Thirteen
ANGELO
“ W hat do you mean you still haven’t found anything?” Angelo snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension hanging in the room. His eyes bored into the infuriatingly calm man seated across from him, the dim light casting long shadows on Talon’s unreadable face.
Talon Blackwood, ever unflappable, let the words hang in the air for a moment before responding. “I mean,” he said, dragging out each syllable with deliberate precision, “that I haven’t found anything. Yet. Whatever he’s hiding is buried so deep, it’s practically invisible.”
Angelo exhaled sharply, the sound more a hiss than a sigh, as he raised a hand to rub his temple, his pen still clutched tightly between his fingers. The dull ache at the base of his skull was becoming all too familiar—a constant reminder of the pressure building inside him. Days had passed since Allison had promised to arrange a meeting with her elusive brother, yet the silence that followed was deafening. The gnawing frustration twisted in his gut, a slow burn of anxiety that he couldn’t ignore.
Checking in on her had become second nature, though he hadn’t fully admitted to himself why. It was easy enough to mask his concern as mere business, a necessary precaution for the baby’s well-being. But Angelo knew better. He could feel it in the way his thoughts drifted to her when he least expected it, the way his heart tightened whenever her name came up. And the knowledge that she was still blind to her father’s machinations only fueled his growing unease. It wasn’t just the secrecy that bothered him; it was the guilt of keeping her in the dark, of not telling her the truth.
“This doesn’t add up,” Angelo muttered, more to himself than to Talon. His gaze dropped to the desk in front of him, eyes tracing the grain of the wood as if it held the answers he sought. “The man’s got his fingers in every dirty deal on the continent. How is there no trace?”
Talon leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the movement smooth and deliberate. “He’s a master at covering his tracks, Angelo. And let’s be honest—he’s a man who doesn’t like to be found unless it’s on his terms. This could be his way of keeping us off-balance.”
“Or he’s hiding something worse,” Angelo said, his voice dropping to a near growl, the words heavy with suspicion.
Talon’s gaze didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened slightly, a rare hint of concern creeping into his otherwise stoic demeanor. “That’s what worries me. If we don’t find something soon…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew what kind of man Allison’s father was—ruthless, cunning, and unrelenting when it came to his enemies. If he was hiding his tracks this well, it wasn’t just about avoiding detection. No, it was something far more sinister. Angelo could feel it, a cold certainty that Lockwood was planning something big, something that could devastate Taylor Co. He wouldn’t stop until he had dismantled everything Angelo’s father had built, brick by brick.
“We can’t afford to lower our guard,” Angelo said, his voice steely with resolve. “Keep digging, Talon. There’s something we’re not seeing.”
Talon gave a slow, confident nod, the kind that came from years of being the best at what he did. “I’ll find it, whatever it is.” He rose smoothly, shrugging into his worn leather jacket with the kind of practiced ease that made it clear this wasn’t his first dance in the shadows. The room seemed to shrink around him, his presence commanding despite the undercurrent of danger that always lingered with him. As he moved toward the door, he paused, halfway out, and glanced back over his shoulder. “But Angelo, brace yourself. Whatever we uncover… it might not be easy to swallow.”
Angelo didn’t respond right away, his mind already churning with possibilities, each one darker than the last. His thoughts inevitably drifted back to Allison, the memory of their last conversation flickering in his mind like a candle struggling against the wind. She had been evasive, her usual spark dimmed by something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It gnawed at him, the way she seemed to be carrying a weight too heavy for her slender shoulders. He knew she was trying to reach her brother, but what was really going on behind those guarded eyes? And how could he get her to trust him, to open up and let him in?
“I need to talk to her,” Angelo said finally, his voice tight with determination. “She needs to hear this from me. And I need to know what she already suspects.”
Talon’s expression softened, if only for a moment, a flicker of something almost resembling sympathy crossing his features. “Be careful with her, Angelo. She’s not the enemy here.”
