Episode Five
1363 Words
Angelo
Rizzo watches me closely, his piercing eyes unreadable.
“Oh?” he says finally, raising a thick, iron-grey eyebrow. “And what do you propose, Angelo?”
I take a deep breath and maintain my composure. “I will remain with the Santoro pack. “I will step into my father’s role as Alpha, as you request. But I’m not going to make Rosalia my partner.”
A look of surprise flickers across Rizzo’s face, but he allows me to continue.
“No, I’m going to put her in my care,” I reply smoothly. “I will guard her safety and her status till a suitable mate is chosen. Only those who honor the legacy of the Santoro name will be allowed to date her. Not anyone with ambitions to vacuum this pack into their own. The man she ends up choosing has to take her name, not vice versa.”
Rizzo reclines in his chair and rubs his chin. “You do know what that means for the heirs of the dominant packs?”
“Which means that neither pack — neither the Romano pack nor the Marino pack — are going to be considered,” I say evenly. “That is my point. This pack won’t be run by men who view Rosalia only as a path to power.” The Alpha that claims her as his mate will make a legacy upon her father’s—not replace it.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then, Rizzo chuckles.
Son,” he says, shaking his head. No Alpha leviathan rises without ambition. But I take your meaning.”
I nod slightly, but my pulse is thrumming too quickly, my wolf writhing uncomfortably beneath my skin.
Because I could do more.
I could take her as my own. I could just stop this conversation there. I could say what my father always wanted me to say — what the Family wants. I could have her.
It would take nothing. A ceremony, a bond. A wedding night where I’d tear that delicate black dress from her body where I’d run my tongue over her skin where she’d—
My teeth grind so forcefully together my jaw hurts.
Stop it.
I push the thoughts away, my blood heating at the way my body responds without my consent. This isn’t right. None of this is right.
Rosalia is too young. Too untouched. Too much mine to protect to claim.
When I push myself to concentrate again, Rizzo is already in conversation with the other elders. I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
Then, he turns back to me. “We accept your compromise.”
A rush of tension departs from my body — but only for a moment.
“Tonight,” Rizzo continues, “you will notify your Alpha in New York of your resignation. You will reside in the Santoro estatẽ and Rosalia will be put in your charge. And her future mate—” He smirks slightly. “That will be your call to make.”
A nod to the waiting guards. “Bring her in.”
I stiffen. “Now?”
“If you hadn’t intervened, we would’ve given her worse news,” Rizzo says flatly.
And that’s the only reason I don’t protest.
A moment later, the door swings open and Rosalia walks in.
She herself looks small in the large room, pale and worn, dark lashes dampened from tears she must have shed today. But she nonetheless stands upright and holds hands clasped rigidly in front of her.
“You wanted to see me?” she asks, her voice firm, but soft.
Nobody gets up to give her a seat.
I get up reflexively, my feet moving to cross the room to her. Finally with her at my side, I place a light touch at her elbow, walking her into the seat where I have been sitting. She glances up at me briefly, something unfathomable flitting across her features before she stiffens in the chair.
Rizzo watches both of us with a bemused sort of patience.
Then, he speaks.
“Rosalia, a decision has been made about your future,” he says. His tone is not unkind, but it leaves no room for argument. “Angelo has consented to remain, and take your father’s position as Alpha. But he has turned down the offer for you to be his mate.”
Rosalia’s fingers twitch a little, but she doesn’t otherwise react.
“Rather, he has asked that we place your future in his hands. He will supervise the selection of a mate for you. No one will claim you without his blessing.’” Rizzo looks at me knowingly. “In fact, he insisted.”
There is a long pause before Rosalia speaks. Then, finally, she nods. “I see.”
I catch a flicker of emotion in her face. Disappointment? Relief? Something else?
“My father never told me what he envisioned for my future,” she says softly. “If this is the decision, I will abide by it. But I would like to see the will.”
The room goes still.
There is something different about her voice. A quiet demand.
She isn’t seeking permission.
And for the first time, I see it — the fire underneath her grief.
Rizzo looks her over a moment, then motions the lawyer to hand over the portfolio.
Rosalia plays it cautiously, leafing through the pages. The reading room is quiet as she reads.
She does not rush.
Minutes pass.
Then finally she shuts it, pushing her hands against the cover.
A lone tear splashes onto the leather before she blinks away the rest.
“Very well,” she says softly. “When does Angelo take up residence in the estate?”
“Tonight,” Rizzo says.
I stiffen.
“Tomorrow,” I correct firmly. “Rosalia will have one night to grieve in peace. I will order my house in New York, and in the morning — I will take my place.”
Rosalia looks at me, her face inscrutable. Then, nearly indiscernibly, she tilts her head.
“Tomorrow, then.”
That night I go back to my hotel and call Luciano.
The first ring ends and he answers.
“They already told me,” he says, his voice grim. “You’re not coming back.”
I breathe out, swiping a hand over my face. “Not permanently. But not soon, either.”
“They said you declined to have Rosalia as your mate.”
My jaw clenches. “Of course I did.”
Luciano pauses. “And then why are you still there?”
Because I couldn’t leave her.
Because I saw the way they looked at her — the way he looked at her.
Because the idea of Andre Romano touching her, claiming her, taking the last remnants of who she was and scratching away at the surface made me sick.
“Because they were going to take her to the Romano pack,” I say instead. “If I said no to everything, she would be lost. That way, I hold the reins on her future. I protect the Santoro name.”
Luciano makes a low sound. “You think that they won’t find some other way to catch you, Angelo?”
“I’ll handle it.”
A long pause.
And then, softly, “You already love her.”
The words touch on something too deep, too fragile that I don’t want to consider.
“She’s my responsibility,” I finally say.
Luciano sighs. “And you keep telling yourself that.”
I hang up, eyeing the empty glass in my hand.
I should be relieved.
I should feel like I won.
Instead I pour myself another drink, because I can only think about her.
The way she looked at me. The way she trusted me. The automatic way my body responds whenever I’m near.
I tell myself it will pass.
I tell myself that as I sip my whiskey, convincing myself the heat in my blood is only the alcohol.
But my wolf knows better.
And that, more than anything, scares the hell out of me.
- Writer
