Angel of Tears: Verona Legacy, #0.5

By L. A. Cotton

Matteo Bellatoni is only passing through town.

 

He doesn't expect to find himself playing hero late at night.

 

Caitlin O'Connell is running from life.

 

It's hardly any surprise when she finds herself in an alley with a man who wants to hurt her.

 

But then he appears. A dark angel sent to save her.

 

When Matteo offers her a ride home, she should say no. She should thank him and never look back. But it's been so long since anyone took care of Caitlin, she can't do it.

 

She can't say no.

 

Besides, it's only one night... One perfect storm.

 

What's the worst that can happen?

 

 

*Angel of Tears is a prequel to the Verona Legacy series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Delesty Books
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201583637

L. A. Cotton

Addictive Romance Author of mature young adult and new adult novels, L A is happiest writing the kind of books she loves to read: addictive stories full of teenage angst, tension, twists and turns. Home is a small town in the middle of England where she currently juggles being a full-time writer with being a mother/referee to two little people. In her spare time (and when she’s not camped out in front of the laptop) you’ll most likely find L A immersed in a book, escaping the chaos that is life.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Matteo

Sorry I’m late. I jogged over to my cousins, running a hand through my hair. Fat drops of rain sprayed everywhere. A storm was blowing in, a river of water already gushing down the street.

Let me guess, Bella giving you shit again? Enzo asked.

Nah, she had some homework...

You’re a good brother, Matt. Nicco clapped me on the back. Come on, let’s get this over with.

We slipped past the two burly men guarding the door and entered the club. No one batted an eyelid except the bartender, who waved us over. DiMarco’s wasn’t the kind of place they let just anyone through the door.

Would you get a load of that? Enzo let out a low whistle, flicking his head to the circular stage in the center of the room. The girl flicked long, wavy dark hair off her shoulder as she shimmied around the pole, working her body into angles that should have been impossible.

We’re not here to play. Nicco cut Enzo with a hard look. Keep your dick in your pants, capisci?

Yeah, yeah. But it doesn’t hurt to look. He smirked. 

He was right. She was hard not to look at, her body slim and toned. Legs that went on for miles. But it was her face, the way it was obscured by a filigree eye mask, that really piqued my interest. I wanted to know who she was... and what she was hiding.

Forcing myself to look away, I rolled my shoulders back. This wasn’t a guys’ night out, it was business, and I knew better than to let myself be distracted by a piece of hot ass.

I needed to keep my head in the game.

We all did.

Nicco led us across the room, pausing at the end of the bar. Is Zander in? he asked the bartender.

Back there. The guy flicked his head to the black door framed by dark purple velvet curtains. The whole place was opulent, as if guys came here with their fat wallets and seedy desires for the décor. I snorted.

Nicco pulled back the curtain and disappeared into the dark abyss. What? Someone grunted. Oh, shit. Nicco, my man, I didn’t realize it was you. 

Zander, my cousin replied coolly. We’re here to collect.

Zander sat back in his leather chair and ran a hand over his jaw. About that...

No excuses. Nicco slid his hand inside his jacket. You and I both know we’re not leaving here without what you owe...

The temperature in the room dropped. Niccolò Marchetti might only have been nineteen like me and Enzo, but age was just a number when you were the son of the boss.

Zander stared up at him as if he were weighing up his options, which was pretty fucking ironic since he had none.

You either paid up or you paid the price. 

In our business, it was that fucking simple.

Don’t keep me waiting, Nicco ground out. Enzo twitched at his other side, no doubt itching for a fight. He was my cousin, my brother in all the ways that counted, but he was a loose fucking cannon. Me, I preferred it when things went smoothly, and we avoided bloodshed. 

My father said it was my weakness. That I was a soft touch. I guess he had a point. Being a soldier for the Marchetti family required a certain level of