Chapter 2: His Angel: Chapter 2

It’s cold here. It always is. Even if it’s halfway through summer, there’s always a chill permanently creeping up and down my spine every second I spend under his roof.

Michele Rinaldi. World’s fakest husband and snakiest stepdad.

If it were up to me, I would never live here—even moved to live with my dad, the cheater, the man who ruined our lives. But I chose instead to live with the man who destroyed our family rather than stare into a devil’s eyes that are vacant, hollow, and void of any real human emotion. At least my dad felt remorse. Guilt. Even though I never forgave him…until the day he died. It was after he took his last breath that I chose to forgive him.

Too little, too late.

And now I’m here, in New York, stuck in an overly lavish penthouse drenched in ostentatious artifacts and insincere grandeur since I was fifteen. Even with all the priceless furniture and art, the penthouse, like its owner, exudes emptiness under all the opulence.

Granted, the man has charisma, knows how to get people to do what he wants and still looks like the good guy. Manipulation in disguise. But I know better. I realized what a snake he was the night I overheard one of his conversations about drugs, women, and little girls being taken from their families and sold to princes around the world, all so he could make his millions.

I told my mother about it, but she refused to believe me, blinded by his false charm and lies of love. No man who sells children is capable of loving anyone. Not even a beautiful woman like my mother.

I’m pondering my demise, convinced this house will one day suffocate me, when Anthony walks in. Heir to the Paladino family dynasty, and the one true friend I have in this world.

“Hey.” I smile, and he takes a seat next to me.

“Have you been summoned, too?”

“Yup. I was told to be here at noon and look my best, which is why I opted for a pair of torn shorts and an oversized shirt.” I pull the hem straight, showing him the wording on the fabric. ‘I’m a fucking delight.’

Anthony bursts out laughing, and I smirk. “Bought it especially for the occasion.”

“And what is the occasion?”

“To piss off my stepdad.”

The rumble of his laughter sets me at ease. It’s always been like that, Anthony having this calming effect on me. We became friends the day I arrived here after my dad died. I was out on the top deck, crying in the rain like I was in the middle of my own drama movie when he came to sit next to me. Not saying a word. Just sitting there, the rain soaking what I suspect was a really expensive suit. Now, some people would instantly stop crying if a stranger sat down next to them.

But not me.

It was like Anthony’s presence opened the floodgates, and I sobbed uncontrollably. Like my insides had been torn out of my body and lain out in front of me. After I managed to breathe again, the sobs slowly subsiding, I leaned my head on his shoulder, the silence between us so easy and warm.

He didn’t touch me. Didn’t try to comfort me. He was just…there. And that’s exactly what I needed, just for someone to be there.

A bond was forged from that moment, a silent pact of friendship and trust. Only later did I learn he had lost his mother a year before, and that he knew my pain. The heartbreak of loss and the agony of grief.

And now, a few years later, here we are. If it hadn’t been for our friendship, I wouldn’t have survived the last three years under Michele’s roof.

“What do you think he wants?” I ask, trying to peek into his office.

Anthony shrugs. “I just got a message from my dad saying to meet him here.”

“Hmm.” I wrinkle my nose and narrow my eyes. “I don’t like it.”

“Smells like trouble,” Anthony mimics my expression, a playful glint dancing in his eyes as he chuckles at my notorious wariness.

“Oh, stop.” I nudge my shoulder into his, and we both chuckle just as Michele appears, his face instantly making me nauseated.

“Come on, you two.” He nods toward his office. “We have some things to discuss.”

The way his eyes narrow when he notices my shirt gives me this incredible feeling of accomplishment. It’s the small wins that count.

We walk into the office that smells like old money and aged whiskey, with a hint of impending doom. The room’s a cavern of dark mahogany, every surface polished to a glassy sheen that reflects the dim glow of a brass chandelier overhead, its light flickering like it’s struggling to breathe in this suffocating space.

I greet Mr. Tony Paladino—Anthony’s father, with a polite smile. He grins at my shirt, and I lean closer to Anthony. “At least your dad has a sense of humor.”

My mom walks in, wearing a formfitting navy-blue dress with pearl white accents and heels that give her an extra couple inches. The perfect mobster wife…which is precisely what she is even if she chooses not to believe it.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“What we’re about to discuss involves her, too.” Michele takes a seat behind his desk, shoulders squared, like an emperor out for world domination.

