Page 57 of Heart Over Heels

I had been given a rare opportunity to get to bed at a decent hour, and I shouldn’t squander it. But first I needed a shower. Water would wash away the sweat, ease the tightness in my muscles, and hopefully settle my head.

Venturing inside, I stripped down and rinsed off then dressed for bed.

But sleep didn’t come easy.

In fact, it didn’t come at all.

I lay there staring at the ceiling and shifting from one side to the other until the sheets tangled around my legs. Every time I shut my eyes, the darkness replayed the same images—Darby’s face, voice, body—and the ache started all over again. There was no reprieve.

I meant what I’d told Darby. I wouldn’t let harm come to the dancers at the club, but sniffing out contract paperwork and playing tattletale to Antonella put me in direct opposition to that promise.

There was only one way forward.

Before dawn, I got on my computer and typed up a letter of resignation then printed and signed it. It would have been more professional to work out a two-week notice, but I was loath to consider what Antonella could do with half a month more of my time. I wouldn’t let her hooks sink any deeper.

Since I was up already, I went in early.

It was a fight not to nod off on the ride down to the Strip, and I was relieved to have incidentally garnered a day off to catch up on some shuteye. But that shred of optimism wasn’t enough to ward off the sense of unease as I walked into the Basilica with the resignation letter in hand.

At this early hour, the gaming floor was almost vacant, and the slot machines slept with their screens dimmed. Only the occasional flicker of neon reminded me how loud they’d be once awakened. A handful of chips sat abandoned at a blackjack table,evidence of a game cut short, and the smell of smoke lingered in the carpet.

There had been a time when I thought this place was beautiful. It was one of the nicest casinos in the city, and the pay was more than enough to cover my mortgage plus child support for Molly. But even before my stint at the Dollhouse, my affinity for the luxurious casino had waned.

It felt a bit like a job I had in high school—theonlyjob I had before enlisting—when I decided it would be fun to work at my favorite pizza restaurant. After four months of eating, seeing, and breathing pizza, I was ready to never touch the stuff again. I was equally ready to wash my hands of the Basilica and the heavenly beings who inhabited it.

While riding up to Antonella’s penthouse, I began to worry less about what I would say and more about her response. She’d given me an assignment, one I had failed to complete, and the angel wasn’t the type to take bad news well.

The elevator climbed, silent except for the faint whir of its cables. My pulse throbbed as I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls.

I tugged at the belt threaded through my khaki cargos and became painfully aware of how careless I looked. In a plain tee shirt and scuffed boots, I had no polish or poise to offer this encounter. Antonella would notice, but I reminded myself that in a few moments, it would no longer matter what she thought of me.

The car stopped, and the doors parted. I stepped out into the cavernous penthouse level and was immediately assaulted by the harsh glow of daylight. My brows shadowed my gaze as I glanced toward the angel’s desk, only to find it immaculate and unoccupied.

She wasn’t here.

Relief escaped me in a sigh as I strode forward, planning to leave the letter for her to discover when she returned. It was a cowardly move, but also a windfall I wouldn’t take for granted.

I’d made it only a handful of steps when I realized I was not, in fact, alone.

A figure stood before the windows, broad-shouldered and still. His wings eclipsed the bulk of his frame, feathers catching the light in flashes of silver. The color matched his hair, a powdery gray that suggested dignity rather than age.

Stefano Rossetti. Antonella’s brother.

If I’d thought it cowardly to drop a letter on Antonella’s desk and flee, it would have been even worse to backpedal into the elevator and vanish without a word to the holy being in the room. But I couldn’t cross the space unnoticed with Stefano’s stance angled ever so slightly toward me—as though he already knew his privacy had been invaded.

Better to get this over with than have to come back later.

I cleared my throat, a small, dry sound in the cavernous room.

When Stefano turned, his expression betrayed only mild surprise. “Apologies,” he murmured, but the bass in his voice resonated. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“I was just leaving something for Miss Rossetti.” I raised the letter in explanation.

He stepped away from the windows, and his pale eyes targeted the paper in my hand. There was nothing overtly menacing in his approach, but the intensity of his gaze pinned me in place. Like a hawk sighting a mouse in the grass.

My muscles seized and feet rooted as he closed the distance between us. Foolishly, I wished he would simply unsee me.

“Mister James, is it?”