“I know,” Angelo replied, though the frustration in his voice was undeniable. “But I can’t protect her if I’m in the dark.”
Talon didn’t push further. He simply nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. With a final glance, he turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him with an unsettling finality.
As Angelo turned to gaze at the Seattle skyline, he couldn’t shake the nagging question: would this plan really make things better, or would it only complicate everything further?
He took a deep breath, grounding himself in the weight of his father’s teachings. He could be the man he aspired to be—a cutthroat businessman, a protector, a partner.
His father had taught him everything he needed to know about running a company since he was fifteen. He could read between the lines, spot when he was being played, and always find a way to gain the upper hand. He knew how to control every interaction.
Except, it seemed, when it came to Allison Lockwood.
His thoughts drifted back to the idea that had crossed his mind a few days ago.
What if she did move in with him?
It had seemed ridiculous at first, but now, with the way she had pulled away and their communication had dwindled, the idea felt more justified.
His mind raced with uncertainty. What if she said no? The rejection would hurt more than he wanted to admit. He wanted to support her, but there was a fine line between helping and overstepping.
And then another thought crept in: What if she said yes? The image of her filling his home with laughter and light made his heart race. Could they cook together, stay up late talking, share quiet mornings over coffee?
As he wrestled with these possibilities, the headache began to tighten its grip, but he ignored it, too caught up in his internal debate.
Left alone in the quiet room, Angelo felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him, the walls seeming to close in as the full scope of what lay ahead began to take shape in his mind. Every instinct told him time was running out, that whatever storm was brewing, it was about to break—and when it did, there would be no turning back.
It had taken weeks for Allison to finally arrange this meeting with her brother. Angelo had grown increasingly anxious as her replies to his texts became more sparse and unenthusiastic. Something was clearly wrong, but she hadn’t yet told him what it was.
What could she possibly be so afraid or shy to share with him?
As the days dragged on and Allison’s pregnancy progressed, Angelo’s nerves began to fray. He prided himself on being in control of his business, his emotions, his life. But lately, that control had been slipping, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread that he couldn’t fully explain.
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the present. With a quick, practiced motion, he smoothed out invisible crinkles on his crisp white shirt. Checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes, he felt a chill run down his spine as the familiar sound of a car engine approached and then cut off, signaling Allison’s arrival.
Angelo inhaled deeply, willing himself to stay calm, but his heart was racing. The sound of a car door creaking open snapped his attention forward, and when he looked up, time seemed to freeze.
Fuck. Me.
Angelo was certain he was going to die.
The clock was ticking for everyone, he knew, and he saw himself as a pragmatic man. No, his issue here wasn’t time. His problem was the sandy blonde, green-eyed, impossibly beautiful, and very much not-his woman who was stepping out of the car in front of him.
Allison “Pinkie” Lockwood.
She moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as if aware of the effect she had on him. Angelo had never felt more out of control than he did in that moment. The second she extended one long, booted leg from her BMW, he was transfixed, feeling a rush of emotions he struggled to contain, and he quite simply knew he was dying.
Maybe I’m already dead.
Is this heaven?
When both of her feet finally touched the ground, Angelo jerked forward, reminding himself not to be a creep and to actually help her out of the car. He reached out a hand, and she flashed him a grateful smile that made his heart skip a beat.
Literally.
Weird. I need to visit my physician.
He swallowed heavily, trying to maintain the calm and collected facade of a businessman rather than the anxious man he felt like. As he helped Allison out of her car, his knees almost buckled.
Not because of her weight—God, no. The woman was light as a feather. He vividly remembered how effortlessly he had picked her up and thrown her around during their one night together, but now, seeing her in this moment, he was rendered speechless.
She wore a form-fitting, baby pink sweater dress that clung to her in all the right places, falling just below her knees. The dress’s mock neck framed her slender neck, and long sleeves shielded her arms from the cool air. Her hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, and her face, though seemingly natural, was subtly enhanced by the lightest touch of makeup that made her jade eyes even more striking.
