For Angelo(58)
“Again, your words are not making sense.” But of course it did. Angelo twirled his pen between his fingers, thinking grimly that the rockstar made it sound so easy. Admit it. He almost laughed out loud. Admit it…and then what?
Let himself ruin her life for good, her every chance to keep her life normal?
Even he wasn’t as selfish and sadistic as that.
“I know you and Steel belong to the same club,” Dylan said under his breath.
Angelo stilled, but his voice was bland when he answered, “I have never hid the truth about myself.”
“Naturally. You don’t care enough about my opinion to do so.” The rockstar paused. “But I do know that you and Steel are somewhat similar, and it’s begun to occur to me that you may have the same…reservations as he does.”
“Is this the time you, March, and your beloved Bree were in a love triangle?” Angelo mocked.
“Yes,” Dylan answered pleasantly, “but ours, I’m afraid, cannot compare to your triangle with Derek Christopoulos and his wife.”
Humor briefly flashed in Angelo’s eyes as he acknowledged the barb.
“Being in a love triangle isn’t the issue here, though,” Dylan continued idly. “March told me once that the reason he was obsessively thorough in selecting his partner was because he believed not every woman had the capability to understand his needs.”
There were several moments of silence before Angelo said flatly, “I understand his concerns.”
And so Lane was right, Dylan thought.
Instead of answering, he changed the subject, knowing it wasn’t yet the right time to voice his opinion. When Angelo began to exhibit signs of restlessness at the time it took for the two women to return, Dylan offered, “Let me call Bree. You’re just going to look intensely in love if you call Lane because she’s taking too long to come back.”
In the act of calling Lane, Angelo swiftly let his phone fall back into his pocket at the rockstar’s words. Even so, he told Dylan silkily, “No doubt, I’ve picked up the bad habit from you.” But the rockstar only shrugged.
When Bree picked up his call, Dylan asked, “Are you on your way back, babe?” It was a coded question, and when Bree said yes, he smiled. “See you then.” Ending the call, he turned to Angelo, saying, “Bree took Lane to the grand auditorium.”
“Where the corporate party’s being set up?” Angelo was perplexed.
“Also where our exhibit is,” Dylan reminded him. Coming to his feet, he asked, “Shall we join them?”
Angelo nodded, but even when they were inside the elevator, the grim expression on his face didn’t ease up, prompting Dylan to ask what was wrong.
“I’m trying to recall if there are any meetings scheduled there tonight,” Angelo answered reluctantly. While Lane had significantly improved in the past month, it didn’t mean she should constantly expose herself to possible triggers. He had once read that repeated panic attacks could have an adverse effect on—
Dylan started laughing. “Relax, man.”
“I am relaxed,” Angelo said stiffly.
The elevator doors opened to a darkly lit hallway, with the only light coming from the various spotlights beaming down on framed photos of Minuit Rouge on the wall. The exhibit featuring the band’s history, meant to celebrate the recent collaboration between Minuit Rouge and his company, should have been open until nine.
So why the hell were the main lights closed?
“What the hell?” Angelo stalked forward, furious and worried at the thought that someone filthy rich might have terrified her out of her wits right now. Bree would be there with her, but—
He paused when he saw two men in tuxes positioned at the end of the hallway, next to the entrance doors of the auditorium.
Each man held a phantom mask in his hands.
Dylan said from behind, “Lane organized all of this.” Taking one of the masks, he murmured his thanks before handing it to Angelo, saying quietly, “I think after tonight…” He put his mask on. “All your concerns about Lane will be addressed.”
The tux-clad men slowly opened the doors, revealing a stunning opera backdrop and hundreds of guests, all of them familiar because they were Angelo’s most frequent guests in his parties.
Guests who, for better or worse, shared his needs—
Sadists.
Masochists.
“Oh, and by the way…” Dylan clapped a hand behind Angelo’s back. “Happy one month of being committed, whether you admit to it or not.”
****
And so it began again, a cat-and-mouse game that turned into a seductive dance as Angelo Valencia’s darkest side came into light. Every layer of propriety stripped away, leaving someone so exquisitely cruel and sadistic—
Oh, how it would make most women cry.
But for Lane, everything about him was perfect.
The arrogant arch of his brows, the sardonic amusement that made his silver eyes gleam…
The icy precision of his tone and the sweetly acerbic wit of his words…
The way his shoulders would lift in a shrug, or the way his long, elegant fingers would clasp another woman’s hand as he brought it to his lips—
Every glance, every gesture, every syllable—