“What is this about?” Anthony glances at his dad, who merely remains silent with a slight curve of his lips.

“Your dad and I have been discussing your future.” Michele pours himself a glass of whiskey, and the sharp, oaky tang wafts toward me, mingling with the sour undercurrent of his cologne. Too much musk, too little soul.

“My future?” Anthony looks at his dad, then back at Michele.

“Both your futures.”

Nerves start to burn, warning prickling the back of my skull, and I press my knee against Anthony’s, needing that touch for comfort.

Michele sips his whiskey, making a god-awful slurping sound, then looks at Anthony. “My step-daughter⁠—”

“Everly,” I sneer. “I have a name.”

“—she just turned eighteen, as you know,” he continues, ignoring me, his tone smooth as oil but cold as the marble bust of some dead Roman glaring from the corner. “In a few weeks, you’ll be twenty-one and well on your way to taking over the family business.”

“I’m still far from taking over the family business. My dad’s best years are still ahead of him.”

“True,” his dad quips. “But we need to prepare for any scenario, which is why I want you to learn the inner workings of the organization now, sooner rather than later. One never knows when the reins might need to be handed over.”

“Well, then,” I slap my knees and stand, “this conversation clearly has nothing to do with me, so I’ll just see myself out.”

“Sit. Down.” Michele’s icy tone sinks into me, but when it comes to this man, I can be a real stubborn little shit, so I turn to face him.

“You’re discussing Anthony’s future, which has nothing to do with me.”

“Yet.” That single word hangs there, heavy as the ornate gold frame on the wall behind him, its edges glinting like a guillotine.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” Anthony bites out, his expression stone with dark edges I’ve never seen before. “That’s not happening.”

“What? What’s not happening?”

“Everly, please sit down.” My mom glowers at me.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Anthony stands, sliding an arm around my waist, pulling me behind him as he faces Michele. “It’s not happening. So, whatever you’re planning, change it so it doesn’t include her.”

“Son—”

“I’m serious, Dad.” Anthony whips around, eyes blazing at his father, the intensity making the air feel electric. “You know I’ll do everything for this family. I’ve proven myself to you over and over, done everything you’ve asked, but not this. Not her.”

“I’m not sure I understand your sudden defiance, Anthony,” Michele chimes in. “This is not a family matter that requires your opinion.”

“Now, Michele,” Mr. Paladino raises a brow, “I agreed to your proposal with one condition, remember?”

Michele’s expression hardens, and I imagine this is what a dragon looks like just before it spits fire.

“An alliance is only possible if my son agrees.”

“And I don’t,” Anthony blurts, tension rolling off him in waves. “There’s no chance in hell that I’ll agree to this.”

“What if it’s something she wants?” Everyone turns to my mother, elegantly poised in her seat. “What if my daughter agrees?”

“Agrees to what? Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“A marriage, Everly.” My mom’s voice disappears into a haze as I stare at her blankly, the words sinking in like a stone through water, rippling outward. “An arranged marriage between you and Anthony.”

For a moment, the room spins before slamming back into focus. “Ma…what?” I stammer, taken aback.

“What Michele and Mr. Paladino are proposing is a marriage between you and Anthony to bring our families together. Legally, and before God.”

I blink, trying to process the words that just left her lips. “A marriage? An arranged marriage?” The absurdity of the situation strikes me, and I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

It’s when I turn my gaze to Anthony, witnessing the strained seriousness etching lines into his brow and the tightness of his lips, that my laughter dies.

“Jesus.” I gape at my mother. “You are serious.”

Silence reigns again, the previous tumultuous energy evaporating into the stillness of shock. Anthony’s father shifts in his seat, a frown puckering his weathered face as he runs a hand over his beard, tugging at it thoughtfully. Michele just leans back in his chair, arms folded like he’s merely waiting for his inevitable victory.

“No.” I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Everly—”

“This is not the sixteenth century. People don’t go around arranging marriages anymore.”

“We believe this arrangement would be beneficial for both our families.”

“You mean beneficial for him.” I point an accusatory finger at Michele. “Everything he does only benefits him.”

