Gemma looked at him, her blonde curls stuck to her furious face, her eyes holding an expression of pure loathing Bobby had never seen before. “I never thought you were anything other than a pack of absolute bastards. I must have been a complete idiot to ever think you wanted me for anything other than what or who I could deliver you. Get out, and leave me alone.”
Soaked and with nothing to show for it, Bobby got out of the shower.
“Can you give me a cigarette and a lighter and leave me alone. Please.”
“You’re not going to burn the house down, are you?”
“No,” she replied. “Promise.”
“Alright. Call me if you need anything. Another cigarette. A drink. Anything.”
He left the cigarette and lighter on the sink counter and went to change his clothes—what a shit show.
He found Angelo was sitting in the bedroom shirtless. The man was very strongly muscled, right from his shoulders to the hard ‘V’ lines that disappeared into his pants. For a brief second, Bobby almost forgot what he was angry about. Angelo was a living work of art. There was something about him that transcended normal humanity. He’d started to take the man for granted after so many years together, but every now and then, he would receive the full force of Anglelo’s charisma like an electric jolt to his spine. It wasn’t just the muscular power of his body or the handsomeness of his face, a visage that spoke to a long lineage of patrician overlords who would do anything to win the battles they faced. It was the sheer force of personality that dwelled inside him. In moments like these, as he looked up from the phone he had been composing a message on and caught Bobby with the full force of a stare already primed for displeasure, he seemed almost eternal.
Bobby broke the tension by throwing his towel at him, tossing it right over Angelo’s face. There. So much better. Now he didn’t have to feel like a small ingrate coming before an ultimate authority.
Angelo pulled the towel down and gave him a dire look.
“How is Willow?”
“I think it best we do not mention her name in this house again,” Angelo said smoothly. “Consider her departed.”
“So she’s not dead.”
Angelo did not reply. He simply gave Bobby a long stare.
“You need to make this right. Gemma’s a normal person. You can’t just shoot people in front of her. Let alone her best friend. She’s freaking out.”
“There, I very much disagree, boy. Gemma is not a normal person. She’s been a plant in Willow’s life since she was thirteen years old. She has no idea who or what she is.”
“She’s traumatized. She had to wash bits of Willow off her. I don’t know that she’s going to be able to handle this, and I don’t want her broken.”
It was not often Bobby stood up to Angelo. That had a history of going rather poorly. But enough was enough. He had buried Gemma once, and his fondness for her extended beyond his usual capacity for caring about almost anything. She was important to him. A companion in this mad world of Vitali. Someone who had shown him actual compassion and understanding. And Angelo had hurt her.
“You need to make this right,” Bobby said. “You need to apologize to her.”
“I doubt an apology would suffice, even if I were inclined to give one.”
“Then you need to do something else.”
“I do not need to do a single thing, boy. Well, you know it.”
Bobby’s eyes narrowed. Angelo’s narrowed back.
“Perhaps I was wrong. I do need to do something. I need to remind you where you are and what this is. It is not a summer camp for sensitive girls. We do what we do for our survival and for those who depend on us, boy. Gemma is safe, which is more than I could say for Mark, Tilly, or the baby with Willow loose. The last thing I intend to take into account is the feelings of a spy who chose to come here and be a part of what is done here.”
“You’re a real asshole,” Bobby growled.
A flurry of activity ensued. Angelo tried to grab Bobby for the reckoning he had mentioned, but that didn’t work. Not because Bobby was running away, but because Bobby darted under his outstretched arm and drove his clenched fist into Angelo’s muscled midsection, wishing Gemma could see it. He was doing this for her, like a charity. Punching Angelo for people who couldn’t punch him themselves.
Angelo grunted, and a harsh backhand swept through the air to make a rough connection with Bobby’s cheek. The force spun him to the side, which Angelo took full advantage of, grabbing the closest arm and using it to control him down onto the bed.
“Beating me won't make any fucking difference, Angelo!” Bobby twisted out of Angelo’s grip and spun across the bed, taking half the sheets with him. Now the bed separated them. They stood, glaring at one another for a long, intense minute, the master and his boy, who was a boy no longer.