Page 1 of Fierce Storm
Prologue
SALVATORE
D’Angelo. D’Angelo. Where is fucking D’Angelo?
I can’t remember another time when I heard my surname said so much. Even as a CEO. Dad, yes. Salvatore, yes. Even Sal. But Mr. D’Angelo andsir? I’m not my fucking father. Sure, I have a dusting of salt in my previously pepper hair, but that doesn’t warrant the grandeur. Most of thesaltcame from the stress surrounding my divorce. I’m only fifty and I’ve been graying for years.
Why does it feel like my new role as team owner for the San Francisco Storm is going to speed up the process?
My mind runs rampant with the million things I have to get done, and I internally groan.
Book a meeting with the coaching staff.
Organize dinner with the board.
Meet the players.
Check in on Paige.
Paige.
Fuck. I can’t let work take over again. I only just got her back. She left her mother and moved here to be with me. It’s a big deal.
It’s all a big deal.Everything. Not one thing on my goddamn mind is small and God, my head hurts.
I hold my breath as I stride through the halls of Lightning Stadium, breathing a sigh of relief when I make it to my office without anyone stopping me. The door clicks shut behind me, and I jolt. Even that’s too loud for the hammering pain pulsing through my head.
What am I doing?
“Fuck. Fuuck!” I toss my phone across the room, but it lands softly on the couch, giving me no satisfaction. I wanted to see it shatter. Better the phone than my confident composure, because God knows, that’s wavering.
After kicking off my shoes, I lie back on the couch like it’s a psychiatrist’s office and cover my face with my hands.
Five minutes.That’s all I need. Five minutes, and I’ll be Mr. D’Angelo again. San Francisco Storm’s team owner. Business titan. New York billionaire. I just need a moment to be Sal. Father. Son. The man that built his empire from the ground up while still remembering where he came from.
I only manage a few deep breaths before knuckles softly rap against my door. And there goes that.With a huff under my breath, I stretch my toes and reluctantly sit up, pulling on my shoes before standing.I’ve been found.
“Yes?” I call out, keeping my tone as even as possible.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tabitha, my new assistant, speaks quietly through the closed door, and it’s nearly impossible to hear her. “Keeley’s needed for a media call.”
Did she say Keeley?“What?”
“Keeley’s—”
“You can come in, Tabitha. I’m not naked in here.”
The door opens and my assistant pops her head in, her messy brown hair escaping from her ponytail, as though she’s been frantically rushing around, her flushed cheeks suggesting thesame. She smiles shyly and fuck my life. This isn’t going to work if she feels the need to tiptoe around me all the time. “Thank you. What were you saying?”
“Oh. Ah…” She frowns, her eyes darting around the room. “I thought Keeley was in here.”
“Who’s Keeley?” I tilt my head to the side, lips pursed as I follow her gaze. Other than me, my office is empty.
I was advised to bring my own assistant, but no, I left her in New York to keep an eye on my new general manager, while I gallivanted to the other side of America to follow a childhood dream.Just because one has enough money to buy a football franchise doesn’t mean they should.
Tabitha rubs her forehead in confusion, which in turn confuses me. “Keeley’s our media liaison. You haven’t met her?”
“Tabitha, I’ve met a hell of a lot of people today, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure I would remember that name.”