Michele chuckles, the sound low and grating on my nerves. “Call it what you want, but this arrangement is as beneficial to you as it is to all of us.”

“Beneficial?” I scoff, voice rising in pitch. “How the hell is this beneficial for me?”

“You’ll be a Rinaldi and a Paladino, making you one of the most powerful women in the city.”

“I’m not a Rinaldi,” I sneer, almost gagging from the thought, “and I will not marry Anthony, or anyone else who’s not of my choosing.”

Mr. Paladino stands, fastening his suit jacket. “I guess that concludes our meeting, then.”

“Wait a minute, Tony.” Michele gets off his chair. “We’re not done.”

“Yes, we are. I told you that I won’t force my son to marry Everly.”

“They’re children. They have no idea what’s good for them.”

“Regardless, I know what your stepdaughter means to my son, and I will not ruin that by forcing anyone’s hand in this.” He turns to Anthony. “Come on, son. We’re done here.”

I fall on the couch, my gut heavy, nerves shooting up and down my spine while Michele follows them, demanding they stay.

Anthony stops at the door and looks at me with reassurance, a silent promise twinkling in his bright eyes. His gaze holds a depth of understanding, a similar resistance against the outrageous proposal, and somehow it settles me. Comforts me. Just a little.

The elevator chimes in the distance, signaling that our guests are gone, but just as I try to make my way out of Michele’s office, needing to be in my room behind a locked door, my stepdad grabs my elbow and yanks me back. It’s the blackness in his eyes that chokes me, the rage that bleeds into his cheeks.

“You little ungrateful bitch.”

My mom gasps. “Michele⁠—”

“I took you in. Gave you a roof over your head. The kind of education most teenagers can only dream about, and this is how you choose to repay me?”

“I never asked you for anything.” I try to yank free, but his fingers bite into my skin as he pulls me close, his disgusting breath scraping against my ear.

“I gave your mother a life your piece of shit father never could,” he whispers, my mom unable to hear. “I gave her a life of riches, of luxury, but as easily as I can give it, I can take it away.” He lets go of me, eyes blazing. “You’ll do well to remember that.”

Michele storms out the room, his footfalls echoing in the hollowness as he heads toward his favorite whiskey to calm his nerves. My mother turns her face away as though the sight of me is too revolting for her, like I’m her biggest disappointment.

“Mom.” Tears sting sharply. “Can you not see what kind of man he is?”

Angered eyes cut to mine, her expression harder than I’ve ever seen before. “Yes, I can see what kind of man he is,” she replies bitterly. “I see a man who cared enough to take in a widow and her daughter. A man who gave us a chance at a better life after your father destroyed it.”

I let out a sob, catching it with my palm over my mouth, and she steps closer, her irises filled with rage.

“He’s doing what he thinks is best for you.”

“That’s a lie. He’s doing what’s best for him!”

“By finding you a good husband? A man who will take care of you? A man who will give you everything and more?” She settles her hand on her hip, slanting her head. “He’s right. You are an ungrateful bitch.”

Everything breaks. Tears uncontrollably stream down my face as she shatters my heart with her words, each syllable jagged glass through my heart.

She turns her back to me, effectively closing the conversation, and I’m left standing, torn and scorched, the walls around me suddenly a prison.

My feet spring into action, almost instinctively, as I hurry toward the elevator, driven by an urgent need to escape the suffocating atmosphere. The elevator doors slide shut with a hollow clang, sealing me in a steel box that feels more like a coffin as I stumble back against the wall, my legs quaking under the weight of Michele’s venom and my mother’s betrayal.

Marriage? Arranged?

What kind of hell am I living in? How can Michele think he has the right to marry me off? I’m not his daughter. I’m not related to him by blood. But my mom…how can she support this? Trade me like I’m cattle?

Cold dread stomps into my chest and tightens, a vise clamping around my ribs, and I gasp. But the air won’t come, each breath a shallow wheeze that scrapes my throat.

The frosty bite of metal seeps into my back, but it’s the panic that chokes me, my lungs seizing, the sterile sound of the elevator buzzing like a taunt.

Desperate to force oxygen past the knot of sobs and rage, I press a trembling hand to my sternum, but it’s useless, and the more I struggle to breathe, the thicker the air becomes.

