguese.
Finally, after more cursing and random button-mashing than I cared to admit, I managed to get both reasonable volume and the right camera angle.
The Portuguese captions were easy enough to ignore.
The timestamp showed this had happened about an hour ago, while Charles had been finishing up in his bakery.
Carlo stood in the banquet hall’s main room, wearing that same predatory smile he’d given Charles, talking to Steve Porter.
The young man looked nervous but eager to help, nodding enthusiastically at whatever Carlo was saying.
“—just trying to retrace everyone’s steps from that morning,” Carlo was explaining, his voice smooth as silk. “You helped the baker with the wedding cake, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes, Charles!” Steve’s face lit up with genuine warmth. “He’s so nice. And that cake was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What time did he arrive that morning?”
My stomach dropped.
“Um, let me think,” Steve said, his brow furrowing with concentration. “It was around nine-thirty, I think.”
“Nine-thirty?” Carlo repeated, and I could hear the interest sharpening his tone.
“Yeah, because Charles needed help to bring the cake inside, and I checked my watch to make sure I wouldn’t be late to the rental facility to pick up extra chairs.
It was nine-thirty on the dot, and I had to be there before ten, so I knew I had enough time to help him.
” Steve nodded confidently, pleased with his recall.
“And when I came back from getting the extra chairs—around ten-fifteen—I saw him leave, so he must’ve stayed to make sure everything looked perfect. ”
The blood drained from my face so fast I got dizzy.
No. No, no, no, fecking no. I figured we’d have more time, that Steve wouldn’t have remembered everything in such detail.
Instead, he’d blown Charles’s timeline to smithereens.
Nine-thirty instead of nine. Leaving at ten-fifteen instead of leaving immediately.
Every detail Charles had used to construct his lie had been contradicted by someone with no reason to lie and no understanding of the danger he’d created.
An unreasonable, irrational anger at Steve filled me.
It wasn’t his fault. Rationally, I knew that.
But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanted to wring his bloody neck anyway.
Carlo would not only know Charles had been there to overhear the conversation, but he’d also come to the conclusion Charles had lied.
It would be an easy jump to figuring out he’d done that because he’d known what Carlo had really been asking about.
Carlo’s smile widened, showing too many teeth. “Ten-fifteen, you said? You’re certain about that?”
“Yes, very certain. I remember because I was impressed that he was still there, making sure everything was perfect. Most vendors just drop stuff off and leave, but Charles really cares about his work.”
“He certainly does,” Carlo agreed, and the satisfaction in his voice made me want to put my fist through the screen. “Well, thank you for your time, Steve. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I hope you find your cufflink!” Steve called after him as Carlo headed for the door.
Carlo paused, looking back over his shoulder with a cold, calculating expression that made my blood stall in my veins. “Oh, I think I’ve found exactly what I was looking for.”
The footage ended there, leaving me staring at a black screen and fighting the urge to vomit.
We were fucked. Completely, utterly, catastrophically fucked.
Carlo knew Charles had lied, which meant he knew Charles was the one who’d overheard his conversation with Chan.
It was only a matter of time before he put together the rest—that Charles had contacted the police, that the cop’s disappearance wasn’t a coincidence, that Charles was the reason his carefully planned murder had fallen apart.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Gabriel’s direct number, not caring if he was in a meeting with the Archangel Council or getting a bloody pedicure.
He answered on the first ring. “I was wondering when you’d call.”
“You saw the footage,” I said, not bothering with pleasantries.
“Yes. Carlo knows.”
“Then you need to get the NYPD to arrest him. Tonight. Before he makes his move.”
While I was pretending to work for the NYPD, Gabriel had others working with the real detectives, influencing them and aiding them as they investigated Carlo.
Gabriel’s sigh came through the phone like a cold wind. “It’s not that simple, Eamon.”
“The hell it isn’t. You’ve got access to every criminal database on the planet. Manufacture some evidence if you have to. Plant something on him. I don’t care—”
“We can’t fabricate evidence. That’s not how this works. We operate within clear parameters.”
“Parameters?” I could feel my temper rising like steam from a kettle. “Charles is about to be murdered by a mob boss, and you’re worried about following the fecking rules?”
“We’re working on it,” Gabriel said with forced patience. “The NYPD has been building a case against Carlo for months. They’re close to having enough for an arrest, but they need him to make another move first. Something that will stick in court.”
My blood turned to ice water. “Another move? You mean they’re using Charles as bait?”
“Carlo’s organization has been very careful to avoid leaving evidence. If he comes after your protectee, he’ll have to get his hands dirty. That gives us the opening we need.”
“Absolutely not.” I was practically snarling into the phone. “I will not let you use Charles as some kind of sacrificial lamb to catch this bastard.”
“No one’s asking you to.” Gabriel’s voice softened slightly. “That’s why I’m suggesting you take him somewhere safe. Tonight. Get him out of Charming until we can neutralize the threat.”
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to think. “How long do we need?”
“A few days, maybe a week. The NYPD has an undercover officer in Carlo’s organization. Once they have enough evidence of his criminal activities, they can move.”
“And if Carlo figures out the undercover cop is a plant?”
“Then we have bigger problems than your protectee.” Gabriel paused. “Eamon, I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s the best option we have. Take Charles somewhere Carlo can’t find him. Somewhere off the grid.”
I stared through the kitchen window at Charles, who was now chopping vegetables with mechanical precision, his movements sharp and controlled like he was trying to keep his hands from shaking.
The thought of uprooting him from everything familiar, of telling him we had to run, made my chest tight with guilt.
“He’s not going to want to leave,” I said quietly.
“Then you’ll have to convince him. Because if you don’t, he’s going to be dead within forty-eight hours.”
The line went quiet, and I could hear the weight of truth in Gabriel’s words. Carlo wasn’t the type to wait around once he’d identified a threat. He’d move fast and decisively, probably tonight or tomorrow at the latest.
“Where do you suggest we go?” I asked.
“Somewhere remote. Somewhere Carlo’s people won’t think to look.” Gabriel paused. “What about that cabin upstate that Rafael used for the witness protection case last year?”
Rafael had told me about it—a small, isolated place in the Adirondacks, miles from the nearest town. No cell service, no internet, no connection to the outside world. It would be perfect for keeping Charles safe.
“Fine,” I said. “But I want daily updates on the NYPD’s progress. And if they don’t have Carlo in custody within a week—”
“They will. I’ll make sure of it.”
The call ended, leaving me alone with the weight of what I had to do. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and tried to figure out how to tell Charles that his life as he knew it was about to come to a screeching halt.