But it wasn’t just her beauty that caught his attention. No, it was the fact that she was showing.
At thirteen weeks pregnant, the bump wasn’t large or particularly noticeable—more like she was slightly bloated. But to Angelo, it was the most profound sight in the world. His baby was in there, growing—safe, warm, and happy. And he could finally see it.
He must have stared too long because Allison chuckled, snapping him out of his reverie. “It’s really cute, isn’t it?”
Angelo nodded once, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight in front of him. She understood, though, because she laughed softly, a sound that reminded him of delicate bells ringing—a sound he hadn’t realized he missed so much until now.
When Allison turned to reach for something inside her car, Angelo had to physically force himself to let go of her. She leaned over the slightest bit, giving him the perfect view of her incredible behind. Angelo averted his gaze, but only after staring at the delicious woman in front of him for a few more seconds.
His hand flexed instinctively, the tension in his body evident. He wasn’t used to hand-holding. It wasn’t something he avoided necessarily, but he had never felt the desire to hold a woman’s hands in his. He’d never experienced that obsession most men his age claimed they’d felt at least once in their life, that all-consuming need to hold a woman close.
But now, he understood it all.
Holding on to Allison’s small, soft hand felt oddly comforting. It reminded him of a hot bath after a long, cold, tiring day. Of nights under a sky full of stars. Of warmth and comfort. Of belonging.
Holding on to Allison’s hand felt like coming home.
Angelo wanted to grab her again, to pull her close and never let go. He didn’t want to lose this feeling, this sense of belonging that he’d only ever heard of. He wanted more. He wanted all of it.
She’ll be mine. I’ll make sure of it.
Mind made up, Angelo glanced up and found himself looking into Allison’s eyes. Her breath hitched, and his own grew quicker. His hands came up, teasingly brushing against her sides as one palm found its place on her waist. The other hand kept traveling upwards until it reached the top of her car and held on, effectively caging her in.
“Angelo?” she spoke softly, her voice tinged with something he couldn’t quite place.
God, I love it when she says my name.
He only hummed in response, too enchanted by the woman in front of him to reply. He leaned in, his body still not touching hers but inching closer. He could smell her distinctive scent of honey and lavender, and he made a mental note to find someone to bottle it up for him.
Just for me.
And then I’ll kill whoever makes it because nobody else can ever know her scent.
Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, gripping him gently. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flutter of her eyelashes, every movement of her gaze around his face. He knew she’d stop him if she wanted to. And if she did, he would back off the second she requested it.
But she didn’t.
“What are you doing to me, sweet girl?” Angelo finally murmured. He hadn’t meant to voice the thought, but he didn’t care. It was a genuine question, born of the bewildering feelings overwhelming him. He had never experienced anything like this before—such intense desire, an inexplicable need to touch, to feel, to be with her. He was losing his grip, teetering on the edge of madness as his control slowly slipped away.
He needed her like his next breath, the urge to kiss her overwhelming every other thought.
Allison didn’t answer his question. Instead, she made a tiny sound, something akin to a whimper that stopped Angelo’s breathing for several long seconds as he felt his slacks tighten significantly.
He moved closer, his erection pressing against her thigh and his heart raced as he felt her respond, leaning into him ever so slightly.
“Feel what you do to me, Allison. The effect your proximity has on me,” he whispered against the shell of her ear and she blushed, gripping him tighter but she didn’t move away.
They were a breath apart now. The slightest movement and they’d be kissing. He’d finally get to feel those lips he’d missed so much. It had been too long since that night, and he needed another taste, like an addict searching for his next hit.
“What are you doing, Angelo?” Allison whispered, her breath mingling with his. She licked her lips and his eyes hungrily tracked the movement.
“Tell me to stop,” he said gruffly, barely holding back. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll kiss you right now.”
She didn’t.
He moved in, closing the last bit of distance between them, almost touching—
“Get the fuck off my sister!”
Now I’m definitely going to die.