My fingers claw at my throat, nails digging into skin, as if I can tear the air free, but it’s stuck, lodged behind a wall of panic and pain, my ribs aching with every shuddering wheeze.

The fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting shadows that blur with the black spots swimming in my vision, and I slump lower, my back sliding down the metal, knees buckling until I’m a crumpled heap on the floor.

Michele’s threat—“I can take it away”—loops in my skull, my mom’s bitter words—“ungrateful bitch”—slicing deeper, and the betrayal fuels the attack, tightening the noose around my windpipe. With trembling hands, I fumble for a grip on nothing, and a choked sob escapes, sharp and thin, drowned by the elevator’s mechanical hum as it descends, counting floors like a death knell.

I’m fading, the edges of my world fraying, when the doors chime and slide open with a soft hiss. Anthony’s there, framed in the light from the lobby, his broad shoulders tense, eyes wide with alarm as they lock on me.

“Everly—shit.” He drops to his knees beside me in a heartbeat, his presence a sudden anchor in the chaos. Instantly, his hands are on me, one cupping my face, thumb brushing my cheek, the other digging into his jacket pocket. “Hold on. I’ve got you.” He pulls out an inhaler, shakes it, pops the cap, and presses it to my lips. “Breathe with me, okay? In, slow—come on, you can do this.”

I nod weakly, tears stinging my eyes, and suck in a shaky breath as he presses the canister, the cool mist flooding my mouth. My lungs burn, resisting at first, but he holds my gaze, his bright eyes steady, unwavering, a lifeline pulling me back.

“Again,” he urges, and I obey, another puff, the tightness easing just enough for air to trickle through, my wheezes softening into breaths.

His hand slides to my back, rubbing slow circles, grounding me as my breathing steadies, and I lean into him, forehead dropping to his shoulder, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over me like a balm.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice softening. “You’re okay.”

I clutch his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric, and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me closer.

“I couldn’t breathe.” My voice cracks.

“Shhh. Just focus on breathing.”

“Anthony,” my gaze latches on to his, “what are they trying to do us?”

He shifts, easing me upright, and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch tender, protective. “I dunno. But it won’t work.”

“Michele…he⁠—”

“I won’t let Michele do anything to us. Especially you. Understand?”

“He’ll find a way to force us into this.”

“Listen to me.” He frames my face with his palms, irises flashing with fierce intensity. “I promise you I will not let him force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But how do we fight him? Michele always gets what he wants.”

“Not when it comes to you and me. Michele needs my family more than we need him. And my dad promised my mom before she died that he’ll never force me to marry, which means Michele can’t do shit about it.” Tenderly, he wipes a tear with his thumb. “The only way I’ll ever agree to marrying you is if it’s what you want.”

“What I want?” My heart races as I study him. “You’re saying you’ll marry me?”

The corners of his mouth tug up into a sly smile. “Somehow, whenever I think of getting married, I always imagine it’ll be you.”

“Me?” I echo, a reserved shock fluttering against my rib cage.

“Crazy, right?”

My chest’s steadier now, the wheezing faded to a faint rasp, but my heart’s pounding for a whole new reason, and I study the line of his jaw, the way his bright eyes soften, unguarded for once.

“You’re serious?”

He lets out a quiet, resigned sigh, then lifts his shoulders with a silent yes.

“Why me?”

For a moment, that suave mask he wears—always strong, always the confident heir—slips, and there’s just Anthony, raw and real, the teenage boy who sat with me in the rain years ago.

He shifts closer, settling beside me on the elevator floor, our shoulders brushing as we stare at the steel doors closing, caging us in, the hum of the machinery a low pulse around us. “I don’t know, Everly. Whenever I think about getting shackled to someone, you’re always there.”

My breath hitches, and words stick in my throat as he leans back against the wall, his knee bumping mine. There’s a beat of silence, heavy but not uncomfortable, and then he keeps going, his voice dropping lower, laced with a bitterness I don’t often hear from him.

“You know those rich debutantes in our circle? The ones at every damn party, dripping in diamonds, batting their lashes like they give a shit about anything real?” He scoffs, a sharp, humorless sound, and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “They’re all the same. Pretending they’re after love, whispering sweet bullshit in your ear, but it’s all a fucking act. They don’t want me. They want the Paladino name, the money, the power. They’d sell their souls for a penthouse and a private jet, and they’d stab each other in the back for it without blinking.”

I swallow, the venom in his tone sinking into me, and I shift to face him, my knee pressing against his thigh. I’ve seen it, the way those girls swarm him at events, all fake smiles and calculated touches, their eyes gleaming with greed.

“They’re vultures. Every one of them,” he grinds out. “They’d marry me tomorrow if I asked, but not because they care, just because I’m a ticket to the top. They don’t give a damn about who I am, what I feel, what I’ve lost…” His voice trails off, and I know he’s thinking of his mom, the grief we both carry like a shared scar. He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “They’re not real. Not like you.”

My heart stumbles, a quiet ache blooming. To me, Anthony has always been my best friend, the boy with the lilting laugh and the mischief in his eyes, not some high-society prize to be won.

Sure, there was a time when I thought I might be in love with him, but after the day we snuck out to a diner in Queens, and him mocking my choice of a peanut butter milkshake, making me laugh harder than I ever have, I knew his friendship would always mean more to me than any romantic relationship. I would never risk losing what we have for something we could have.

I reach for his hand. “You’re a good guy, Anthony Paladino. And one day, you’re going to find a girl who loves you for you.” Not only is it the truth, but it’s also a subtle way of telling him that he’ll always be my best friend. Only my best friend.

“Maybe.” He weaves his fingers through mine, then brings it up to his lips, placing a kiss on the top of my hand. “Just know that I won’t ever allow this arranged marriage bullshit to happen.”

Panic slithers in. “What if Michele forces me to marry someone else?”

“Not a fucking chance. Look at me.” He tips my chin toward him with a gentle swipe of his thumb, our gazes locking, his eyes blazing with an unyielding promise. “I swear on my mother’s grave that I will protect you from him, from anyone who tries to hurt you, until my last breath.”

My heart swells, relief flooding through me like a warm tide, washing away the chill of Michele’s threats, and I let out a soft sigh. “Thank you,” I whisper, the words barely capturing the weight of what he’s giving me. Safety, loyalty, a shield against the storm.

Suddenly, his expression shifts from solemn to lighthearted. A playful smirk dances on his lips as he adds in a soft tone, “Besides, who could ever dare to think of marrying someone with such an appalling taste in milkshakes?”

“Oh, come on. You have to try it at least once.”

“No, thank you. You already made me try artichokes on pizza, and I still haven’t forgiven you for that culinary nightmare.”

We laugh as he stands, offering me his hand, and pulls me to my feet with an easy strength, steadying me as my legs wobble slightly from the earlier attack.

My gaze drops to the inhaler lying in the corner of the elevator, and I bend to pick it up. “Not that I’m complaining, but why do you have an inhaler with you?”

He shrugs. “Been carrying it since that time you scared the hell out of me at the pier, wheezing like you were gonna pass out. Figured I’d rather have it and not need it than watch you fight for air again.”

Emotion thickens my throat, and I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist, leaning my head against his chest as I hug him. He stiffens for a split second, caught off guard, then relaxes, his arms folding around me.

“You don’t know what you mean to me, Anthony. You’re always there—every time I’m falling apart, every time I can’t breathe, literally or not.” I squeeze him tighter. “I don’t know how I’d survive this hell without you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “You don’t have to, because I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.” His lips quirk into that familiar half-smile, and I feel it—the gratitude, the love, the kind that doesn’t need romance to burn bright.

I press the inhaler into his hand, closing his fingers around it, and hold his gaze, letting him see it all—the tears prickling my eyes, the shaky smile I can’t hide.

“Thank you,” I say again, but this time, it’s more a heartfelt spill of everything he is to me. “For this, for you, for being my best friend, for fighting for me when I can’t. I don’t say it enough, but I’m so damn grateful for you, Anthony.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care, because it’s true, and he deserves to hear it.

He squeezes my hand, the inhaler between us a silent testament to our bond, and pulls me back into his chest, his chin resting on my head.

“Always,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble I feel more than hear. “Always.”

The elevator jolts to a stop, the doors sliding open, but we linger there a moment longer, wrapped in each other, two souls tethered by trust and a promise that no one—not Michele, not the Paladino family, not the world—can break.

Ever.